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yandere-sins · 3 years

Note

I’ve had this scenario in my head for awhile based on obey me’s chapter 20 when Asmo is drunk and begging the MC not to leave. I’ve always imagined an alternate scenario where the MC has to take him home and put him to bed because he’s drunk, but it’s all just an act to get the MC to have their guard down so he can grab them, mark them, and claim them. so he can prevent them from leaving the next day. (You can write this as either a scenario or your thoughts because I really just wanted to share my ideas with someone and I enjoy your characterization of him ❤️)

Ooooh, that’s a good one for Asmo, really fits him! Thanks for requesting, I am glad you enjoy my characterization ♥

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“Noooo~!”

A sigh fell off your lips as you had to listen to Asmo’s whining. It’s not like you didn’t enjoy having his full attention on you, all the way from Hell’s Kitchen home to the House of Lamentation. But Asmodeus was such a needy drunk that once you helped him sit down on the bed, you realized you really could need a break from his clinginess. However, he only kept grabbing on to the sleeves of your shirt, keeping you awkwardly leaning above him.

There were tears in his eyes, and you were pretty sure that even drunk, Asmodeus wouldn’t risk ruining his make-up with crocodile ones. Even if you wished he wouldn’t react so harshly to it, you kind of understood his reaction. You two had become so close over the last year, it wasn’t easy for you either to have to say goodbye to your friend, now that you had to go back to your world.

Only an hour before had he admitted that he didn’t want to lose you, and you didn’t either, but both of you knew that friendships sometimes drifted apart when there was distance between two people. At least for you, life went on, and new adventures would rise before you, and Asmo wouldn’t always be part of them. It was the painful truth that every human had to learn at some point, and it seemed to scare Asmo even more than it scared you. His life was different from this, and the unknown was something a demon didn’t deal lightly with.

“Heh, what are you thinking about?” Asmo asked, letting go of you with one hand to instead bring his finger up to draw over your features. “You’re getting wrinkles here-” he tapped your forehead, “- here-” the outer corners of your eyes,” - and here.” This time he didn’t let his finger linger as he reached your lips, instead pinching your chin and pulling you down unexpectedly, bodies colliding as he led you to his own lips.

Before you had the chance to gather your thoughts, Asmodeus flipped you two over, pinning you down as the kiss stayed locked in place. You only realized briefly that he had way too much experience when it came to laying on beds, this being a dangerous terrain in favor of your - not really - enemy on hand. Even if this wasn’t how you wanted to end things with him, you could feel the vibration in his lips, the longing, desire, fear. Asmodeus didn’t care about losing his one-night stands and flirts, but he was scared of losing you, the only one he ever let close enough to his heart to challenge him to new heights and hurt him more than insecurities ever could.

This kiss meant everything to him, even if it didn’t mean the same to you.

Even if you thought about pulling away, you weren’t in a position to easily slip out of the caress. You listened to his heavy breaths, felt the pressure of his lips doting on yours, and tasted the bittersweetness of the alcohol in the cocktails he drank. But once the initial height of the kiss passed, Asmo managed to snap back to his senses all by himself. At least, that’s what you thought when you caught his eyes as he finally opened them again. He almost seemed hurt, and by seeing your own reflection in his irises, you recognized that you didn’t seem as into what he was doing as Asmodeus was just a moment ago.

It was probably the moment he realized he had nothing to keep you by his side with. The pact you had would disappear once the year was over, you didn’t reciprocate his love the same way, and your mind was set on leaving instead of staying with him. All this was what Asmodeus could make out and seemingly hadn’t realized until right then.

“I’m sorry...” he mumbled, his eyes darkening. His hands pinning you vanished, but he couldn’t be bothered lifting his weight off your hips. “It’s okay,” you mumbled, turning your head away, unsure what to say. Part of you wanted to comfort him, but you knew it would only make it harder for you two if you reassured him now.

Asmodeus slowly folded into himself on top of you, head falling to your shoulder. For a moment, you wondered if he had just fallen asleep on top of you. But you rather quickly noticed the shaking of his body and the feeling of wet, hot tears soaking into your shirt. “What do I do?” he asked, even his sobs sounding elegant. He was pretty even when he was crying, and you couldn’t help but find that ironic. “I know I should, but I just can’t let you go...”

Raising your arm to his back, you calmly comforted him. It was hard not to join his crying, but you reckoned Asmodeus was drunk and overly emotional. You should save your tears for when the real goodbye would be and not confirm him in his fears and sadness. “I’ll come visit!” you promised, trying to sound chipper. Asmodeus, however, was quick to shake his head, muttering, “That’s not enough.”

“We can see each other on the weekends! You can come and sleep over at my place!” But even that suggestion was met with a headshake and a curt, “No.”

Sighing, you realized you were talking with a wall. It was hard enough to convince yourself everything would be alright, but he acted like a child trying to get his will.

Lost in thought, you didn’t notice Asmodeus stirring on top of you. At least, not until you felt rows of teeth dig into the supple flesh between your shoulder and neck. You flinched, the pain only worsening, using your hands to shove Asmo hard, but he wouldn’t let go, as if his jaw was locked in place. “What the fuck-!” you cursed when he finally let go, sitting up straight. The sight of tears still rolling down his cheek didn’t fit the menacing or even crazed expression he had on his face, and it made your blood freeze all over as your eyes fell to his lips.

Even though he quickly licked it up, the unnerving sight of blood was enough to freak you out more. Your hand rose to the bite immediately, and as you drew it back, you clearly had the fluid smeared all over your palm. “What’s the meaning of this?!” you yelled at him, but Asmodeus remained calm, only grabbing your wrist before licking the blood off your fingers. Ceremoniously even.

“I don’t want you to leave, and I know you don’t want to leave me too,” he announced as a matter of fact.

“Well, I am sure as hell reconsidering that--” you tried to retort, but you were quickly interrupted by his face closing in only inches to you, Asmodeus eyes glowing as you realized he had involved magic in all of this. Even if his charming eye contact didn’t work on you, you could immediately feel the tingling in your hand where he had licked the blood from, and glancing at it, you saw the outlines of a pact.

“Let’s never part, okay?”

An unhinged, eery smile crossed his lips, the pact lit up as it finished, and you couldn’t think quickly enough before it settled in your palm, the permanent sigil embedded in it. Asmo sighed in satisfaction, bringing your hand to his cheek and nuzzling into your still tingling palm as you stuttered, “How could you do this?!”

“Blood magic is strong,” he chuckled. “Stronger than anything. Strong enough to go through everything, and if I unite it with my lovely magic, it’s strong enough so only one party needs to seal the deal. Lovely, isn’t it? So now we can be together forever, isn’t that what we always wanted?”

“N-No, I didn’t want it like this--” you tried to argue, but he turned his head towards you, and you froze. With streaks of blood sullying his pretty face, it suddenly made you realize that this was no lighthearted miss-step or him being silly. This had been planned, conducted, and completed. He had always wanted to bind you to him and wasn’t even bothered by how ugly it made him look - he, of all people!

“I just love you so much, you know? We have to be together, and now we can! I will always be with you!”

Leaning forward, your eyes shot to his mouth, and you could see the tiny rip he had made himself to his lip to form the blood pact. Everything he stood for, everything he embodied, seemed to have disappeared now that it came to you.

“My Darling ~” he sighed and kissed you again, letting the heaviness of the situation sink and fester into your brain.

You wouldn’t get out of this pact anytime soon.

Maybe even not in this life.

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apothecarinomicon · 3 years

Text

Spring week 4 part 1

After I’d rested up, I remembered that I still hadn’t actually made it back to Morna’s chamber. While I wasn’t certain they’d be able to tell I was late, it was the principle of the thing to get the books to them in a timely manner.

I once again made my way to Hero’s Hollow, this time on foot and without being accosted by any bleeding people. I gave my name to the guards outside and told them I expected to spend less than an hour in the dungeon. I was able to make my way back to the gauntlet sticking out of the wall fairly quickly, and removed it to open the passage to Morna’s chamber.

I traversed the hall quickly this time and found them lying on their back, staring at the ceiling. They looked up when I entered and said “that was quick,” so I figured I was in the clear. I began unloading the books from my pack and they picked one up and leafed through it hungrily.

They asked me if the spelling was going to be so strange in all of the books (I’d made sure to get the editions with standardized spelling). I told them that it was just the way that people wrote now, and that they’d get used to it.

They asked me about the library, eager for any information about the world. I fibbed a little and said it was large. I told them about the slight tension with the owners and they said I shouldn’t let it get to me. They’d been a misfit all their life and look at them now. I didn’t say that their situation wasn’t exactly aspirational.

I asked them how long they expected it would take them to finish the books before realizing that they would have no way of knowing. I told them I’d try to come back in a week to check on them but I couldn’t make any promises. They said that would be fine, and any amount of time with something new was a relief.

They asked me what other businesses were open in Greenmoor. I mentioned the bakery and the tavern, the blacksmith, the farms, the doctor, the tailor, and rattled off a couple other places that I hadn’t been to but knew must be present for the town to function. Wistfully, Morna said they hoped to see it in person again someday. I asked whether they’d previously lived in Greenmoor and they said they’d been more of a visitor.

They began sorting through the books and I figured I should leave them to it—I had other people to visit before the day was out, anyway. I told them I hoped they enjoyed the books and that I’d be back soon.

I don’t actually remember the act of opening the door and walking back to the main hallway, but I know I must have because I found myself placing the gauntlet back on the wall, allowing the branching corridor to reseal itself silently behind me.

────⊱⁜⊰────

I exited the dungeon and made my way around to the far side of Moonbreaker Mountain to visit Ainsley on her farm. She was out on her front porch with a washtub when I arrived. She greeted me warmly and had me sit down, offering a drink which I accepted.

She asked to what she owed the pleasure, and I told her I was just looking for conversation with someone who wasn’t hostile. She nodded and said she knew the feeling well. She continued washing as we spoke and I felt a bit strange not helping, but I thought it would feel even stranger to offer.

We talked for a long while (I don’t remember what about—I’ll admit my mind was preoccupied) before I brought up my question. I mentioned the gameball field I’d found in Glimmerwood Grove, and asked Ainsley if she knew why Senga would have been one of the team mascots. She answered—as I expected—that it was because my predecessor was part of a small group that played on that field regularly. Ainsley said she herself never much got into the sport, but she would watch sometimes when there wasn’t too much farm work to do.

I clarified that this meant my predecessor definitely had friends in town (Ainsley of course, but at least nine more!), and Ainsley said ‘oh sure,’ as if it was silly that I might have thought she didn’t. I asked who they were, what their jobs were in town, and Ainsley looked puzzled for a moment before saying that they weren’t around anymore.

I asked her what exactly that meant and she said she supposed they’d left. By the time my predecessor disappeared, she was the last of them in town. I asked where they could have gone and she shrugged. I asked if they weren’t her friends, too, and she said they were. Then she said some of them were adventurers so she supposed they were off doing that. She said some of them had family out of town. She said she thought one of them might have gone off to get a degree.

All the reasons she gave were plausible, but her uncertainty in them was... disconcerting. I asked if she could give me any names, so that I might be able to ask around in town, and she told me some. Now, though, I can’t remember them for the life of me. I’ve always been bad with names.

Ainsley mentioned that, despite serving as a mascot, she didn’t think Senga was ever present at a gameball match. It made sense, she supposed. My predecessor had loved that sheep like little else, and wouldn’t have wanted to risk her getting hurt if and when the matches turned violent. I asked how frequently the game got dangerous and she asked me (with a hefty bit of snark) whether I’d ever seen a gameball match before. I said sure I had, but it had never been a particular interest of mine. She put it this way: of the (very few) rules of the game, the one outlawing death and permanent injury was by far the most frequently invoked. I must say, that detail certainly did paint a clear picture.

We talked about other things, though now my mind was squarely wondering about what the gameball matches were like. It was close to dinnertime when I left, thanking her for her hospitality and promising to visit again. I had one more planned stop before I headed home, and I was excited for it. I walked back around Moonbreaker Mountain, hurrying to get there before the sun sank too low.

────⊱⁜⊰────

After leaving Ainsley’s, I made my way to Glimmerwood Grove and finally re-located Calder’s stream. It was closer to the path than I remembered—I just hadn’t gone deep enough into the woods when I was looking the other day.

Upon finding it, I was tempted to throw myself in to see if he might catch me again, but I decided that might be a bit much. Instead, I called his name. After a moment, he appeared out of the water wearing a large grin. As before, his form only solidified from the waist up and transitioned back into water where his skin met the surface of his stream. He told me he’d been wondering when he’d get to see me again. I asked him if he ate, and he said he did—mostly fish, but sometimes bugs too. “What about bread?” I asked, and pulled a loaf from the Bankheads’ bakery from my backpack. He said that if I was offering, he wouldn’t refuse.

So, I sliced the loaf and I spread some songberry jam on it and we sat and we ate. I asked him about his relationship to his stream. He said they were essentially one being, and that the water was like his body. He could say at any point what animals and plant life were present and where they were. Excessive waste or toxic material in the water would make him sick. He could even, to a limited extent, tell how the trees and shrubs that used his water for sustenance were faring.

I asked whether that feeling extended into the source or the tributaries of the stream, or even the mouth—where did Calder end and separate waters begin? He said a lot of it had to do with motion versus stagnance—most of what made the water his/him was that it was flowing under its own power. He knew that his stream flowed into Meltwater Loch, but he couldn’t feel past where it settled into the calmer wave patterns of the larger body. He said his main source was near the bottom of Moonbreaker Mountain, but that he couldn’t feel anything before the water was above ground. He said one of his major tributaries came from Blastfire Bog, and that was a bit strange and fuzzy because the bog had such a dense network of mycelium that was in but not necessarily connected to part of his water.

I told him I hadn’t heard of Blastfire Bog before. He said I’d probably find it useful to visit—it was a densely magical place. He did say, though, that it was difficult and dangerous to navigate without the proper preparation—full of nasty diseases, unpredictable swamp gas, and isolated denizens that could often be a bit territorial. He said humans and humanoids typically needed a coracle boat to navigate it safely, but that shouldn’t be too difficult of a purchase in his estimate (not that he himself had ever needed to pay much attention to the exchange rate of silver). I said I’d be certain to take all the necessary precautions, but that I knew I could count on him to keep me safe. I freely admit this was more of a flirt than anything resembling truth, but it made him chuckle so I feel no remorse.

We ate and talked for a while longer (our fingers brushed as I handed him another slice of bread), before Calder sat straight up as if he’d heard an odd noise. I asked what was wrong, and he said I might be visiting the bog earlier than anticipated. Someone had crashed into his tributary just then in quite the hurry, and they seemed to be shedding the spores of some kind of infection.

Well, that certainly couldn’t be good. I quickly packed up my bag and asked if he could lead me to this person. He turned his back to me and said ‘climb on.’ I wasn’t quite clear on what he was planning, but I certainly wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity. He got me in a piggyback position and then, faster than I would have thought possible, glided upstream. He wasn’t exerting any visible effort, and yet we moved quick enough (and yet very smoothly) for the wind to whip my hair back.

I knew, though, that I couldn’t allow myself to get caught up in the moment. I needed to stay focused—there was a patient in danger, and they needed my help.

────⊱⁜⊰────

I’m very good with names. I don’t know why I wrote that before.

⇦●〇●⇨

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georgemackayhey · 4 years

Text

Silver Lining: Chapter 4

In which you and George decide to make the most of life after meeting up at the wrong place at just the right time…

w/c: 6k

a/n: This is the second to last chapter, guys! Ah! It's been such fun to write, and as always I'm looking forward to hearing all your thoughts and feelings! ♡

taglist: @etherealallure @maria-josefin @shelbygirlsclubx @loulouloueh @clarkewithameme @haileymorelikestupid @weyheyavengers @queen-bunnyears

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The halls of the resort were immaculate, the sound of your hurried stomp echoed through them. You had hardly taken the time to appreciate the well-lit space with the way you zoomed up to the third floor- fist clenched at your side. You knew exactly what to expect, holding no hope for any other possibility.

And as you hurriedly knocked on the soft cream door of room 500, you hadn't even really noticed how George was hot on your trail; though lagging a bit behind to catch his breath on a winding staircase.

There was muffled chatter from behind the door you approached, the sound causing your patience to wear thin. So you went on knocking until the sound of a lock being turned proceeded its fateful opening.

"What? What is it- oh."

Colin was stood in the sliver of the open door, dressed in a sloppily tied hotel robe. And even though he seemed unprepared to greet anyone, a wicked grin painted his lips, as if he'd somehow been expecting to see you, all the same. The sight of him was enough to set your blood to a boil and the sound of his stupid grumbly voice nearly drove you to a psychotic break right then and there.

"What are you doing here?" You asked in a growl through your teeth. As soon as the desk attendant shot you a pitiful glare, you knew what was going on. You weren't surprised to see your almost ex-husband guarding the entrance to the room you booked for your honeymoon. But you were well and truly seething that he had the gall to enjoy any kind of leisure time during the period he should have somehow been paying for his moral crimes.

"Well, darling, as I recall it, I wanted to come here. You wanted to go to Rome. Looks like we've both gotten what we want, hm?"

"Don't call me-" You spat, glaring at him with a look you wish could kill.

"Alright- alright, It's been a lovely visit but I've had quite enough of you," Colin moved to shut the door, but in some odd reflex, you moved to stop it. You didn't really want to see much more of the guy. You didn't even realize you had more to say. But curses and blames started spouting out of you, pent up for too long.

Colin wasn't listening though. Why would he? He did his own talking, right over top of you, complaining about the things he always hated about your life together, how much time he wasted on you. You were arguing the things you both always knew but were never brave enough to say in the stability of your mediocre romance.

"It's just like you to show up and ruin the only bit of good life has thrown my way in the past week." You hissed.

"Oh please, I gave you more good than you'll ever get again." Colin boasted, always one to make mention of wealth and status, no matter the situation or topic.

As you stood trying desperately trying to think up a comeback, you were too blinded by anger to say anymore.

That's when another voice, strained from hurrying after you, floated around the corner.

"Y/n? What's- oh" George's concerned expression morphed into some surprising glare when he turned to see who had already taken residence in the room you booked. George stalled in place, managing to steady himself in a flash even with all the momentum he'd gained on his race to catch up to you.

"Who the hell are you?" Colin asked in a condescending snort of a laugh that made the meter tracking your rage fly up and over the ballistic marker, sending you to short circuit.

But there was nothing more to say or do. Colin likely wouldn't give up his stay if you demanded, and even if he decided too, you wouldn't have wanted to stay in a room your ex-fiance had just been occupying. You knew he was only blocking your entry so he might have some kind of last laugh. And he got it, didn't he? With a frustrated groan, you spun on your heels and stormed away in the same fashion you'd hurried up here.

"Enjoy your holiday" You heard George offer Colin some semblance of a goodbye, though his tone was strained and withholding, he was still polite. But you were too busy fuming to admire the little ways George fascinated you.

You didn't have time to meet the desk attendants worried gaze as you stormed past his desk and out of the resort doors. You didn't have the sense to feel sorry for breaking up a group of birds from enjoying someone's discarded cup of ice cream as you paced toward a row of tall trees at the edge of the car park.

You knew the fun would have to end soon, but you were ignorant to the possibility of this trip ending in the same frustrating manner the night before your wedding had. Colin was at the worst place at the right time and he got just what he wanted, leaving you to pay the price once more. But you probably deserved it. You were really beginning to wonder if life could be lived in the dreamlike haze that Rome provided. You should have known better.

And just like always, when you least expected it, George slowly sauntered toward where you lingered kicking rocks at trees.

"Only you would run into someone you know on holiday in Barcelona" He echoed the same wry joke you gave him in Rome, but now was different. Now was ruined and you were struggling not to cry.

"I'm sorry, George. I thought this was going to be endless fun, and I don't know what I was thinking, dragging you along, and now its all ruined and I just-"

"It's not ruined." George gently cut through your monologue in that marvelously confusing way of his; pointing out the bright side that you really couldn't see, especially right now. "It doesn't have to be anyway." You just kept your befuddled gaze on him as he went on...

"He can keep the resort. It was far too posh anyway. Why don't we find a place on the beach and make the best of it?"

"You.. you still want to?" You breathed a humorless laugh. Your shoulders relaxed as you attempted to come away from your anger, and tried to understand why on earth George was still on board this wild ride.

"Well, we're already here. And... you promised I could choose our next adventure." George teased, offering a grin and reading his brows, coaxing you to smile too. You just stared at him, taking note of his relaxed disposition, his gentleness. It practically radiated from him.

"I'll go fetch our bags if you find a cab?" George nodded, already beginning to walk backward toward the entrance of the resort. And with the way he took the action you felt no option but to agree to join in, nodding on your turn to hail a ride.

The cab driver you flagged down was almost sickeningly helpful. She listed off a few dozen places to stay adding her personal favorite perks of every place. She waved goodbye when you and George stretched out onto the pavement of a hotel a decent number of miles away from the resort you'd come from.

The hotel you'd chosen was right on a golden beach, a quaint little stucco styled building. Inside was decorated in natural tones and plants and flowers. George insisted on splitting the cost when you wouldn't let him pay for the whole thing.

You thought of renting two separate small rooms four floors apart, but that seemed silly since you were basically on this trip together. So because the price was the same, you booked a suite with two small rooms joined by a galley kitchen and called it a day.

So after lugging your bags into the spot you'd keep them for the next week, there was nothing left to worry over. The mini bar in the lobby was serving drink specials; you decided since it wasn't quite time for dinner or bed, the day you had called for some form of immediate indulgence.

The bar was full of seasoned vacationers, sharing finger foods and margaritas. A kind bar keep managed to take your order before you'd even settled at the bar top. "You know what, I better just get this over with." You decided, pulling your phone from your pocket. You'd promised to call your mother often, and you knew you had to tell her what had just gone down. The sooner the better, you realized, because you didn't want to dwell on Colin or anything you had to endure hearing from the guy. You wanted to forget everything that had happened and spend the rest of your vacation having at least a little bit of fun.

You pushed past a door into the warm afternoon, settling against a wooden post of the patio where families lingered to shake off the sand from the beach before heading back inside the hotel.

Your mother answered the phone as she had days ago, worried before you'd even gotten the chance to say hello. So you didn't even try to mask your greeting with fake charm. You headed straight into the details of your upsetting encounter. How the start of your stay in this beautiful city was permanently soiled with the memory of Colin.

"I tried to warn you." Your mother spoke theatrically. You wondered if she could hear your furrow your brow, because she went on to explain herself. "I heard from Shirley, who heard from Dr. McCarther, that Colin's mother said he left for the airport a day ago."

So that's why she'd been so frantic on the phone, before.

"I tried to warn you, deary. I know how much you wanted this trip to be some kind of escape." She commiserated in the way only mothers know how to best.

"Yeah, I'm determined to keep it that way. We're staying at the beach now, instead." You spoke decidedly.

"Well, now that I've got your attention might I suggest coming home?" Your mother scolded. "I understand what you're going through but is taking off with some stranger really-"

You blocked out everything she said after that. Your mother meant well, you knew, but she had no idea what you were going through. She'd been happily married for decades. And she didn't know George.

You just couldn't go one talking about this situation. Sure Colin did his best to rain on your parade, but the heavens gave you one last shot to go a little wild. You were here, with George and there was no changing that. So you ended the call with the promise you were safe and sound and planned to keep it that way. Then you marched back inside repeating the mantra to yourself.

"What your mother must think of me," George pulled a face as you eased into the seat at the dark wooden bar, next to him. "I cringe to wonder."

"Oh, you think I'm calling home to report about you, Mr. Movie star?" You joked, jabbing George in the arm with your elbow. At this point, the little gesture felt familiar and you'd only wondered if you'd been to forward after the fact. If George was put off by it, his broad grin was only contradicted by the smallest shake of his head, eyes averted to a waiter who happily served your drinks.

___

The next day you woke up early and headed to see Casa Batlló. In fact, in just the first couple of days, you managed to see the majority of Gaudi's creations. It was divine, taking the time to admire the buildings and listen to other tourists yammer on about what they'd come to see and why they were so excited to be in the city.

There were fleeting moments, for the first day or two, when you worried Colin wasn't finished sabotaging your trip. That he might pop out of nowhere and pretend he was the one who was once so excited to take a tour of a modern art museum. But you realized he was never keen to your well-planned list. In fact, you planned most of your trip with the knowledge that Collin would be off meeting business partners and making deals. You needed something to occupy your time, and you never imagined having anyone to experience each little adventure with you.

That's what made George's presence all the more exciting.

Besides that, you'd seemed to have fallen into a familiar routine with George. And not just in the way you'd gone about planning out your days. You'd began to predict each other's lunch orders and what you'd both might have enjoyed most about each little adventure, and why. You'd began to pick up on many of George's little quirks...

Like how every place you went, people noticed George, but he didn't seem to notice their lingering gazes. You could never be sure if passerby recognized him like you once had, or if they were only struck by his perfect features like you often were.

But this didn't mean he gave anyone a cold shoulder. No, George was as friendly to the people running market booths and passerby as he was to you, offering smiles and asking about the details of the flowers they were selling.

He brought up serious things at the strangest times. Like how he told you some deep dark secret in passing over midday coffee, just as you'd come away from raving about the cup you held in your hands. George would ask intense questions as you stood on the edge of a garden watching a street band play where children danced near the makeshift drums. His timing always seemed strange and unexpected; but as you went on talking about whatever might have been brought up, you realized you felt completely comfortable sharing your own answers and hearing his in turn.

George gave answers that were well thought out, even if they were just yes or no. And he listened when you did the same, nodding and laughing at every right time.

Then there was how you shared silence together. Even when there weren't words to trade, the glances and nods you passed to each other seemed to speak for themselves.

And when you lied on the beach, breathing in the salty air while the sounds of scattered laughter were dulled by crashing waves, the silence between you and George was easy.

George looked perfectly comfy with a new ratty paperback held above his face. You wondered how many tiny storybooks he's backed away, and how many times he'd read them, with such worn covers.

When you pointed out boats on the far off horizon, George wasn't upset to be disrupted his reading. He indulged every one of your passing thoughts before turning another page, reading on till one of you had reason to speak up again.

But when you closed your eyes to soak up the warmth of the sun, your peace was broken when George uttered a strange noise. You lifted your sunglasses, turning your head to find a hard plastic frisbee had invaded the space you set up.

"I'm so sorry!" A girl rushed toward you, apologizing in an accented squeak. Her hair was flowing honey brown, her bathing suit was sunny yellow. She was the kind of picture-perfect girl that when mirrored against your own image, alerted you to the things you liked least about yourself.

"We're just learning how to play," She shyly reached out for the frisbee George had taken into his clutch, after it hit him on the knee.

"It's not too hard. Keep your eye on the prize next time, aye?" George extended the plastic disc to the girl.

She giggled. You feigned a chuckle in response as you slid your sunnies back on. George spun off into some story about the correct frisbee stance and how it was tougher than it looked.

"Care to lead by example? We're hopeless." The foreign girl bit her lip with a hopeful gaze and that was all it took to get George to his feet.

Before he left, though, he handed his book to you with a smile. "Safe hands." He gave you a look as you settled back into your spot, giving him a similar expression before watching him skip off to meet the group of girls, showing them all the perfect frisbee stance, whatever the hell that even meant. How hard could it really be?

You only turned your gaze to the book in your possession, pretending to read it, but more so admiring the pages as you tried to understand what made them so important to George, what he valued. Wondering what tomorrow might bring.

___

Four days in, a heavy downpour halted your plans to frolic through the streets of Barcelona. You had become absolutely taken with the city and every time a new adventure died down, the pair of you would dream up what to do with the rest of your time.

So when dense pelts of rain woke you up, you frowned, but George seemed at ease, of course. He was just as excited to plan a day in.

He ordered extra from room service and found a foreign movie channel on the television in his room. The pair of you kicked back on the decently-sized bed he'd made up and added your own commentary to the films you couldn't quite understand. You ended having a blast making up storylines of your own as movies passed by the screen, and you shared plates of fruits while the rain poured on.

It was easy to get lost in George's company, no matter what you were doing. You realized you were treading dangerous waters, letting yourself feel so engulfed by his presence. But you let yourself all the same, determined to make the most of this rare occasion that would soon become nothing but a fleeting occasional memory.

Then it came time to attend the cooking class you'd signed up for. The website where the sign up sheet came from encouraged everyone who did to make time to visit La Boqueria beforehand. The market was only just around the corner from where the cooking class was held, and it was the place all the ingredients you'd work with would have been purchased.

You and George roamed around stalls for almost too long, exchanging favorite recipes, kitchen horror stories, and successes. You'd nearly forgotten where you were on your way too and had to hurry around a couple of corners to make it to the class on time.

When you arrived in a rush, the people who'd made it there on time were mingling inside a building made up of big tall windows and white brick. Most of them stared, bewildered by your hurry inside. There was still time to spare it seemed.

And as you eased in to join the group who'd already been waiting, past a few warm welcomes, you recognized one greeting out of the rest.

It was the girl from the beach who couldn't manage to get the hang of throwing a frisbee. Though you had a hunch she'd know exactly what she was aiming for, that day. And there was no doubt she'd recognized you now, or rather, George.

He greeted her warmly, with kindness, like George did best. You gave her a smile and a shrug, accepting that she wasn't keen to give you the time of day. In fact as she greeted George in turn, she mentioned only signing up for this class after he mentioned something about it during their impromptu frisbee lesson.

Luckily that was about the time the instructor made his grand appearance.

A tall slender man with dark hair tousled and big green eyes slid into the room with a perfect smile. He introduced himself as Aureo, and you were nearly blinded by his beauty. He was just the right amount of good looking, a little intimidating, but all too well-spoken, he was like a male version of a siren.

As Aureo spoke enthusiastically about the wonders your cooking class was about to embark upon, it seemed everyone was just as smitten with the instructor. Even George seemed dazzled, his wide eyes entirely fixated on the fellow.

As Aureo went on explaining the class and began to delve into the foundations of cooking and the joy of food, his forest-colored eyes kept sweeping over to meet yours. His smile never faltered as he helped each attendant set up their kitchen. You and George were meant to stick together, as most of the people who'd come had brought a friend or two in tow. But the frisbee girl was all on her own.

Aureo was quick to assign her to join up with another pair of ladies, who were more than happy to accept her. But as you watched the slim girl move further toward the back of the room you watched her smile falter.

Soon, you got to cooking a basic version of paella with some fun added twists, and some pa amb tomàquet. Between demonstrations, Aureo made rounds to help everyone set up and start in.

You and George settled into your usual comfortable banter, shoving each other out of the way while you playfully bickered over the cooking instructions. George compared the duty to The Great British Bake off, laughing at how some of the other mini kitchen's were fretting over doing the exact right task at the exact right time.

The room made up of windows was full of warm sunlight and delightful smells. And in between everything was Aureo. You swore you felt your heart stop each time you caught him glancing your way. Never before had you felt so drawn to someone but simultaneously cautious of the same thing.

"Are you going to flirt back or leave that man hopelessly gawking your way the whole afternoon?" George wondered after you'd been caught averting a prolonged gaze with the guy teaching you to cook something new.

"Oh, I can't he's way out of my league." You fretted, searching for a certain spice on the rack in your cabinet space. "Plus I just got my courage up to say something and he's not even looking over here anymore." You pouted while George chopped up a lemon, chucking at your disposition.

You looked over to find Aureo leaning over a woman's shoulder as she offered him a bite of a cut-up pepper. He seemed to have forgotten all about you, actually, admiring the pretty, starry-eyed girl he was circling now.

"It's because he watched me shove fresh bread in my face like a monster and now I'm totally unkissable and he'll never even look my way again ." You joked. As much as you'd liked the attention the instructor kept giving you, there was something holding you back from giving in all the way.

The man was a walking angel, a vision, and he kept looking right at you with something undeniable burning behind his gaze. That was pretty nice.

"You're perfectly kissable, now let's get you that man." George raised his hand, polite as ever, even while scheming.

But you couldn't tell if he meant it, or if he was just trying to shift your attention elsewhere so he could flirt back with the hot girl who'd been shamelessly swooning over George all afternoon. She would shoot her smile across the room, laughing a little when George happily grinned back.

Low and behold, when Aureo came over to ask what you needed, and you made up some excuse about confusing measurements, the frisbee girl took a chance to come prancing over too. Her name was Renee, and her excuse for invading your kitchen was honestly to borrow some sugar. No one needed any sugar. It was a bloody free for all, and all you could seem to focus on was Aureo's warm hand trailing across your lower back as he went on telling you exactly what to do next.

When he left you, his glances somehow became more persistent, and you felt certain you were living in some kind of fever dream. And he kept coming back.

At first, to ask what music you'd prefer played over the background speaker, insisting if you said the word and he'd waltz back to change the song. Aureo was cunningly persistent, and you didn't mind his brief but blush filled visits. Especially since George had an admirer of his own.

Renee waltzed over, asking George about his stay in Barcelona so far. He kept mentioning the things you'd enjoyed together, asking you how you remembered certain things, and Renee would cast a glance your way. It was empty and unfeeling, just for show before her focus settled completely back to George.

And you couldn't blame her. He was so easy to observe.

You thought you'd started to figure George out by now, but of course, you hadn't. He still laughed about things you didn't realize he'd even noticed. He still looked at you in a way you couldn't understand. Even while he was talking to Renee.

As all the food started to come together, everyone went around trying each other's dishes. Renee made herself at home on your countertop, gushing over George's skills in the kitchen. As they got to talking about their favorite foods, she took a shot at asking him to someplace in the city with the best coffee he absolutely had to try.

Renee was serious, her big doe eyes gazing up at him with her fingers crossed behind her back. As George hesitated to respond, the girl was called back to her kitchen when their food had finished cooking.

When she sulked away with a glance over her shoulder to George who had already turned his attention back to the wonderful pa amb tomàquet you'd managed to create, you felt for the poor girl.

"Are you afraid of trying the best coffee ever and ruining your taste for every other cup for the rest of time?" You chuckled, leaning against the counter while George happily snacked away.

"I suppose we could stop in if you're so keen." George shrugged, none the wiser.

"Wouldn't you want to go with Renne?" You pushed, giving the guy a little laugh as you reached for one of the bits of bread on a silver platter.

"I've only just met her." George started off chuckling, but as he spoke he seemed to realize what it was he was saying. You shared a look, considering how Geogres soft smile remained, but turned into an expression more serious that you couldn't quite understand. But your smile blossomed into a burst of a laugh.

"You didn't even know my name when you gave me your phone number." You pestered, doing your best to ignore how speaking about it made my stomach fill with butterflies. How thinking back to this whole thing started seemed crazy, but in a good way.

"That was different." George searched your face, his brilliant blue eyes full of something he wasn't saying. Something he thought, or maybe hoped, you understood.

Somehow, after a few silent moments passed while you went on lazily tidying up your kitchen, George said something about how he'd come here with you, and didn't want to leave you out of anything. He said that if you made plans with Aureo, that he'd make plans with Renee. But It felt like a dare. It didn't feel like a change of plans. It felt like some kind of game.

And the next thing you knew, you motioned Aureo over toward you and asked his favorite place to go dancing.

___

You slept in the next morning, content far from home. You stretched slowly into the morning, taking your sweet time getting ready for the day. As you padded into the galley kitchen to kick start the automatic coffee machine, you didn't expect any company.

"Goodmorning!" George greeted, coming from around the corner with an empty teacup in his clutch. You gasped, taken aback by his sudden appearance for once.

"I thought you were supposed to be drinking the world's best coffee with the world prettiest girl, today?" You sighed a laugh, relaxing against the counter as your heart rate eased back to normal. You had thought you heard him make plans before leaving the class, last night.

George set down his cup turning to face you while the coffee machine crackled to life.

"I decided against it. I'm sorry, I thought I told you so."

"Oh," You frowned in realization, wondering when he went about changing his mind.

Yesterday, as you'd lost yourself in a giggle-filled conversation with Aureo before the class ended, George seemed to be getting on well with Renee in the corner. What had happened?

"Well, now I'll feel bad about leaving you later." You spoke up, searching for a mug in the limited cabinet space.

"Oh, you shouldn't. I trust you'll have a good time. Renee was sweet. Just..."

"Yeah, yeah..." You pretended to understand, having no clue what George was being so weird about. "Want some of the world's most mediocre coffee?" You laughed, pouring yourself a cup to enjoy the morning, well, afternoon by this point.

The weather was a bit gloomy again, but the rain held off, giving you the perfect chance to whip out a set of playing cards on the balcony barely big enough to fit either of you together. When the time came to start getting ready, you were conflicted.

"You won't feel bad if I go?" You asked. Because George had basically been following your lead this whole trip, even asking if you were happy with the little things he thought up to do, before going about doing them.

"I'll be perfectly happy so long as you are." George did little to persuade you one way or another, which was funny considering how he'd coaxed you into giving Aureo a little attention the day before.

Ultimately, you got ready to go out. The cooking instructor had given you an address to meet up with him after his workday ended, and after a quick google search, you found it was a pretty popular night club. As you slid into an outfit, you almost wondered if you should invite George along. But as soon as the thought passed through your mind, so did a million other reasons why that was a bad idea.

"How's this?" You genuinely worried over how you looked, rushing to stand still in the doorway of the room you'd been occupying. George was stood in the kitchen, sporting joggers, holding a glass of water in one hand, and a new, old tattered book in the other.

"Oh.... you, well..." The guy looked you up and down, failing to come up with an assured answer. That was what you'd expected, a simple yes or no, maybe even a reason for whatever answer he'd chosen. Like always. But he just stated different conjunctions while you pulled at the hem of a dress you weren't sure how to feel about.

"Well, it'll have to do. I'm late." You sighed, hurrying to fetch your room key from the counter and fasten your shoes on. Aureo was probably already waiting up for you outside of the nightclub he insisted on showing you too, after you'd asked.

"Right well, see ya." George watched you scurry out into the hallway with a quick wave.

On your speed walk down the stairs, you couldn't help but kick yourself for not giving George a proper goodbye, even if you were in a rush. You'd felt so conflicted, leaving him. You didn't have a doubt he'd be happy on his own, but you'd come to function as some kind of team on this trip. Leaving seemed unnatural.

///

Aureo was standing in a well fitted, casual suit jacket with matching short cuffed trousers. His already brilliant features lit up when he saw you hurrying to cross the street.

As you met up with him you apologized for being late, feeling a bit bashful as he stepped even closer to hear you speak. His accent added something even more enchanting to his already velvety voice, when he assured it was fine and how excited he was to show you to his favorite club in the city.

The way his emerald green eyes traveled across your figure before he complimented your dress made you weak in the knees. His warm hand across the small of your back as he guided you inside.

There were three levels you could see, people dancing close to massive speakers, leaning over the rails of each floor to wave to their friends above and below. The lights were dim except every now and again when they flashed to the beat of some decently enjoyable pop music.

The bar wrapped around three corners, liquor decorating the walls of the lower level. That's where you headed first, insisting Aureo order you something he enjoyed best since this was his scene.

Some fancy mixed drink slid across the counter soon after he'd ordered as if they'd been expecting him. It wasn't long before your own drink came, some electric blue liquid in a crystal glass.

That's how the night started, taking some time to enjoy your drink before Aureo pulled you toward the dance floor. He was good, of course, and you didn't even have time to worry over the steps you were missing as he guided you along. It was stupidly fun, spinning around, bumping into people who'd laughed because they'd just bumped into you as well. Spirits were high, and between songs, you kept going back for more drinks.

Every pause, Aureo talked about cooking. You happily listened, trying to soak up everything about your surroundings at once.

You were a few drinks in, and the room was already close to spinning. But you were having so much fun. You slammed back another electric blue drink and twirled back to the dance floor.

There was something about the bass line in the chorus of Justin Timberlake's "Filthy" that you couldn't resist. And the floor was packed with dancers who must have felt the same. As you went on trying your best not to lose Aureo in the crowd while simultaneously losing yourself to the music, you felt your alcoholic haze turn into a fever of sorts.

As you raced away from the music, there was a mile-long line to either restroom, so you headed straight for the back exit.

You spilled out into a long dark alley where dumpsters lived. There were distant bouts of laughter coming from smokers at either end, so you spun between a trash can and a discarded broken shelf and proceeded to get sick.

It was an unceremonious end to your efforts to have a blast. And what was worse, how you still felt dizzy and down.

It wasn't long before Aureo came to check on you. He was the perfect gentleman, holding your hair back for round two and asking what you needed.

You apologized several hundred times for ruining the fun when you decided it was best just to go back to your hotel. You asked Aureo if you could make it up to him in a day or so. You were drunk enough to speak without considering your offer but sober enough from your episode that you managed to pull yourself together to go back where you came from.

Aureo insisted on giving you a ride back, fretting over getting you home safe. You were drunk enough to accept his ride without worry and sober enough to give him directions.

The guy put his number in your phone when you pulled up to the hotel because you felt the need to make up for the way you ended the night. You wanted a redo. And this way seemed like a common courtesy by now...

Aureo insisted on walking you up to the room, he seemed truly worried over your well being, and that endeared you to him more than you already had been.

"I'll call you, okay?" you promised the guy while you unlocked your hotel door, after thanking him for being so kind and bringing you back. He nodded, those pretty emerald eyes searching yours as you slipped inside after saying goodbye.

The lights were off in the tiny common area, and you focused all your energy on creeping back to your room without disturbing the peace. You failed by running into the corner, steadying yourself with a whine as you opened your bedroom door.

"Are you alright?"

You were caught.

"Sorry if I woke you up." You spoke low, even though there was no point in keeping quiet now that George was standing near your side, speaking gently to you.

"You're back quite early," George went on, seeming worried over how you sulked in the doorway after pushing open your bedroom door.

"Yeah... I just don't feel good." You admitted. But you didn't feel sick anymore. You just felt tired. You actually felt a lot like you had when you'd drank too much before, when your head filled up and nothing made sense.

With a gentle, "Come on." George pushed you further into your bedroom. You slumped onto the unmade bed, unlacing your shoes in an impressive hurry. George was gone when you looked up again, tossing each shoe across the room. You fell against your pillows with a sorry groan, shutting your eyes, and wondering if you'd made some kind of mistake tonight.

That's when George shuffled back in, quiet as a mouse. You kept your eyes shut, but heard him rest a glass of water on your bedside table. The sound of your door creaking shut made your heart sink.

When you thought to yourself how badly you wished George would have stayed by your side, you realized the depths of the shit you were in. You realized exactly why you felt so bad. You couldn't ignore it anymore.

You wanted so much more from George, and he was already giving you more than you deserved.

───※ ·❆· ※───

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #george mackay imagine #george mackay fanfic

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argylemnwrites · 5 years

Text

Not Exactly Sure, But Maybe Sure Enough

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (Post The Royal Heir, Chapter 4)

Word Count: ~1900

Rating: PG-13 (adult language)

Summary: Riley Liu has never been much of a planner. But with the whole world seeming to be making plans for her uterus, she has to reevaluate the way she approaches challenges in her life.

Author’s Note: Written for Day 16 of the Choices July Challenge (prompt - Uncertainty). Can be seen as a companion piece to my Day 2 submission, “Living with the Consequences” (link is in my masterlist as I think that Tumblr still sometimes hates my posts with links embedded in them). Trigger warning for mention of pregnancy loss.

Wanted to take a look at the whole “Would Drake and a Drake-romancing MC really just agree to name their kid heir to the throne?” shenanigans from the perspective of my MC. After all, I probably should write more from her perspective since she is the one who would have to go through all the public scrutiny and judgement. I originally envisioned a much different piece than this, but what can I say? This just took on a life of its own!

To say that Riley Liu hadn’t always thought things through fully was a bit of an understatement. After all, you don’t get on a plane with a guy you’d known for less than 24 hours to go compete in some strange political version of The Bachelor in a foreign country without being pretty impulsive. In all honesty, so much of her life could be seen as a series of decisions she put almost no thought into, bouncing into situation after situation because it sounded fun or awesome or sometimes, just better than her current circumstances. She’d jumped from job to job, casual relationship to casual relationship, friend group to friend group endlessly. Never any roots. Never anything permanent. Until one day, she found herself with actual, real friends, not just buddies you grab a drink with once or twice a month.

There was Maxwell, who gave her a family. Hana, who showed her what trust and honesty looked like in friendship. Liam, who welcomed her with such care, even when she made it clear she didn’t feel the same way about him that he did about her. They all took her in, this flighty, detached waitress and gave her a home, both figuratively and literally. A home she shared with her husband, a concept that still in some ways felt more foreign than the fact that nearly every hero she had for the past year used apple butter instead of mayo.

Finding Drake had been something she had never dared to hope for. Here was a man who seemed to understand her soul, the fears she had that she would always be alone in the end, that she was never good enough just as she was to be a priority to anyone. Sometimes listening to Drake talk about his life felt like looking at her own experiences through a fun-house mirror. Sure, the details were different; opulent parties and snobby nobles were worlds apart from a junkie mother and a variety of foster homes. But for all that distortion, at their core, their damage was the same. And maybe that’s why things always felt so natural between them, even when she was naïve enough to think that she could have a little fling with the cute prince, catch a flight back to NYC, and have a mad story for two truths and a lie going forward, leaving Cordonia behind without a glance back.

The love she felt for her friends, her husband, her new home she would have never experienced if she had stuck to her old habits and peaced out when things got tough, less lighthearted and silly and more filled with media scandals and political drama. She knew there was a lesson to be learned there, and while she would never be one to put together a five-year plan like she knew Hana was doing, she knew Riley Walker needed to be a bit different than Riley Liu. Or at least, she needed to work on being different. For her own sake, for her loved ones’ sake, and for the sake of the citizens she now answered to. While she might have leapt into the role of duchess without much thought, she recognized that being a political figure meant that she probably shouldn’t just roll along, indulging in every whim, every adventure, every idea presented to her, without at least thinking through the consequences somewhat.

So, she was trying this new thing, taking a few minutes to run through some good and bad possibilities for any decision before she jumped in with gusto, at least when it came to the major things in her life. She wasn’t going to let being married turn her into someone boring who was always stuck in a rut, but she could aim for a little stability. Spontaneous, not impulsive - that was her new goal.

And at first it was easy, settling in at Valtoria in those first few weeks, then heading to the private island for her and Drake’s honeymoon. Telling Drake that she was ready to start a family with him, and sooner rather than later, seemed like a calm, rational follow up to their discussion of their future back during the lantern festival. If felt like something responsible adults, responsible parents did. But suddenly it seemed like that was all they talked about, really all anyone talked about around them. And Riley didn’t know how to feel about that. What was the appropriate response to Madeleine telling her that she and Drake better be having a lot of sex, other than the petulant desire to offer to fuck her husband right now if Madeleine would just leave the room? How do you respond to congratulations for a thing that hasn’t happened yet? And what the hell made her typically grumpy, jaded husband respond to Liam’s request like a seasoned diplomat?

Sure, they had a few conversations about his reasons. And she got it, kind of. But did he really not have any doubts about the whole thing? Could he not see that this increased media attention was just the beginning, that their lives were not just their lives anymore? Everyone was going to want a piece of them.

And then of course, her miscarriage happened, leaving them both shell-shocked. Super common, according to Dr. Ramirez, and no reason not to try again. But Riley didn’t know if they should try again, at least not right away. Maybe this was a sign to slow down, to not force this whole parenthood thing at such a rushed speed. But to go back on birth control felt like they were failures, letting down Liam, their friends, and all of Cordonia. Everyone seemed to need their baby so damn much, Riley couldn’t bring herself to take a few months, maybe even a year, to process her loss and heal. She could sense a similar longing in Drake, to move on together, not as public figures but just as Drake and Riley. But after agreeing to name their child heir to the throne, the sacrifice of the timing of trying for another pregnancy seemed inconsequential. What was a few months compared to years of diplomacy classes, public scrutiny, and increased security threats? So they kept trying. And a few months later, they succeeded again. But they were wiser now. No one was going to know except them and Dr. Ramirez. Riley refused to take a pregnancy test at home for that reason. She thought she could trust her staff, but then again she had trusted Gladys, and look how that turned out.

But now she was into the second trimester, out of the most dangerous window, and in certain outfits, she was starting to show. She’d had to avoid some of her favorite shirts and dresses, and Hana had made a few comments that implied that she’d figured it out for weeks now. So she and Drake invited Liam, Maxwell, Hana, Olivia, Bertrand, and Savannah over for dinner. It was exciting to share their happy news, even if they didn’t get to announce it so much as Olivia called out the ridiculousness of their charade when Riley had to excuse herself due to nausea within 30 minutes of everyone’s arrival. On the other hand, it felt a little sad, to lose that shared secret between her and her husband.

Because now this was the nation’s pregnancy, and never had that been more clear than tonight, as a stylist zipped Riley into a long gown that was as tight as clothing she’d worn before her pregnancy, clearly meant to highlight her bump that was still pretty damn small. Meanwhile, a makeup artist and a hairstylist, both also Madeleine’s “gift” for the night, primped and prodded. Kate Middleton didn’t let her hyperemesis stop her from looking polished, Madeleine had snipped when Riley balked at the whole styling crew, and her children were much farther away from the crown.

“The mother of the next monarch needs to look like a queen, not some sickly, sloppy piece of work with bags under her eyes.”

Riley had a lot of thoughts about that she would have expressed if she was so damn exhausted, so she settled instead for a middle finger thrust in Madeleine’s direction. Oh well, a little impulsivity was probably excusable under these circumstances.

It all felt so surreal, attending this ball thrown in honor of her son or daughter who was still just a possibility at this point. A lot still could go wrong here, not the least of which was her puking on some diplomat’s shoes in the next hour. As she sat waiting for Madeleine to come and get her, letting her know that they were ready for her entrance as the womb that carried the guest of honor, she felt like she was walking through a fog. Riley Liu would have said, “Screw this shit,” and run away, hopping on a flight or catching a bus. Getting the hell out of this world full of pressure and expectations and demands. But Riley Walker couldn’t do that. She had obligations, and she had to see them through.

She heard the door opening, but didn’t turn to face Madeleine, wanting a few more moments with just her child, no matter how fleeting they would be.

“Hey, so I got a plan to get us out of there in 90 minutes. Two hours, tops.”

She let out a sigh of relief before she even fully processed her husband’s words. He was always finding ways to give them a little more time to be just… them. Not a duke and duchess, and now not the future king or queen’s parents. Just Drake, Riley, and now their little one.

“How’d you manage that?” she asked, turning towards him as he crossed the room and crouched down in front of her chair. She noticed he hadn’t escaped Madeleine’s grooming plans, wearing a brand new black suit with his hair parted awkwardly to one side.

“Easy. I got Maxwell to agree to give a toast that will last a minimum of 15 minutes as an ode to the best childhood moments of all of Cordonia’s kings and queens. I figure we slip out to get you some air, and we just never come back. Hana’s promised to deflect any questions about our location after we make our escape.”

She reached down, giving him a gentle smile as she ran a hand through his hair, getting rid of that awful part. Now he looked and sounded like her husband.

All too quickly, their moment of privacy was shattered as Madeleine bustled in, taking one look at Drake’s hair and rolling her eyes.

“And just what do you think you two are doing? You’re supposed to make your entrance in less than a minute!”

“Just taking a moment in between,” Riley said as Drake stood up, squeezing her hand as he pulled her to her feet.

“Well, moment’s over. Let’s get going.”

It wasn’t how she would have chosen to go about this whole pregnancy thing, but for better or worse, this was how it was happening. As Drake held tight to her hand as they walked down the hallway, she was glad for was many doubts and uncertainties as she had about this entire heir-to-the-throne situation, at least they were fumbling through this together. They might have both been out of their element, but they had each other, and maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to get them through all of it.

Tags: @dcbbw @jovialyouthmusic @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @riley–walker @thequeenofcronuts @notoriouscs @butindeed @choicesjulychallenge @kinda-iconic @mfackenthal

#drake walker #drake x mc #trr #trh #the royal romance #the royal heir #trr fanfic #trh fanfic #choices trr #choices trh #choices #choices stories you play #playchoices #choices fanfiction #choices july challenge #tw: miscarriage #tw: pregnancy loss

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besidemethewholedamntime · 4 years

Text

a bunch of hocus pocus

Fitzsimmons + Raking Leaves

{Read on Ao3}

Jemma steps out of their house on the first Sunday in October and finds the path carpeted in red/golden leaves. It’s a glorious sight, truly, and with the hills rolling in all directions and the wind whistling gently through the trees it makes a spectacular picture to send to her family back in Sheffield.

It’s beautiful, it really is, but the leaves on the path will only make it hazardous when the first frost of winter inevitably makes an appearance. They need to be raked up into a nice neat pile, the designated spot by the tree that they’ve marked for this exact occasion.

Fitz is in Glasgow, called there late last night by his mum who’s fallen and hurt her back. Nothing serious she’s been assured many times, but awkward and distressing for Fitz, who will take a few days to be shooed away from her house. Jemma can still see his face, phone in his hand, looking from her to their new daughter and back again.

“You’re going,” she had said, already dragging the suitcase out from the downstairs cupboard. “There’s not even a question.”

“You’re right,” he had said, dragging his free hand through his hair. “I just feel bad about leaving her.”

“She’s three months old, Fitz. A few days will not scar her for life, I promise you that.”

He’d nodded, exhaling heavily through his nose. “And you? You’ll be alright on your own?”

At first, she’d felt affronted – was she really that incompetent? – before realising that they’d had such little sleep as of late that only yesterday Fitz had put salt in her tea and Jemma had nipped to the shops with her pyjama top on, inside out.

“Yes,” she’d told him firmly. “We’ll be absolutely fine.”

Which they have been for the past twelve hours or so. Sarah had decided to sleep through the night for the first time in her short life and Jemma had managed to get down a full bowl of cornflakes before Sarah decided she would also like fed. Some washing and ironing has been done, and the living room has even been dusted for the first time in what feels like months, which is probably exactly how long it has been.

It’s just the leaves that present a problem. They need to be done, lest Fitz should break his neck on them when he returns, but Sarah isn’t content to be out of her mother’s sight and, Jemma thinks sadly, there’s only one of her.

The air is nippy and bites at her fingertips. She shivers, appreciating the view once more, before heading back inside. That’s when she sees the solution to her problem. Sitting on the hook behind the door, next to their jackets and scarves, is the baby sling that Sarah was gifted when she was born.

“Ah,” Jemma says, going over to inspect it. They’ve used it sporadically, out of forgetfulness rather than anything else. When there is two of them there never seems to be any need for it. It was a gift from May, who’d handed it over perfectly wrapped and with a smile and said, “This’ll come in handy. I hope you like it.”

Jemma feels herself smile. Of course, it would be Melinda May to the rescue. Hasn’t it always been?

“Come on then, darling,” she coos, taking it off the hook and walking over to her daughter who lies awake in her basket, blue eyes soaking in the world. “Let’s see if we can figure this thing out, shall we?”

It takes longer than Jemma was expecting. Firstly she has Sarah wrapped up in her winter wear (all gorgeously knitted by Daisy, who has taken up knitting in between saving the world), which is a feat in itself. Hats, it seems, are not her daughter’s favourite thing. Then she has to figure out how to manoeuvre an already irritable Sarah into position, a task that takes longer than she expected. After the fifth try she sets Sarah back down and rubs at her forehead, unsurprised when her hand comes away glistening.

“I know, I know,” she says as Sarah starts to mewl. “I just can’t figure it out. If I put your leg in that way then it seems like you’re hanging awfully low, but if I put it in the other way then it seems like your head is much too high.”

Jemma doesn’t remember having this trouble before. It just seemed so much easier when there was two of them to try and wrangle this contraption. She presses the heel of her hand to her eyes, not going to cry over something as silly as this.

“Right, let’s try this….” She brings out her laptop, pulling up YouTube, feeling like the biggest idiot in the world but accepting there’s no other way. It takes ten minutes, three videos and one very grumpy baby later but eventually Sarah is situated safely, if not entirely happily, against Jemma’s chest.

“Right then, darling,” she says, kissing the top of Sarah’s head. “Let’s go and rake some leaves, shall we?”

The view is breath-taking still, and even Sarah seems in awe of the hills and patchwork fields that surround their home. Her eyes are wide, drinking in everything there is to see, and not for the first time Jemma is reminded of how glad she is they moved here. This is the life they have envisioned for themselves, a home to call their own. A place to settle and have a family. This is what they deserve.

As she rakes Jemma sees the life they’ll have play out before her. There’s a corner of the garden that will be perfect for a swing set; she can already imagine Sarah will be quite the adventurer. There’s a tree with a sturdy limb, one that she’s sure would support a tree-house, designs of which she has already seen Fitz doodle away in his notebook late at night. This house was not chosen by accident. It’s going to give them everything they need, she’s sure of it.

It’s been a long time since she’s been able to just stand still and breathe in the frosty air and not have that permanent feeling of fear hovering at her shoulder. Yes, she’s worried for Fitz’s mum and she’s worried about Sarah and how they’ll manage to keep their draughty house warm in what promises to be an exceptionally cold winter, but she’s not afraid. There’s a feeling of ‘we can do this’ and nothing seems as insurmountable as it once did.

“Look around,” she whispers in Sarah’s ear, swivelling gently left and right to show her it all. “This is a wonderful place to grow up, isn’t it? This is exactly what you need.”

She’s been worried, when they’d first started looking at moving, that any place they’d picked wouldn’t be right. What if they thought it was a dream but it turned into a nightmare, the way it always seemed to before? What if they thought they were doing right by any future children they had, but it ended up being something held against them for the rest of their lives?

It was Fitz who had calmed her down, that stormy night when they were staying with her parents in the guest bed that was so enormous, she was afraid they’d lose each other in the middle of the night. He’d held her close, her head on his chest and his arm around her shoulder, and reassured her that everything would be fine.

“I’d live with you in a shack in the middle of the woods, you know that, right? We’ll be fine, Jemma. We just need to stick together and we’ll be fine.” He’d kissed her on the head. “I promise you that.”

They could have chosen a flat in the middle of the city, or a cabin on top of a mountain and it would have been fine, it would have been enough. What a change, to have Fritz be the one to soothe her fears and tell her not to worry. A change of their dynamic that has been their way since they were sixteen and yet it’s not unwelcome. A shake up is not such a bad thing every now and then.

Of course, with Sarah they are both frazzled, both the one to be peering into the baby books and scouring the netmums posts into the wee hours of the morning. She’s their whole world, this little bean who already has such a big personality it’s hard to believe. There’s nothing in this world they love more than her, not even each other. A scary kind of love, but one they wouldn’t trade for anything.

Jemma rakes leaves and thinks she wouldn’t trade any of this at all. Not the cold, not the leaves, not the sleepless nights and morning tantrums. Not one single second of it could she be persuaded to give away.

“You know, I used to be so afraid,” she tells her daughter, bouncing gently up and down as she rakes the leaves to their spot. “I used to be so afraid we wouldn’t get here, that something would stop us and we’d fall just short of our dream. It happened to us so many times before that I almost just expected it to happen again.”

All of those losses, those disappointments that she’ll never fully forget nor move on from. That sinking feeling in her chest that she became so accustomed to.

“But we got here, we did, and I’ve never been happier. And it’s such a silly thing to be thinking about while raking leaves, I know, and there’s not even any special reason for it.” She pauses, swiping away the beginning of a tear. “I’m just grateful.”

So incredibly grateful, filled with so much love she doesn’t know what to do with it. It won’t always be this way, she’s not stupid enough to think so. Some days it will be so hard that she’ll be transported to a time when everything was hard and she had to wade through the days like they were treacle and she had weights tied to her legs. But those days will not last forever, and once again the sun will shine and her daughter will smile and she’ll breathe the frosty air and decide yes, this was worth everything.

“This is a wonderful life, Sarah. It really is. Your father and I love you so much. You’ll have a ball.” She kisses her daughter on the head again, feeling silly and emotional but also blessed, and carries on raking the leaves into a nice neat pile so that her wonderful husband doesn’t break his neck on them when he returns, and so that winter may come at last.

#aosficnet2 #promptober 2019 #earth vs space #team earth aos #gosh i'm so behind #it's midterms week so i'm uploading this through tears #but it was a nice respite #and i love writing sarah!

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silvereddaye · 5 years

Note

Trope prompt, Vader/Amidala in a bookstore AU?

OK SO I started writing this prompt and it just kept going and going and going. It is now a short multi-chapter fic that I want to wait until I have it all completely written before I post it. BUT here is the first chapter.

~.~.~.~.~.~

Padmé found herself in the bookstore. A true bookstore of old flimsi books. There were shelves and piles of books everywhere. Each one worth a nice sum of credits. Printed books were rare. Flimsi was expensive. Why make books when there were holonovels and holovids? But Padmé loved this store. She especially loved the smell. She stopped, took a deep breath and closed her eyes. No library or archive of holonovels and datapads ever had this wonderful smell.

“It’s the books dying,” came a man’s voice.

Padmé opened her eyes and looked to her left. Standing a bit down the aisle was a man. He was tall and dressed in all black. He seemed to scream Imperial, but his hair was long and wavy instead of kept short in a military style.

“Excuse me?” Padmé asked.

“The smell,” he said evenly. “It’s the books’ materials decaying.” He looked over at her. He was gorgeous with a strong chin and cheekbones. But the most telling feature was his eyes. They were golden.

“Ah,” Padmé said. The man grabbed a book off the shelf and left. She thought that would be the last she would see of him.

She returned to the bookstore two weeks later when she had some free time in the afternoon. Again she took a moment to savor the smell of the books. There was a sense of reality that holonovels didn’t quite have. Perhaps because these words would be forever branded into these pages. There was a permanence here.

There was also that guy. He sat at a small table that was shoved in a corner. A few books were piled at his table, and he was reading one. He was as she had last seen him. All black clothing. The long hair. This time she noticed a scar that slashed along his face next to one of his eyes. He stopped reading and looked up. At once his golden eyes landed on her.

“It’s you,” he said dryly. She held her head up high and nodded at him.

“I’ll admit,” she said, “it’s rare to see someone in here twice who isn’t a collector or trader.”

“Which one are you?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Which one are you? A collector or trader?”

“Neither. I’m just an admirer.”

He cocked his slightly to the side. His raised a single eyebrow. “I take it you’ve been to this store on several occasions, and not once you bought a book?”

“No,” she replied softly. “They’re rather expensive …”

He let out a snort. “You cannot afford it, Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo? Surely if you can afford that fancy penthouse apartment and those gaudy gowns, you can afford a flimsi book.”

She glared at him. “What I spend my credits on is none of your business, Mr …?”

“Skywalker,” he said quickly.

“And yourself Mr. Skywalker?” she asked. “Which one are you? A collector or trader?”

“If I had to pick,” he said as he collected his pile of books, “a collector.” He took the whole stack and walked down an aisle with towering shelves on either side. She slowly followed him to the front of the store. She peered around a shelf to see him buying the whole stack. That stack had to be worth tens of thousands of credits. The old Togruta man who ran the shop smiled and bowed at Skywalker repeatedly.

After he left, Padmé approached the store owner. “I can’t believe he bought all those books,” she said.

“Oh he has become quite a good customer,” the Togruta replied. “Though I do wonder what it is he’s researching in all those books.”

“Researching?”

“He seems to be looking up old histories. Old, old histories. The type that are obscure. The type that may have never made it into a holonovel.”

Padmé nodded not wanting to look too nosey. She next saw Skywalker again only a few days later. She didn’t want to admit, but his words had bothered her. She had always wanted to own one of these real books, but had been indecisive about which one to get. Should she get a history book? A long winded adventure? A prayer book on forgotten mythologies? None of the books had yet to completely strike her interest.

She had collected a small collection and settled down at a table. She had quickly skimmed the first three books. They hadn’t kept her attention, but the fourth one had.

“The Distant White Stars?”

Padmé looked up. “Mr. Skywalker,” she said. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. After you last impressive purchase, you’re back again so soon?”

“I have yet to find what I am looking for,” he said. He glanced down at book. “Have you?”

“Have I? I’m not … researching anything.”

“I did not say you were researching. I said you were searching. While else would you come back so often?”

“Since you seem to know so much, Mr. Skywalker, tell me what it is I’m searching for.”

He sat down at the chair opposite of her. He placed his elbows on the table and leaned over. “It’s easy to tell,” he said in a low voice. Padmé found herself leaning in towards him. “You’re here whenever you get a free moment. You’re not searching for a book, but a story. You haven’t found it amongst the bright blue lights of holonovels despite your best efforts. Something is eating you up inside. A hunger you can’t quite ease. And my guess?” He paused. Slowly a charming smile spread across his face. “You’re looking for a romance.”

She jerked her head back as she realized how close she was to him. She could smell him. Feel his warmth. Her cheeks burned red.

“Don’t be silly,” she said collecting herself. He continued to smile and raised an eyebrow. His eyes purposely darted to her book.

“The Distant White Stars. This was before the hyperdrive as we know it was invented. The young woman goes off to explore space. Her messages back to her lover take more and more time to reach him. He is aging faster than she is. Yet he never moves on. Never finds another lover. He dies old and waiting for her next message. She continues on in her days wondering why her lover stop responding to her messages.”

Padmé had to pause. “You’ve read this story?” she asked. “Are you searching for a romance too?”

“No,” he said quickly and lowly. “I am looking for a truth.”

“Oh?” she asked.

“If you are prying, dear senator, that is all you will get out of me. But if you enjoy that book, might I suggest looking at The Code of Uka or maybe you can find a translated story of a Brush of Air.”

He placed his gloved hands flat on the table and pushed himself up. He nodded and disappeared. The next visit to the bookstore Padmé looked up both books Skywalker had mentioned.

The Code of Uka was about a system ruled by a monarchy that passed along the females of the bloodline. A young princess was trying to prove she was more than her villainous mother by helping refugees of a planet her mother had ruthlessly conquered. She fell in love with her bodyguard. However, her family was not pleased with her pursuits. So they summoned her back home and put her through intense brainwashing. She returned to the refugees and ordered the army to kill them all. When her lover found her, she begged him to kill her. He did so.

The Brush of Air was just as sad. It was a myth about a goddess of the stars and a god of the earth. However, they could never be together. The sky and clouds constantly keeping them apart. The only time they could touch was when she dipped below the horizon.

Why was Skywalker reading these stories? The shop owner had said he was looking up old obscure histories. Skywalker said he was looking for a truth. An unsolved mystery forgotten by time? There were plenty to be found. The galaxy was old. Civilizations had come and gone. How many had gone unnoticed?

She was sitting down on a bench a week later when Skywalker sat down next to her. He placed a pile of books in his lap. He leaned over. His arm pressing against hers. He looked down at the yellowing page she was reading.

“A rather biased history of the Mirialan Trade Dispute.”

She could feel how warm he was. She should lean away or even just push him, but she didn’t. She instead became very still.

“Sounds rather dull,” he said as he leaned back over into his own space.

“I uh tried those books you recommended,” she said. “They were very good. Sad, but good.”

She looked over at him. A brilliant smile flashed across his face. Force. He was very good looking.

“Looking for more?” he teased. She couldn’t help but blush.

“If you know some more,” she said. “Though I am curious as to why you yourself know of such stories.”

“My mother,” he said a bit sadly. “She was quite an avid reader. These were her favorite stories. She would …” He paused and she noticed a bit of red on his cheeks. “She would read these stories and then retell them to me when I was a child.”

“Really? Such tales?”

He shrugged.

Padmé asked, “And she could afford such books?”

A sad look crossed his face. “No,” he said. “She was … tasked with organizing and keeping clean a personal library. She would peak into the books during her long days.” A small smile spread across his lips as he clearly thought of his mother. “I would suggest reading The Priestess of Hotorine.”

The two read side by side on the bench until Skywalker collected his pile of books and left. It wasn’t until her next trip she looked at The Priestess of Hotorine. In it the priestess had to drink water from a sacred spring to keep herself clean and holy. She falls in love with a traveling smuggler, but tries to fight off her feelings for him. When she finally decides to leave with him off planet, it was revealed she was dying. The sacred spring water had slowly poisoned her body.

Padmé also found a small note hidden inside the page written in a bit of a messy scrawl.

Try The Blue Expanse of the Tiphon System. -S

She couldn’t help but smile. She found that book. Like the others it was a sad story of star crossed lovers that never got their happy ending. But inside was another note leading to another book. And to another and another. Whenever she saw Skywalker at the store, she would thank him and smile. They would talk briefly of the stories she had read, and then they would both sit side by side and read quietly.

“You know,” she said after a few months since they had met, “I still don’t know what it is you’re looking for in those books. Perhaps I could help you out?”

Skywalker paused. He looked at her. His striking gold eyes seemed to dig into her. It felt he wasn’t seeing her on the physical level, but on a spiritual level.

“I am looking for a planet,” he said slowly.

“A planet?”

“Kesh.”

“Kesh?”

“Yes. It exists out in Wild Space.”

“Why are you looking for it? How do you even know it is there?”

He smiled. That smiled sent a shiver up her spine and a twist in her stomach. “My mother was from there.”

“And she does not know about her home planet?”

“Oh she knew about it,” he explained. “She ran away when she was pregnant. I’m not completely sure what she ran away from. I only know she wanted a better life for me …” He sighed.

“So, this is the truth you are looking for? The truth about who you are? Perhaps about your family?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “There have been some … interesting claims about my father. But perhaps I just want to know more about the place. Problem is I can’t find it. My mother never told me its location.”

“I take it she’s dead,” Padmé said softly trying not to sound too crass.

“Yes,” he said. “And it’s hard to find much of anything about this planet. Doesn’t help there is a mid-rim sector known as Kesh.”

“Anything I should look for to help you?” she asked.

“The Old Sith Empire after the Great Hyperspace Wars settled on an outer rim planet known as Dromund Kaas. From there the empire rebuilt itself and launched its attack on the Republic in the Great Galactic War. The old Empire eventually dissolved until recently when Emperor Sidious returned the Sith Empire to its proper place in the galaxy.”

“Spoken like a true Imperial,” Padmé muttered. Skywalker eyed her.

“Not a fan?”

“I was only fourteen when the Republic fell,” she explained. “But Naboo is a religiously democratic planet, despite birthing our current Emperor. I still believe in democracy.”

He smiled and continued. “Well during the Great Hyperspace War, there was a great Sith dreadnought. The Omen. It was mining ore to use for the upcoming invasion of the Republic, but was attacked by Jedi. It was knocked off course in hyperspace and crash landed on the planet Kesh. The surviving Sith crew convinced the natives they were the Skyborn. Gods of the Kesh religion.”

“Does this have anything to do with your name?”

He let a small laugh. “Yes it does. I am a descendant of those on board the Omen.”

“So you are a Sith?” she asked in a low voice. Her heart squeezed in her chest fearing the answer. He didn’t respond. He only smiled, and it did not reassure her. There seemed to be a glint of danger in those gold eyes of his. There were only two known Siths in the current Sith Empire. The Emperor Sidious and his heir Darth Vader.

“The Omen crashed on Kesh some 4,500 years ago,” he continued. “It is an isolated planet. How my mother got off, I do not know. I only know that she barely escaped with her life. There are no known current routes to the planet. My only hope is that perhaps there is something in old texts such as these.” He waved to the shelves around them.

“And once you find its location, what will you do? Go to it? Go be the god they think you are?”

A crooked devilish smile spread across his lips. “Who wouldn’t want to be treated like a god?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t.”

He sighed. “That’s a shame,” he said. “You would make a fine goddess.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?”

He leaned in. “What would happen if I say yes?”

His side was pressed against hers. She couldn’t help the heat racing through her body as her heart started to pound faster and faster. She glanced down at her lap. One of his hands covered in a smooth leather glove came gently under her chin and tipped her head up so she had to look at him.

“Hmmm?” he purred. He leaned in closer. She could feel him. Smell him. She took a deep breath of it. “You haven’t found your story yet. Perhaps it isn’t one you’ll find in a book.”

He was so close. She could feel the breath of his voice against her lips. Then she felt his lips against hers. She gave a small startled jump, but didn’t pull away. Instead she leaned into him. His other gloved hand slid up into her hair as he pulled her closer to him.

And then he pulled away. He licked his lips. There was a satisfied look on his face. “I’m afraid it’s time for me to go,” he said. “Until next time.” Then he was gone leaving Padmé alone on the bench in the bookstore. Her fingers came to rest on her lips as she remembered their kiss.

#my writing #prompt #ask silver #skyborn #anidala #vaderala #darth vader #padme amidala #praetor-canis

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taletellersm · 7 years

Text

Notes On The Wind.

NOTE #2

“Every day we wake up and look at the world around us. We look at the sky, roads, people, trees and everything in between but we never really see anything, do we?”

She jumps at least a foot in the air when she hears me. “You have to stop scaring me like this” she says and I laugh. She needs to stop being silly first and I might just consider it. I lay down on her bed, which nobody has slept in for at least four days. “Why were you asleep on your homework?” I ask her and she avoids the question. “I’m busy she says and I roll my eyes. Of course she’s busy ,she’s always busy the girl was born busy I think. “I need to get this done if I’m ever going to amount to anything in life” she adds and I want to smack my head against the wall.

She is in high school, most of it isn’t even going to matter in a few months. She hears me say it and rolls her eyes but I decide to dive into my story immediately mostly because she’s already started working on her project and this is the only way I’ll get her attention. “One morning as I left my house to get some work done like I always do, I just happened to look at the sky. I didn’t do it for any particular reason but when I did, I realized that it was indeed a beautiful day. “

“Can you take your monologue somewhere else? please” She asks me and I ignore her as I do when she’s being like this. I know this girl better than she thinks and so I know that she needs to hear this.

“My realization however-“I go on without a pause, “didn’t stop at this. It dawned upon me that, even though I left my house almost every day, I couldn’t remember the last time I had actually looked around me to admire the vast expanse of azure hills lining the horizon. All things human spend their days looking for some sort of action, adventure or stimulation and when we don’t find it we create it. We do it knowing or unknowingly at work, with our family and friends or sometimes all alone by going out on our own. What we don’t do is go with it when the adventures come looking for us.”

She turns around in her chair this time and smirks at me, “why must you always talk like you’re in a movie?” she asks and I roll my eyes. “Why must you always stay in your room on weekends?” I ask, “And weekdays and holidays. “I continue. That seems to do the trick and she turns back to her work. I know she’s listening to me because her pen hasn’t moved once since she’s turned back.

I know I speak like I’m in a movie, I do it on purpose, mostly because I can.

“In our fast-moving, lively world, we barely ever sit down and look at the things all around us. We don’t just visit a place to look at the view - to sit down and not do anything, to listen and not talk, just for a little while. Our days turn to weeks, months and even years, all blended together in the unhealthy concoction we choose to think of as life. Everyone, from men and women at work to students at school, suffer thorough life rather than live it.”

Her breathing is harsher I can tell, but I must go on because she needs to hear this, for both of us. “Men women and children like you”, I say getting up and walk towards her. I sit down on the chair beside her and look at the work she’s doing. Perfectly made projects, files that have been beautifully covered and neatly stacked notebooks and diaries all filled with her colour coded class notes and additional help notes.

“Why do we do all this?” I ask her,remembering how my work desk back home looks somewhat similar. I examine a stack of papers all awakening a deep sense of nostalgia in me. We really are a bit extra aren’t we? She looks at me with irritation mostly because she doesn’t want to hear this. If I were to walk out of here right now she’d immediately go back to working like a possessed woman. Working like she has been for the past four and a half days.

‘For a good life?’ she says, and I shrug. I honestly didn’t expect an answer but now that I have one I must keep the conversation going. “That maybe correct, but you can’t possibly be thinking about how to make your life better all the time or you wouldn’t be sitting here talking to yourself.” It seems harsh I know but it must be said for she truly needs to hear this before it’s too late.

'For money then?’ she adds almost instantly and doesn’t wait before blurting out something about a perfect future.

“All true points”, I say, “but do we know what this good future we look forward to is? Is it about driving a good car, having a huge house or being famous?” She looks out of the window for a long time after that so I continue with my line of thought knowing that she’s listening to me while simultaneously being at war with herself. “While chasing this idea of a good life and ideal time you’ve lose out on what you already have. The beautiful day I was missing would be a perfect example of this as well. Our ideas of a perfect future come from books, movies or just from a distant corner of your own mind but you can’t live in any of these places, not permanently at least.”

“But those are all good things aren’t they?” she asks almost angrily and I understand how she feels. I am about to say something but she stands up suddenly. She stands and holds up her hand taking deep breaths as if to reign in that temper of her’s that I’m much too familiar with. “You are telling me that its wrong for me to be ambitious to want to succeed; to want good things in life, aren’t you?” she seems to realize how angry she suddenly feels and how off topic she is because moments later a look of extreme guilt washes over her face. “I don’t always get this angry “she says and huffs as I chuckle at her expense. She mutters under her breath as I look around the room we’re in. Baby pink walls covered with paintings, drawings, quotes pictures and flashcards of all kinds. She’s gotten so used to them she doesn’t even read them anymore. I know she doesn’t.

Her eyes are red rimmed and bloodshot because of the lack of sleep. Her hair a shabby mess of waves and curls held on top of her head by a hair tie. She looks like someone threw her in a dryer. This girl hasn’t slept for more than five hours at a stretch in at least a year and now she hasn’t even slept that much in days. I let myself worry about her for a moment before passing her a bottle of water. She sits down and looks at me expectantly. “I want to hear it “she says and I settle some nonexistent creases on my clothes.

“In this future you think of all the time, our house is a certain size, our paycheck a certain amount and our partner with a particular kind of look, right? We dream of all this while ignoring the fact that while searching for something that doesn’t exist yet, we are letting go of something that does.” She seems to understand what I mean and lets out a world weary sigh.

“Are we going to make it?” she asks and I smile at her. “Yes, yes we are” I say and some colour returns to her cheeks, “but not if you keep going like this” she nods her head and I wait for her to figure out what she wants to say. “How else am I supposed to do this? “She asks and I feel the helplessness creep into her voice. “If I do everything else, I’ll never get my school work done. If I don’t get it done I won’t pass and if I don’t pass I’ll never succeed so tell me what to do”

Everything she says is true to some extent but what she doesn’t understand is that you can’t put your life on hold forever and that doing something that makes her happy but wouldn’t contribute directly to her work is not reason enoughto berate herself for a week. You cannot just look at life as it keeps moving forward around you and decide to catch up with it later. You will not go to you first party at sixteen a year later or find yourself as a teen a few years from now. People might tell you lies about how things get better when you’re older and settled but the truth is that nobody ever grows out of their teenage self. Your instincts will always be the same as they were when you were seventeen. You will learn the most important lessons of life in your teens, you will find yourself and carve out your personalities during that time and you can’t really do all of that is you’ve put your life on hold for years. you cannot expect yourself to grow into a fully functional adult if you try to skip your teens.

I shake my head as I watch my 17-year-old self sigh and look out at the night despondently. I know her so well because I was her, I am her. I remember being in this place, I remember this week. I remember how desperate and helpless my parents had seemed because I grew paler and duller by the day. I remember falling sick and not caring about how toxic my relationship with my work was. I smile at her and pass her another bottle of water. “You have worked hard, you have done your bit and now you need to do your thing and relax. You need to stop avoiding life. I’m not saying you should lose control entirely but you should at least be a little wild, this is the time for it isn’t it?”

She shakes her head a little and looks at her abandoned books. “I haven’t read anything that wasn’t a textbook in a year” she says and I understand how she feels. “I want to be able to read again she says and I smile encouragingly at her, ‘I want to read and write, go out and be silly I want to do everything”

I see that she understands what I mean and feel like things might go differently this time.

“You should do it; all of it” I say and get off the bed as she seems to get ready for a good night’s sleep. “Do things that make you happy, work and succeed and do everything else as well. Make sure you don’t regret the life that you’ve lived when you’re older.”

She’s slipped into a delicious slumber by the time I’m done and I suppose my work here is done.

With how ambitious we are these days, we tend to forget about ourselves. We forget that we’ll only be able to work if we’re healthy, that there will be no reports or articles and files if we no longer exist. We forget that time won’t wait for us to finish work. Which is why we must do things just for ourselves every once in a while.

Our daily reason for happiness could be as simple as a sunrise and the feeling of the cool breeze on a summer afternoon or as complex as childbirth and the bliss of a loved one’s presence. Although we all understand this yet, as time goes by our desperation for the perfect time in life increases to a point that were blinded by it. By the time we even realize our mistake, what we already had is gone and what we wanted never really existed.

All of this I learned as I grew older and now that I’ve passed this knowledge to seventeen year old me, I hope that she will go out and look at the entire world or take a dive into the ocean { maybe learn to swim since I never really did} ,drive on new roads with no destination or inhibition for that matter. I hope you will put your fears behind yourself and speak up however and whenever you want. Maybe once we stop chasing and looking for the illusion of our desires we might actually stumble upon and finally see what we have been subconsciously waiting for all along.

#notesonthewind #writerscreed #stories #creedrescue

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deadromance619 · 5 years

Text

I Miss You

(Warning: there are a erotic scene where she talks about losing her virginity)

There's something I need to get off my chest while I write in this book, because I've changed in the past year almost to the point I'm no longer recognized as the two-week High Lord of the Paladin order. I cut my hair, my eyes have permanently changed to gold, and I have a sun-kissed tan, and I rarely walk around in full plate anymore. Most of the time I've been wearing the kind of plate that only covers parts of my skin, it feels really good feeling the heat, and the light bronze color my skin has taken has redefined the way I build muscle. I see strength and tone as I look at myself in the mirror, I am strong, beautiful, and when I need to be, intimidating. Since I've been back I've been having sex, I was having sex before I got back to Orgrimmar. These days I've been trying to find a way to cure this itch. I know this doesn't make the Paladin order look traditional or stereotypical. If anything, I know I'm making the order look bad as a representative, but I'm not the High Lord, I'm just Perfectia Dawnlight, 26 years old. So, focused on the well beings of the self-indulging, vain, narcissistic, closed minded, maniacal, anal retentive pains in the ass. That is my people, and the perfect allies for the Horde. The Legions gone, kind of knew things would work out though, but the world once again is on a brink of destruction and this dream I have of living a normal life seems a little far off.

I highly doubt the war will ever be over and even if we stop the planet of Azeroth from cracking open like an egg. My aunt Telavani keeps saying something is coming, he watches, he waits, and he will soon be upon us, when the time is right. It worries me that she says this with so much glee, but she hasn't usually been wrong in her visions, she knew the Ashbringer would crack. All of them have cracked actually and I know I might be spoiling the overall story of Draves (he's the dwarf I was talking about in my last entry), but he sells new Ashbringers to the adventurers of Azeroth. Imagine my surprise when I came back home and seeing a Ashbringer on the backs of almost every paladin I saw, all claiming the title of Highlord. Some of them were cheaply made though, some of them were broken in pieces barely retaining their form, or reformed into completely different images, and some were corrupted with fel magic. I suppose with the Legion being what it was it shouldn't have just fallen on me to deal with Sargeras by myself, but as it turns out I wasn't needed at all, which is fine. I didn't do anything about Deathwing, and the Draenor campaign made me realize that I don't want to do this my whole life, and this pirates life is...well.

The feeling of salt spray on my face, the wind whipping by my ears, the gulls screaming overhead, up on deck under the sky, with nothing between you and the horizon. Every dusk and dawn a startling, but breathtaking scene as the sun comes and goes reflecting off the ocean, leaving a trail of gold in its wake, and the sky dyes itself in vivid orange and purples. Also, a gallon of rum and a new bedmate to plunder, sometimes two or five at my beck and call, ready to please any deep-rooted, selfish desire I had. And now I'm back to this. Trying to desperately scrape off some bedmates from people still obsessed with remedial tasks of skills and war craft.

Men, men with their honor, pride, strength, celibacy, power, I mean what's the point? Life is so so fleeting. Why not throw it on the fire and enjoy some of those animalistic impulses. Don't get me wrong I like Orgrimmar, its hot, dingy, and smells like boar shit baking in the sun, but it's home. There's also a level of honesty to its people, they will rob you blind, but at least they’re honest about it. Also, I like a little dirt from time to time and the dirt roads are soft enough to walk around bare footed if you stay off those mechanical goblin contraptions. Also, they seem to be the only Horde capital city that has a functioning navy, so big plus there. The paladin order used to be so important to me, being in those halls of the chant of Light would make me feel so secure, but there was also something missing… bathrooms. I can't believe I was even thinking about putting a bathhouse or a spa in that place, carved into a mountain, cold, dower, everyone so uptight they can't even take a piss. The idea of them walking around naked in a steam filled room or enjoying an open air bath lined with fallen leaves and flower blossoms is beyond farfetched. I really wanted to do it though, but nothing has really changed since I took my first steps in there. What would they think if they knew I was sexually active? Get her married, get her pregnant, make sure her and her husband are making barely enough to get by, to care for two people. "If she wants to have sex, she should be settling down, and only sleeping with her husband. If she tries to escape that life, we would have every reason to burn her at the stake." They would say.

While I was undercover during the Pandaren expedition. Garrosh Hellscream knew that I could pass off as a high elf if I stop taking in arcane magic for a few days, and that's when I met Oranio. A draenei hunter, that could clearly see I was not skilled with a bow or double swords or anything that rangers were supposed to do. I nearly blew my cover when rangers of the Silver Covenant saw what I couldn't do. While there, he really helped. I was so scared back then, that I couldn't use any holy power. Also, with the need to refill from an arcane mana source, and the only thing I could do to keep my body from going into shock was a rationed mana potion that I was supposed to take with a drink. He helped me enough to at least make it look like I knew what I was doing, how to hit a target with an arrow, how to flurry with double swords and spears, and one day he told me he liked spending time with me, and he didn't want to leave Dalaran, even though his contract was almost up. I told him he should go back. "I may never see you again." Oranio said infuriated. I looked away and shook my head, "Thank you for helping me these past few months," I smiled through my words, "but it's better if you go back, back to the Alliance." Not making eye contact, trying to sound cold and distant. He reached out for my arm with concern in his body language, but I didn't look at his face. I pushed away his hand, "Not even a smile and a fond farewell? Or even I'll miss you." Oranio took a deep breath and sighed, "You seem upset."

I shook my head and kept my head down, "I'm not upset, it’s better for the both of us. I'm a High Elf, you're Draenei, it would never work." I looked up at his face. "Melfina you're crying."

Melfina was my cover name, it wasn't that I didn't feel the same way, truth be told I did feel the same way. I just didn't want to tell him that my actual job was to write reports for Garrosh Hellscream, so members of the Horde would know when the breaks were during the Silver Covenant patrols, but once again I couldn't control my emotions.

He forced me to hug him, I told him to let go of me, and hit him in his chest, I kept saying I was sorry, and that you have to go, and he kept asking what was wrong, he couldn't have gotten the picture that I was trying to make.

One of the other High Elf's showed up while I was upset and asked, "Hey you guys okay?"

I pushed him away and tried to gain some composure, I looked at the High Elf that was concerned. "Yeah, " I wiped off my eyes and nose, "Oranio was just telling me that he was leaving, right?" Oranio didn't say anything, I ran away toward the opening in the sewers, the Underbelly, under Dalaran. I heard Oranio start to give chase, I turned around and said, "Just leave me alone, okay! Go home!"

There was another High Elf there, so he didn't chase me. I ran to the end of the Underbelly, right out to the opening that outlooked all the Crystalsong Forest, sat down, and stuck out my feet. It was the place I usually wrote my reports before I needed to turn them in, but I just sat there, taking in the view, trying to calm myself down. I was told that if anyone saw me there with my reports I should jump, but I hope that they knew that I could use a spell that would stop me from getting hurt from a fall like that. A few minutes later I heard the hoofs steps of Oranio, "You're not going to jump, are you?" he asked.

I looked outward and shook my head, "No. Don't be silly." "You keep saying I should go." Oranio said I looked at him in the eyes this time, nodded my head, and looked back out to the horizon. "But it seems like you don't want me to." Oranio stated.

I looked down and shook my head.

"Could you scoot over, I'd like to sit down as well?" He asked.

I scooted over, and he sat down next to me, "Breathtaking view from here." He said as he looked out.

I laughed, "Yeah." I said as I looked out to purple and white trees that littered the forest.

I felt Oranio look at me even though I was looking outward, "So why do you NOT want me to leave?" He asked.

I shrugged, shook my head, and looked downward. "So why do you want me to go back?"

I slowly looked at him in the eyes and he smiled at me.

I hugged him.

"Hey." He said as he put his arm around me.

"I'm sorry." I said, holding on to him. "I can't tell you."

"You don't trust me, Melfina?" he asked, but I wanted him to call me by my real name.

I leaned away from his embrace, "You shouldn't trust me…" I stated.

"I trust you." He said, as he stood with his back against the opening outside. He put his hoofs on the corner of the opening and held his hands on the top, "Melfina, I'm going to fall if you don't catch me."

I stood up, "Oranio get back in here." I ordered, but he let go and I saw him go backwards, I grabbed him by his leather tunic keeping him from falling, "What the hell do you think you’re doing, you could get yourself killed."

He held his hands out, holding them outward, only being held by a piece of leather, "You see, I trust you." I laughed and pulled him toward me. "We must trust one another with our lives if we can trust each other on the battlefield." He said.

"Don't take a stupid risk like that again,” I demanded, “what if I hadn't…" Something happened though, maybe his hoofs, maybe he slipped on a rock, but I saw him hit the corner of the opening with a grunt and he started falling. I knew this fall well, it was about a nine second drop. I jumped down face first and saw that he was flipping around like a coin, screaming. Four seconds, I cast Circle of Protection on him and I saw the clear bubble form around him.

He stopped screaming.

Six seconds, the vision on my eyes started to go, everything turned white with just a few light grays to make out shapes. Eight seconds, I cast a Divine Protection spell on myself, a golden sphere formed around me in a light hum, I felt myself hit the ground and all I saw was white. I kept my ears open, the amount of mana I've been using was only enough to keep me sustained in this form, but not for casting spells one after the other in such a short time. I couldn't see, so I yelled out for Oranio.

"I'm alive?" I heard him say.

I felt the hard brick ground when I was on all fours as the spell disappeared, "Oranio, are you okay?"

I heard him come closer on his hooves, "Melfina, are you okay?" he asked.

I stood up like there was nothing wrong and I heard him take steps closer to me, "Oranio!?" I asked loudly, "Do you have anything to eat or drink!?"

"You don't have to yell, I'm standing right in front of you. No, there's a lake not too far away though, we could drink from there." He stated.

My eyes are always the first thing to go when it came to arcane addiction, but I knew it was still a few yards away with trees and possibly beast of prey. I reached out and grabbed Oranio's hand clumsily and he held onto it, "Melfina, you're blind?" he asked.

"It will come back if I get something to eat or drink. I'll be fine." I said jokingly, swatting my hand in front of me.

"Okay." Oranio said holding on to my hand tighter, "Let's head over to the lake, I should be able to hunt something for us to eat. I truly regret coming so unprepared, but how did you do that?" He asked.

"Yeah, it would have been great to have a picnic with just the two of us." I joked, changing the subject, leaning into him more, and I heard him laugh.

"You saved my life, I think. It was you…" he said questionably.

I smiled holding my hand out, "Can we just focus on getting my vision back before we talk about our near life experience, please?" I asked nervously.

We came to the lake, I heard him go into the water, maybe waist deep and say, "It's fresh." I heard him cup water with his hands and put it in my mouth.

It didn't bring my vision back, but I felt that I could cast Paladin spells if I needed to. "I still need something to eat." I complained.

"Does this sort of thing happen a lot with your people?" Oranio asked.

I tilted my head down and sat down near the water. "I need you to not mention this to anyone." I stated.

"Why not?" He asked.

I looked where his voice was coming from, "Can you just trust me please?"

I think he may have nodded his head, but I heard him dive into the water and heard various splashes. Later he put a fish about 3 feet long on my lap. I pulled a knife from my cargo pocket and started scaling and gutting it. I heard Oranio gather wood for a cooking fire and he started it up. "Melfina, your eyes are completely whited out." He stated, while cooking the fish.

I nodded my head, "I know."

"So, you gave your vision to save my life as I was falling?" Oranio asked.

"You could say that." I stared blankly.

"You didn't have to." He said.

I furrowed my brow, "I couldn't have just let you die. We're friends and… " I could feel his gaze on me, I locked into it thinking he could see me staring. I put out my hand and felt that his face was inches away from mine. I touched the side of his warm skin, felt those funny tentacles under his chin and I smiled and laughed, "What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm sorry." He said, and I heard him stand up.

I sucked on my lips and they were burning with heat; my heart was beating in my chest a mile a minute. "Oranio, wait, you have something on the side of your face." I said jokingly.

"Oh really, did you feel something?" He asked with concern, I nodded, and I heard him get closer, bend down and I grabbed him from the tentacles under his chin and pushed my lips against his.

"Yeah, it was me." I said with a smile.

Oranio laughed, "I wouldn't feel right taking advantage of a blind girl." He stated with a smile I could hear in his voice.

I kissed him again, "But you thought about it." I moved my face toward the fire, "Could you get back to cooking. This girl is starving." I said with a smile.

I felt him nod and he moved back to the flame. I smelled the fish burn and reach perfection. He poked two sticks into it and handed it to me. I heard him munch on the fish and as the food went down my throat the colors made their dances and reached into their resting places, giving me my field of vision back. After finishing the meal, I looked over at him and he was shirtless. His big, lean body, and silver-blue coloring created a stunning contrast. I thought about those strong hands touching my pale ivory skin, my golden wavy hair, and my petite proportions. I had never seen them in that light before, they were always the enemy. I touched his warm skin despite how wet he was and how cold it was outside. He looked at me with a smile, and then serious look, and then mortified. He backed away from me, taking large panic breaths. I was surprised, but I thought I knew what it was. The cat was out of the bag, my eyes were glowing green again, leaving no doubt of my fel corruption, I put my hands in front of my eyes and saw the glow… It was in fact green. I drew my one-handed broadsword and backed away from him as well, and stood up, sword drawn. "Who are you?" he asked.

He reached forward for his bag, I came closer, and placed my blade under his chin, "Don't." I ordered.

I ordered. "Who are you?" He asked on his back, backing away from me.

I walked forward, keeping my sword no less than a few inches away from him. He looked like a scared child about to get spanked, I stood up proudly, with my chin up, looking down at him, "My name is Perfectia Dawnlight of Dawn Star Village, Paladin extraordinaire, and ally of the Warchief's Horde, and you… " I paused.

'You are in impingement to my plans', is what I was going to say, but I couldn't keep up the façade. A sharp stabbing pain hit me in the middle of my chest, and it made an acid like burning feeling fill my lungs and throat. I looked away and shook my head, putting my sword down at my thigh.

He lunged past me for his bag and pointed a hand size pistol at me, he stood up.

I heard him take deep breaths. I looked at him shaking like a leaf, "Go ahead." I looked at him with tears in my eyes, and walked forward, "I'm Horde, I'm the enemy, I'm a spy, everything I told you has been a lie."

He shook his head, "No, that's not true." I saw a strain of tears go down his eyes, "WHY DID YOU SAVE ME?! WHY RISK ALL OF THIS?!"

I stopped, looked away, and recalled my thought process, "You were someone to help me fit in with these rangers better, I never held a bow or held a sword in my left hand in my life. I was using you, I just made a lot of stupid mistakes, I couldn't keep my emotions in check." I shrugged, sniffed, and wiped my face.

"It wasn't all a lie, you didn't want me to leave." He shook his hand that was holding the pistol.

"OF COURSE I WANTED YOU TO LEAVE!" I yelled, "Don't you get it, I never wanted any of this? But one of us is going to leave here alive and one of us is going to die."

He shook his head, wiped his face with his free hand, "It doesn't have to be like that."

"Your Alliance, and I'm Horde, nothing can change that, that's just the way the world is!" I yelled.

Oranio shook his head slightly, he looked down, and threw his pistol in the water.

I dropped my sword on the ground and rushed myself into his embrace, kissing him, and holding him in between my legs. He laid me down on my back, kissing the sides of my neck. I looked to the lake and it sparkled, pinks, greens, and purples reflecting off the aurora borealis in the sky, nothing but the trees and wildlife. I felt his protrusion go through our leather clothes and poke right into my sensitive skin there, and I screamed out in pain.

"What's wrong?" He asked in concern.

"I've never done this before." I stated.

Oranio had a sympathetic look on his face, "You're a virgin?" He asked.

I looked away from him and nodded my head, "I'm only 20. I’m sorry if that bothers you, it's just, there hasn't really been a lot of time for boyfriends."

"No, it’s fine, I am sorry." He said. I stood up on my hands and butt, looked into his beautiful glowing blue eyes, and saw the glow of green I made on his skin from my eyes. "It's just, all those things I said. Like, 'those traitorous mana suckers' or 'damn those savage Horde'. I didn't think how I was making you feel. I hope I didn't make you sad." I saw him look down, "Forgive me."

I touched the side of his face, "I haven't felt lonely in a long time, I was happy." I kissed him.

Oranio half smiled and sighed. He stood up, jumped into the water, came up, and floated on his back. "Perfectia." He shouted while spinning around in the surface of the water. "Let's just get away from all this."

"From the Horde?" I asked thinking back. I walked into the water and he looked at me.

"Yeah. That's right." He swam to the side of me. I went into the water about knee high.

"Let's forget about the Horde and the Alliance." He looked up at me and he was about a foot in the water, on the shallow end, "You know, lets live a normal life. What do you say Perfectia?"

I looked down on the water and thought about all the things I had done, how I've almost completely devoted my life to justice and personal revenge, but I did like the idea. "Maybe I will…" I shrugged and paused. "People might find it to be a little strange."

I saw him smile, "There are a few people that would be delighted by the idea. Do you have any family that will come a long?" Oranio asked.

I looked down and thought, "My auntie would say yes. But Protecto."

"I can make him understand, Perfectia. If he cares about you…"

I interrupted him, "No, I’ll tell him. He's my dragon." I stepped into the water and swam about, the water was cold, but I adjusted to the temperature. I looked over at him neck deep in the water, "What will we do if we turn our backs on the Horde and Alliance?"

He thought back, "Argus, we can go back to Argus." I looked at him inquisitively and thought about how that whole planet was ravaged by the Burning Legion. "No, not that one, let's go to the Caverns of Time and see if they could take us to Argus, maybe even before it fell to the Legion."

I smiled and came closer to him.

"You have no idea how beautiful our home world was, so many stadium size buildings. Animals, tree's, parks."

"Horses?" I asked in excitement. "Do they race!?"

He laughed like it was so obvious, "Of course, it was a regular attraction, thousands of people come to see races."

I walked closer to him, "I could bring Lucy, she would be the fastest mare out there."

He smiled, "Of course." I dreamt up the fantasy, "I could ride Elekks too, maybe even breed race Elekks myself. Every year training up for that next big tournament."

"Don't forget show jumping, polo, and jousting." He added.

I held my hands in excitement smiling at the thought. "I would train all of my mounts, making them the best show ponies in Argus." I paused, "But what would we do after that, though?" I asked.

He shrugged, "We would go into our house to eat and listen to live music. We would be dressed in fine clothes and trade insults at passing by." I laughed at that, "I would tell everyone how beautiful and exotic my alien wife was."

"You would be the envy of every noble woman on the planet." I stated with a smile.

He looked up at the sky, "Every night we'd watch the rose-colored sunset over the planes and all the different colors stars and watch them disappear in the morning." He thought back, "Argus is really beautiful."

"It sounds like a wonderful place, that I'd like to see." I smiled but looked downward.

"Then we should make our way to the Caverns of Time, right now. There has to be some way." He grabbed my hand while I was in the water, but I pulled it away.

"I can't… " I held my eyes closed tightly, but the tears were falling down my face. I held my hand in front of my face, "I can't go with you." I couldn't hold it in anymore.

He came close to me, but I couldn't meet his gaze, I kept my eyes closed and felt him touch my shoulders, "Perfectia." It felt good for him to use my name, some of this pain went away. I looked up into his eyes, trying to keep myself from crying. I looked up at his face, there was this look of serious optimism, like everything was going to be fine. He placed his hand on my back, leaned forward, and kissed me.

It came to a bit of a shock as his lips pressed against mine but this painful feeling I was having was almost completely replaced with an electricity that came through me. He leaned me back so that my head was on the sand, on the corners of the water still locked in kiss. I was so nervous and shaking at the anticipation on the fact that he was going to be my first. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to." He stated as he looked down on me.

My mind went blank as I looked up into his eyes. I put my hands down his back, feeling his warmth, and rips on his back. Made my way down the small of his pants and slowly tried to pull it down.

It came as a bit of a shock to him, but I nodded my head to tell him it was okay. Our bodies were both completely submerged in water for as cold as it was, but my body accepted his warmth. I removed the rest of his pants and he locked a passionate kiss on me feeling his tongue go down my mouth, feeling the pressing of his manhood against the thin leather that kept us from joining.

It tickled this time and made me breathe in and laugh. I held on to him from under his arms and held on to his shoulders.

He put his forehead on mine. He unlaced my leather tunic, cupping both of my breast, massaging them, lifting them, pressing the firm flesh with his hands as his thumb lightly flicked across my nipples. That woke up something inside him, I felt his member press hard against me, hit my womanhood, it was hotter than before, and I let out a high pitch grunt, "I'm sorry." He apologized.

I shook my head in reassurance. I lifted my hips and took off my pants, "Perfectia." He said.

A surge of joy came through my head, I smiled holding myself around his neck. "I've been wanting you to call me that for a really long time." In spite of the cold water I grabbed his member and brought it close to my womanhood. I felt his burning heat press onto me.

I saw him breathe in deeply as he pressed and pressed. Oranio leaned forward as he closed his eyes, slowly putting his soft lips on mine, feeling the rough subble on my soft, ivory, porcelain like skin. I smiled as he nuzzled me with his nose, feeling the texture of his skin and those tentacles falling on the skin of my neck. He gently pushed me to the ground and holding me fast as I removed the last of my leather tunic. I saw him reach down and grab himself, taking short shallow breaths as he anticipated dropping his weight in me.

I felt him inside me, I wrapped my arms around him tightly. I wrapped my legs around him as well, I arched my back as he pushed it deep inside. I felt his warmth building and building, his intense heat passing into me, so much of him sink in immediately. I was expecting pain but there wasn't.

I saw him look down at us joined, in panic, "Oh my Light, Perfectia, your bleeding." I looked down and there was a string of blood coming up from the water from me, I shook my head at him.

"It doesn't hurt." I leaned my head forward and pressed my forehead against his, "Please keep going."

He wrapped his arms around me keeping his face close to mine, thrusting into me slowly, but continuously. We looked into each other’s eyes, but he occasionally came down for a deep tongue kiss. He moaned out my name in ecstasy, and I loved it when he said it. So, whenever he did, I rewarded him with a little squeeze, until he was just saying it louder and louder, and I was squeezing him tighter and tighter. I felt him start coming, like the blood in his member was rapidly circulating liquid under his skin, as he thrusted rhythmically, I gripped him tightly with my arms and legs, until I couldn’t hold it in anymore, reaching a limit a bit before him.

I let out a high pitch uncontrolled repressed moan from my mouth and felt my body shake uncontrollably.

He already threw his head back grabbing hold of my hips. I gritted my teeth as he slided his member in and out of me, until he finally strongly grabbed onto my hips and filled me with his seed. Oranio let out a seemingly painful sounding grunt as he held onto me tightly and started breathing like he was out of breath. He grunted through gritted teeth, he let a few more thrust, and I felt him fill me a little more. Still slightly out of breath he laughed slightly embarrassed, leaned forward to give me a shallow kiss on my lips, and he started to get up, but I brought him back down into my embrace. "Just stay like this for a little while." I said out of breath.

He put his weight on me, "Of course."

We stayed there for a few minutes looking into each other’s eyes, but he looked at me a little bewildered, "Is there something wrong?" I asked.

He slipped out of me suddenly, which did hurt, and I realize the cold might have numbed whatever pain I was having during the act, but he put on a dry shirt and saw that I was in a little bit of pain. "Perfectia, your eyes are blue again."

I put my hands over my eyes to check the glow and he was right, they were blue. "They give this mana potion every day that's supposed to keep my eyes blue, but maybe I'm not going to need it." I stated.

He leaned forward toward me and kissed me, "I guess were going to have to keep doing this if we want to keep those eye's blue." He said jokingly.

I grabbed one of his tentacles and kissed him back, "I hope so."

Losing my virginity felt great because of the coldness of the water, but it was painful when I tried to get out. I put on some wet clothes and couldn't really get up. "Oranio, I think I might need some bandages." I said.

He looked down at me, "I'll carry you."

I shook my head, smiled, and shyly objected, but he picked me up. When I was in his arms I relaxed leaning into his strong chest. "Take me to the clinic when we get back. I’m a little curious about what would happen if I got pregnant." I requested.

Oranio looked down on me and shrugged, "I suppose it’s not impossible, but we’re going to have to explain what really happen if we see a doctor."

I stared blankly, but blissfully, "I don't mind." I said.

Oranio carried me through the forest, through the teleporter that brought us to the top of Dalaran, he dropped me on the bed in the clinic, and we shyly explained what happened. They just wrapped me up with some antiseptic bandages and gave me some bed rest. But they said it was too early to say if something was growing, but I was somewhat hopeful. I fell asleep on the bed but felt his kiss on the top of my head before he left. I fell asleep peacefully and blissfully and completely forgot my reports hadn't been done for that night. My reports were actually taken, but I didn't know it at the time because they were back in the clinic before I woke up.

I saw Oranio just like I did normally to work on my archery, it was the most unproductive day we've ever had. We would take these breaks when no one was looking, and start kissing each other, and when I was on guard duty or patrol I had this child like skip to my steps which kind of bothered the person with me. When I went down to write my reports Oranio was there waiting for me. I ran toward him gleefully as he just sat there waiting for me and we… Well, I already went into details last time, but I realized he really liked holding me from behind, I liked it when he was in control, and it hurt a lot less this time. I didn't take the potion and I didn't need it, maybe there was something about Oranio that kept my eyes blue. I had to face the harsh reality that I hadn't come here to see him. I came here to write reports for the Horde and I had to do it right in front of him. I kept writing and crumpling up paper, I would start writing and looking over at him and I couldn't, I ripped out another page aggressively.

"What's wrong?" he asked concerned.

"I can't do this anymore." I complained.

"But you have to." Oranio said concerned.

I threw the paper and pen I was using on the ground. "I KNOOOOOOW!"

"Perfectia." He stood up.

I shook my head looking downward, "I told you not to call me that…"

It did feel good though. "Listen, there just patrol times, what's the worst thing that could happen?!" He stated.

I shook my head at him, disgustedly, walking toward him, "How…" He backed away from me and looked away, "You went through my reports?" I demanded.

"I…" he mumbled as he held up his hands and defense.

I pushed him out of the opening holding on to his leather tunic just like he was before. "HOW MANY MORE PEOPLE KNOW!" I demanded.

"No one." He pleaded, "Perfectia, I'm so sorry, please don't drop me."

I couldn't look him in the face, I looked at the drop that could have killed him, "I trusted you. I would have risk my life for you, I let you… " I felt another tear fall down my face.

"That was the most beautiful night I've ever had." He explained, "I would have wanted to spend more of…"

I shook him as he was on the edge, "Shut up, I never want to see you again. We were…" I pulled him back in, "Go home draenei, back to your Alliance. I'm going to tell them that my cover was blown, and the mission has failed." I ran away back to the Sunreavers and I heard him call my name as I ran.

Just like I said I told the Sunweavers that my cover was blown, but they said I needed to stay put for at least one more night. I went back to my assignment for one more night, one more patrol. The guard shift break where one replaces another usually takes about a half an hour and that's when I saw Garrosh Hellscream come out from the Darnassus portal. A group of draenei were waiting for him with shields in a front row and guns in the back row. A large number of trolls and orcs were holding a giant bell as it was pulled through the portal. "Hmph," Garrosh grunted, "My spy reported that this place would be fairly deserted, but it seems you were expecting us."

"Leave her out of this!" I heard Oranio, "We knew you’d be coming, but this doesn't have to end in bloodshed."

I walked where I heard them coming from and saw Garrosh shoot a disgusted glance at me. I drew both of my blades quietly from behind the phalanx without anyone of the draenei noticing I was there. Garrosh looked at me again, I nodded my head at him, and he gave me a smirk. "I will listen to your proposition for now." He said.

"Take that Bell back to Darnassus and we promise you safe passage back to Kaldorei. Or we cut you down here." One of the other draenei ordered.

Garrosh rolled his eyes and smiled, "Interesting, but I think I have a better proposition, I am not completely without mercy. You leave and let me go about my business, else I cut each of you open like the pigs you are!" he shouted.

I heard all the Draenei laugh, but Oranio stood up from the phalanx and put down his gun, "I can't do this anymore." He said.

The other Draenei's looked at him, "You're just going to turn your back on your brothers?" One of them said.

Oranio looked at all his comrades and gestured at everyone there, "This has to end somewhere." He turned away from his comrades and faced me. A smile came across his face as he saw me.

"Coward!" I heard Garrosh scream and that moment seem to go by in slow motion, Garrosh threw Gorehowl, his crude axe at Oranio’s back, and I saw that face turn from blissful to painful realization.

I ran toward him and caught him, "Perfectia." He whispered.

I held him in my arms tightly, "No please," I looked into his eyes, "I am so sorry. I didn't mean that I didn't want to see you, I forgive you, I trust you. Please don't die." I kissed him on the top of his head.

"I love you." He whispered, he fell limb, and he passed away in my arms.

I saw Garrosh and his men breaking through the phalanx, I let him fall on the ground and I stood up. I pulled Gorehowl from his back and I felt a spark go through me, but it wasn't a spark. It was a bolt of lightning that cracked and echo through the halls. It stopped everyone from fighting and they looked at me. My aura had changed to something as I held Gorehowl at the other end, like I held so many two-handed swords. It dragged on the floor as I stepped forward, and another bolt of holy lightning went threw me as I felt the change of the axe.

"The Ashbringer… " Garrosh said as he smiled maniacally, "…Interesting. Well I wanted to see what this thing could do. So, I might as well use it." Garrosh took a club off the wooden part of the Bell and banged it.

It let out a gong and black aura, a smoke that when Garrosh's men breathed it in they were choking on the floor, but he breathed it in deeply. His skin turned black, his eyes let out a silver glow, and the same glow came out of his mouth. An aura came out of him and a beast like figure formed around his body, he fell on all fours. Muscles on his back grew and screaming I rushed him with the Ashbringer trailing behind me. He moved like a four-legged beast, he came at me with his clawed hands low, but I was able to flip over his body. His momentum making him drag on the floor, but he clawed at the ground and came for another attack. I placed the Ashbringer on the ground and used its aura to blast holy fire in every direction knocking him backwards. I used ranged spells on him as he crawled around. I used the Light to summon fire and holy lightning. He dodged around it in this beast form, jumping from wall to wall. He let out a roar as he got close enough to pounce. I was able to use his momentum by putting the Ashbringer over my head and slamming him into a nearby wall cracking it. Garrosh let out another beast like roar, as he moved his head around savagely flinging bits of black drool at his sides. This time he came with a sideways slash, I blocked it, but I staggered from the hit. He spun around for another slash scratching into my back, but I was able to block his third attack with my sword and able to side flip over from under his fourth. He came downward with another slash sticking his claws in the ground. With his other hand, he put his hand around me, and threw me up in the air. As I came down he caught me and slammed my head into the ground.

Like an animal he tried to bite into my face but couldn't get the leverage to sink his jaws into me. He lifted me up again and slashed into me in mid-air slamming me onto a wall. I dropped the Ashbringer and it changed back into Gorehowl. He readied another pounce, but a strong fireball came at his side knocking him backwards. He was back to his normal self again. He looked at his hands and arms, surprised that he was in full control of his body again, "I think you used that bell for a little too long Garrosh." A familiar voice said. It was Aethas Sunreaver, "She reported that her cover was blown, and you thought it would be a good time to infiltrate?" He asked.

He picked up Gorehowl and he put it behind himself, "Hmph, I needed to make a move or everything we worked for would have been for nothing." Garrosh explained.

Garrosh picked me up by my neck and punched the end of Gorehowl into my gut. My eyes and mouth went wide as I screamed out with pain, "What are you doing?!" Aethas Sunreaver demanded.

“Garrosh no, please.” I pleaded as I tried to hold myself up from where he was holding me by my neck, “I might be carrying, I might be preg-“

He hit me again with Gorehowl, harder and lower this time. He knew what I was about to say, and I felt blood come up from my throat as I brought up my legs to block another hit, but I felt deep bruising and a slight crack to my pelvis bone. “No! Why?!” I screamed and cried as coughed out blood.

"I’m punishing traitors!" He looked at Aethas, "Do you have a problem with that?!"

I looked over at Aethas, he looked at me, put his head down, and shook his head.

"Good." Garrosh looked back at me, “You disgust me.”

He said to me. He readied another stick with the blunt part of his weapon, but three arrows went into his back. "What are you doing here, you damned monster."

Another familiar voice demanded. He dropped Gorehowl and took the arrows out of his back and looked at who shot them, holding me like a rag doll in his grip. It was Vereesa Windrunner and two of her High Elf rangers were with her. "Vereesa so good to see you again, I will give your best regards to your sister." Garrosh said sarcastically.

Vereesa pointed at me, "What are you doing with that High Elf. Answer quickly or the next one goes right in your eye." She readied another volley.

Garrosh threw me on the ground, "This is not one of your High Elf Rangers, she was a spy working for me, but she set up a little ambush for me and my men. Maybe you can do me a favor by putting her out of her misery."

Vereesa gestured to her ranger and he came closer to me, "Yep, she's Sin'dorei alright." He said.

"Bring her here." Vereesa ordered.

"You will do no such thing!" Garrosh screamed as he slammed his foot onto the ground and the ranger moved back, "I can still kill every one of you."

"And who’s going to help you move that Bell? The Alliance will soon bring their best and brightest, and even you won't be able to kill them all." Vereesa argued.

Garrosh rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, "Fine take her!" He kicked me while I was down in the gut.

The ranger nervously picked me up and brought me to Vereesa. "He killed him." I said. "He killed Oranio. Vereesa, I'm so sorry." I cried.

She petted me on the head, "I know child, but you did the right thing in the end. Get some rest." They took me to the Silver Covenant and brought me to a bed.

I wasn't sure how things happened with Vereesa and Garrosh, but she told me that her High Elves helped him move the bell to Pandora. I asked her why she would do that, and she said, "Garrosh thinks that thing is a weapon, but it’s nothing but a foul plague, and it will back fire." I couldn't really understand her logic, "I’m sorry about your friend, you were there when he died, did he have any last words?" She asked.

I shook my head as I recalled the thought, "I love you." I remembered, looking up at her, tears starting to fill my eyes. I touched my stomach with both of my hands, “We, we were supposed to…”

Vereesa gave me a shock of realization look, she shook her head at me, her face filling with despair, "Oh, you poor child." voice distorted with tears of sympathy. She hugged me while I cried on her shoulder for an hour. Point being I'm not going to let myself get hurt like that again. As I see Sylvanas going down that same road, I don't know, I would rather see the world burn then deal with that kind of pain again. I plan on distancing myself from all this and not getting too involved.

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readbookywooks · 7 years

Text

When Wendy Grew Up

I hope you want to know what became of the other boys. They were waiting below to give Wendy time to explain about them; and when they had counted five hundred they went up. They went up by the stair, because they thought this would make a better impression. They stood in a row in front of Mrs. Darling, with their hats off, and wishing they were not wearing their pirate clothes. They said nothing, but their eyes asked her to have them. They ought to have looked at Mr. Darling also, but they forgot about him.

Of course Mrs. Darling said at once that she would have them; but Mr. Darling was curiously depressed, and they saw that he considered six a rather large number.

"I must say, he said to Wendy, "that you don't do things by halves." a grudging remark which the twins thought was pointed at them.

The first twin was the proud one, and he asked, flushing, "Do you think we should be too much of a handful, sir? Because, if so, we can go away."

"Father!" Wendy cried, shocked; but still the cloud was on him. He knew he was behaving unworthily, but he could not help it.

"We could lie doubled up," said Nibs.

"I always cut their hair myself," said Wendy.

"George!" Mrs. Darling exclaimed, pained to see her dear one showing himself in such an unfavourable light.

Then he burst into tears, and the truth came out. He was as glad to have them as she was, he said, but he thought they should have asked his consent as well as hers, instead of treating him as a cypher [zero] in his own house.

"I don't think he is a cypher," Tootles cried instantly. "Do you think he is a cypher, Curly?"

"No, I don't. Do you think he is a cypher, Slightly?"

"Rather not. Twin, what do you think?"

It turned out that not one of them thought him a cypher; and he was absurdly gratified, and said he would find space for them all in the drawing-room if they fitted in.

"We'll fit in, sir," they assured him.

"Then follow the leader," he cried gaily. "Mind you, I am not sure that we have a drawing-room, but we pretend we have, and it's all the same. Hoop la!"

He went off dancing through the house, and they all cried "Hoop la!" and danced after him, searching for the drawing-room; and I forget whether they found it, but at any rate they found corners, and they all fitted in.

As for Peter, he saw Wendy once again before he flew away. He did not exactly come to the window, but he brushed against it in passing so that she could open it if she liked and call to him. That is what she did.

"Hullo, Wendy, good-bye," he said.

"Oh dear, are you going away?"

"Yes."

"You don't feel, Peter," she said falteringly, "that you would like to say anything to my parents about a very sweet subject?"

"No."

"About me, Peter?"

"No."

Mrs. Darling came to the window, for at present she was keeping a sharp eye on Wendy. She told Peter that she had adopted all the other boys, and would like to adopt him also.

"Would you send me to school?" he inquired craftily.

"Yes."

"And then to an office?"

"I suppose so."

"Soon I would be a man?"

"Very soon."

"I don't want to go to school and learn solemn things," he told her passionately. "I don't want to be a man. O Wendy's mother, if I was to wake up and feel there was a beard!"

"Peter," said Wendy the comforter, "I should love you in a beard"; and Mrs. Darling stretched out her arms to him, but he repulsed her.

"Keep back, lady, no one is going to catch me and make me a man."

"But where are you going to live?"

"With Tink in the house we built for Wendy. The fairies are to put it high up among the tree tops where they sleep at nights."

"How lovely," cried Wendy so longingly that Mrs. Darling tightened her grip.

"I thought all the fairies were dead," Mrs. Darling said.

"There are always a lot of young ones," explained Wendy, who was now quite an authority, "because you see when a new baby laughs for the first time a new fairy is born, and as there are always new babies there are always new fairies. They live in nests on the tops of trees; and the mauve ones are boys and the white ones are girls, and the blue ones are just little sillies who are not sure what they are."

"I shall have such fun," said Peter, with eye on Wendy.

"It will be rather lonely in the evening," she said, "sitting by the fire."

"I shall have Tink."

"Tink can't go a twentieth part of the way round," she reminded him a little tartly.

"Sneaky tell-tale!" Tink called out from somewhere round the corner.

"It doesn't matter," Peter said.

"O Peter, you know it matters."

"Well, then, come with me to the little house."

"May I, mummy?"

"Certainly not. I have got you home again, and I mean to keep you."

"But he does so need a mother."

"So do you, my love."

"Oh, all right," Peter said, as if he had asked her from politeness merely; but Mrs. Darling saw his mouth twitch, and she made this handsome offer: to let Wendy go to him for a week every year to do his spring cleaning. Wendy would have preferred a more permanent arrangement; and it seemed to her that spring would be long in coming; but this promise sent Peter away quite gay again. He had no sense of time, and was so full of adventures that all I have told you about him is only a halfpenny-worth of them. I suppose it was because Wendy knew this that her last words to him were these rather plaintive ones:

"You won't forget me, Peter, will you, before spring cleaning time comes?"

Of course Peter promised; and then he flew away. He took Mrs. Darling's kiss with him. The kiss that had been for no one else, Peter took quite easily. Funny. But she seemed satisfied.

Of course all the boys went to school; and most of them got into Class III, but Slightly was put first into Class IV and then into Class V. Class I is the top class. Before they had attended school a week they saw what goats they had been not to remain on the island; but it was too late now, and soon they settled down to being as ordinary as you or me or Jenkins minor [the younger Jenkins]. It is sad to have to say that the power to fly gradually left them. At first Nana tied their feet to the bed-posts so that they should not fly away in the night; and one of their diversions by day was to pretend to fall off buses [the English double-deckers]; but by and by they ceased to tug at their bonds in bed, and found that they hurt themselves when they let go of the bus. In time they could not even fly after their hats. Want of practice, they called it; but what it really meant was that they no longer believed.

Michael believed longer than the other boys, though they jeered at him; so he was with Wendy when Peter came for her at the end of the first year. She flew away with Peter in the frock she had woven from leaves and berries in the Neverland, and her one fear was that he might notice how short it had become; but he never noticed, he had so much to say about himself.

She had looked forward to thrilling talks with him about old times, but new adventures had crowded the old ones from his mind.

"Who is Captain Hook?" he asked with interest when she spoke of the arch enemy.

"Don't you remember," she asked, amazed, "how you killed him and saved all our lives?"

"I forget them after I kill them," he replied carelessly.

When she expressed a doubtful hope that Tinker Bell would be glad to see her he said, "Who is Tinker Bell?"

"O Peter," she said, shocked; but even when she explained he could not remember.

"There are such a lot of them," he said. "I expect she is no more."

I expect he was right, for fairies don't live long, but they are so little that a short time seems a good while to them.

Wendy was pained too to find that the past year was but as yesterday to Peter; it had seemed such a long year of waiting to her. But he was exactly as fascinating as ever, and they had a lovely spring cleaning in the little house on the tree tops.

Next year he did not come for her. She waited in a new frock because the old one simply would not meet; but he never came.

"Perhaps he is ill," Michael said.

"You know he is never ill."

Michael came close to her and whispered, with a shiver, "Perhaps there is no such person, Wendy!" and then Wendy would have cried if Michael had not been crying.

Peter came next spring cleaning; and the strange thing was that he never knew he had missed a year.

That was the last time the girl Wendy ever saw him. For a little longer she tried for his sake not to have growing pains; and she felt she was untrue to him when she got a prize for general knowledge. But the years came and went without bringing the careless boy; and when they met again Wendy was a married woman, and Peter was no more to her than a little dust in the box in which she had kept her toys. Wendy was grown up. You need not be sorry for her. She was one of the kind that likes to grow up. In the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker than other girls.

All the boys were grown up and done for by this time; so it is scarcely worth while saying anything more about them. You may see the twins and Nibs and Curly any day going to an office, each carrying a little bag and an umbrella. Michael is an engine- driver [train engineer]. Slightly married a lady of title, and so he became a lord. You see that judge in a wig coming out at the iron door? That used to be Tootles. The bearded man who doesn't know any story to tell his children was once John.

Wendy was married in white with a pink sash. It is strange to think that Peter did not alight in the church and forbid the banns [formal announcement of a marriage].

Years rolled on again, and Wendy had a daughter. This ought not to be written in ink but in a golden splash.

She was called Jane, and always had an odd inquiring look, as if from the moment she arrived on the mainland she wanted to ask questions. When she was old enough to ask them they were mostly about Peter Pan. She loved to hear of Peter, and Wendy told her all she could remember in the very nursery from which the famous flight had taken place. It was Jane's nursery now, for her father had bought it at the three per cents [mortgage rate] from Wendy's father, who was no longer fond of stairs. Mrs. Darling was now dead and forgotten.

There were only two beds in the nursery now, Jane's and her nurse's; and there was no kennel, for Nana also had passed away. She died of old age, and at the end she had been rather difficult to get on with; being very firmly convinced that no one knew how to look after children except herself.

Once a week Jane's nurse had her evening off; and then it was Wendy's part to put Jane to bed. That was the time for stories. It was Jane's invention to raise the sheet over her mother's head and her own, this making a tent, and in the awful darkness to whisper:

"What do we see now?"

"I don't think I see anything to-night," says Wendy, with a feeling that if Nana were here she would object to further conversation.

"Yes, you do," says Jan, "you see when you were a little girl."

"That is a long time ago, sweetheart," says Wendy. "Ah me, how time flies!"

"Does it fly," asks the artful child, "the way you flew when you were a little girl?"

"The way I flew? Do you know, Jane, I sometimes wonder whether I ever did really fly."

"Yes, you did."

"The dear old days when I could fly!"

"Why can't you fly now, mother?"

"Because I am grown up, dearest. When people grow up they forget the way."

"Why do they forget the way?"

"Because they are no longer gay and innocent and heartless. It is only the gay and innocent and heartless who can fly."

"What is gay and innocent and heartless? I do wish I were gay and innocent and heartless."

Or perhaps Wendy admits she does see something.

"I do believe," she says, "that it is this nursery."

"I do believe it is," says Jane. "Go on."

They are now embarked on the great adventure of the night when Peter flew in looking for his shadow.

"The foolish fellow," says Wendy, "tried to stick it on with soap, and when he could not he cried, and that woke me, and I sewed it on for him."

"You have missed a bit," interrupts Jane, who now knows the story better than her mother. "When you saw him sitting on the floor crying, what did you say?"

"I sat up in bed and I said, `Boy, why are you crying?'"

"Yes, that was it," says Jane, with a big breath.

"And then he flew us all away to the Neverland and the fairies and the pirates and the redskins and the mermaid's lagoon, and the home under the ground, and the little house."

"Yes! which did you like best of all?"

"I think I liked the home under the ground best of all."

"Yes, so do I. What was the last thing Peter ever said to you?"

"The last thing he ever said to me was, `Just always be waiting for me, and then some night you will hear me crowing.'"

"Yes,"

"But, alas, he forgot all about me," Wendy said it with a smile. She was as grown up as that.

"What did his crow sound like?" Jane asked one evening.

"It was like this," Wendy said, trying to imitate Peter's crow.

"No, it wasn't," Jane said gravely, "it was like this"; and she did it ever so much better than her mother.

Wendy was a little startled. "My darling, how can you know?"

"I often hear it when I am sleeping," Jane said.

"Ah yes, many girls hear it when they are sleeping, but I was the only one who heard it awake."

"Lucky you," said Jane.

And then one night came the tragedy. It was the spring of the year, and the story had been told for the night, and Jane was now asleep in her bed. Wendy was sitting on the floor, very close to the fire, so as to see to darn, for there was no other light in the nursery; and while she sat darning she heard a crow. Then the window blew open as of old, and Peter dropped in on the floor.

He was exactly the same as ever, and Wendy saw at once that he still had all his first teeth.

He was a little boy, and she was grown up. She huddled by the fire not daring to move, helpless and guilty, a big woman.

"Hullo, Wendy," he said, not noticing any difference, for he was thinking chiefly of himself; and in the dim light her white dress might have been the nightgown in which he had seen her first.

"Hullo, Peter," she replied faintly, squeezing herself as small as possible. Something inside her was crying Woman, Woman, let go of me."

"Hullo, where is John?" he asked, suddenly missing the third bed.

"John is not here now," she gasped.

"Is Michael asleep?" he asked, with a careless glance at Jane.

"Yes," she answered; and now she felt that she was untrue to Jane as well as to Peter.

"That is not Michael," she said quickly, lest a judgment should fall on her.

Peter looked. "Hullo, is it a new one?"

"Yes."

"Boy or girl?"

"Girl."

Now surely he would understand; but not a bit of it.

"Peter," she said, faltering, "are you expecting me to fly away with you?"

"Of course; that is why I have come." He added a little sternly, "Have you forgotten that this is spring cleaning time?"

She knew it was useless to say that he had let many spring cleaning times pass.

"I can't come," she said apologetically, "I have forgotten how to fly."

"I'll soon teach you again."

"O Peter, don't waste the fairy dust on me."

She had risen; and now at last a fear assailed him. "What is it?" he cried, shrinking.

"I will turn up the light," she said, "and then you can see for yourself."

For almost the only time in his life that I know of, Peter was afraid. "Don't turn up the light," he cried.

She let her hands play in the hair of the tragic boy. She was not a little girl heart-broken about him; she was a grown woman smiling at it all, but they were wet eyed smiles.

Then she turned up the light, and Peter saw. He gave a cry of pain; and when the tall beautiful creature stooped to lift him in her arms he drew back sharply.

"What is it?" he cried again.

She had to tell him.

"I am old, Peter. I am ever so much more than twenty. I grew up long ago."

"You promised not to!"

"I couldn't help it. I am a married woman, Peter."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, and the little girl in the bed is my baby."

"No, she's not."

But he supposed she was; and he took a step towards the sleeping child with his dagger upraised. Of course he did not strike. He sat down on the floor instead and sobbed; and Wendy did not know how to comfort him, though she could have done it so easily once. She was only a woman now, and she ran out of the room to try to think.

Peter continued to cry, and soon his sobs woke Jane. She sat up in bed, and was interested at once.

"Boy," she said, "why are you crying?"

Peter rose and bowed to her, and she bowed to him from the bed.

"Hullo," he said.

"Hullo," said Jane.

"My name is Peter Pan," he told her.

"Yes, I know."

"I came back for my mother," he explained, "to take her to the Neverland."

"Yes, I know," Jane said, "I have been waiting for you."

When Wendy returned diffidently she found Peter sitting on the bed-post crowing gloriously, while Jane in her nighty was flying round the room in solemn ecstasy.

"She is my mother," Peter explained; and Jane descended and stood by his side, with the look in her face that he liked to see on ladies when they gazed at him.

"He does so need a mother," Jane said.

"Yes, I know." Wendy admitted rather forlornly; "no one knows it so well as I."

"Good-bye," said Peter to Wendy; and he rose in the air, and the shameless Jane rose with him; it was already her easiest way of moving about.

Wendy rushed to the window.

"No, no," she cried.

"It is just for spring cleaning time," Jane said, "he wants me always to do his spring cleaning."

"If only I could go with you," Wendy sighed.

"You see you can't fly," said Jane.

Of course in the end Wendy let them fly away together. Our last glimpse of her shows her at the window, watching them receding into the sky until they were as small as stars.

As you look at Wendy, you may see her hair becoming white, and her figure little again, for all this happened long ago. Jane is now a common grown-up, with a daughter called Margaret; and every spring cleaning time, except when he forgets, Peter comes for Margaret and takes her to the Neverland, where she tells him stories about himself, to which he listens eagerly. When Margaret grows up she will have a daughter, who is to be Peter's mother in turn; and thus it will go on, so long as children are gay and innocent and heartless.

#PeterPan

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flyingshapes-blog · 7 years

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Excerpt from Peter Pan (James Barrie 1911)

17: When Wendy Grew Up I hope you want to know what became of the other boys. They were waiting below to give Wendy time to explain about them; and when they had counted five hundred they went up. They went up by the stair, because they thought this would make a better impression. They stood in a row in front of Mrs. Darling, with their hats off, and wishing they were not wearing their pirate clothes. They said nothing, but their eyes asked her to have them. They ought to have looked at Mr. Darling also, but they forgot about him.

Of course Mrs. Darling said at once that she would have them; but Mr. Darling was curiously depressed, and they saw that he considered six a rather large number.

"I must say," he said to Wendy, "that you don't do things by halves," a grudging remark which the twins thought was pointed at them.

The first twin was the proud one, and he asked, flushing, "Do you think we should be too much of a handful, sir? Because, if so, we can go away."

"Father!" Wendy cried, shocked; but still the cloud was on him. He knew he was behaving unworthily, but he could not help it.

"We could lie doubled up," said Nibs.

"I always cut their hair myself," said Wendy.

"George!" Mrs. Darling exclaimed, pained to see her dear one showing himself in such an unfavourable light.

"I don't think he is a cypher," Tootles cried instantly. "Do you think he is a cypher, Curly?"

"No, I don't. Do you think he is a cypher, Slightly?"

"Rather not. Twin, what do you think?"

It turned out that not one of them thought him a cypher; and he was absurdly gratified, and said he would find space for them all in the drawing-room if they fitted in.

"We'll fit in, sir," they assured him.

"Then follow the leader," he cried gaily. "Mind you, I am not sure that we have a drawing-room, but we pretend we have, and it's all the same. Hoop la!"

"Hullo, Wendy, good-bye," he said.

"Oh dear, are you going away?"

"Yes."

"You don't feel, Peter," she said falteringly, "that you would like to say anything to my parents about a very sweet subject?"

"No."

"About me, Peter?"

"No."

Mrs. Darling came to the window, for at present she was keeping a sharp eye on Wendy. She told Peter that she had adopted all the other boys, and would like to adopt him also.

"Would you send me to school?" he inquired craftily.

"Yes."

"And then to an office?"

"I suppose so."

"Soon I would be a man?"

"Very soon."

"I don't want to go to school and learn solemn things," he told her passionately. "I don't want to be a man. O Wendy's mother, if I was to wake up and feel there was a beard!"

"Peter," said Wendy the comforter, "I should love you in a beard;" and Mrs. Darling stretched out her arms to him, but he repulsed her.

"Keep back, lady, no one is going to catch me and make me a man."

"But where are you going to live?"

"With Tink in the house we built for Wendy. The fairies are to put it high up among the tree tops where they sleep at nights."

"How lovely," cried Wendy so longingly that Mrs. Darling tightened her grip.

"I thought all the fairies were dead," Mrs. Darling said.

"I shall have such fun," said Peter, with eye on Wendy.

"It will be rather lonely in the evening," she said, "sitting by the fire."

"I shall have Tink."

"Tink can't go a twentieth part of the way round," she reminded him a little tartly.

"Sneaky tell-tale!" Tink called out from somewhere round the corner.

"It doesn't matter," Peter said.

"O Peter, you know it matters."

"Well, then, come with me to the little house."

"May I, mummy?"

"Certainly not. I have got you home again, and I mean to keep you."

"But he does so need a mother."

"So do you, my love."

"You won't forget me, Peter, will you, before spring cleaning time comes?"

Of course Peter promised; and then he flew away. He took Mrs. Darling's kiss with him. The kiss that had been for no one else, Peter took quite easily. Funny. But she seemed satisfied.

She had looked forward to thrilling talks with him about old times, but new adventures had crowded the old ones from his mind.

"Who is Captain Hook?" he asked with interest when she spoke of the arch enemy.

"Don't you remember," she asked, amazed, "how you killed him and saved all our lives?"

"I forget them after I kill them," he replied carelessly.

When she expressed a doubtful hope that Tinker Bell would be glad to see her he said, "Who is Tinker Bell?"

"O Peter," she said, shocked; but even when she explained he could not remember.

"There are such a lot of them," he said. "I expect she is no more."

I expect he was right, for fairies don't live long, but they are so little that a short time seems a good while to them.

Next year he did not come for her. She waited in a new frock because the old one simply would not meet; but he never came.

"Perhaps he is ill," Michael said.

"You know he is never ill."

Michael came close to her and whispered, with a shiver, "Perhaps there is no such person, Wendy!" and then Wendy would have cried if Michael had not been crying.

Peter came next spring cleaning; and the strange thing was that he never knew he had missed a year.

All the boys were grown up and done for by this time; so it is scarcely worth while saying anything more about them. You may see the twins and Nibs and Curly any day going to an office, each carrying a little bag and an umbrella. Michael is an engine-driver [train engineer]. Slightly married a lady of title, and so he became a lord. You see that judge in a wig coming out at the iron door? That used to be Tootles. The bearded man who doesn't know any story to tell his children was once John.

Wendy was married in white with a pink sash. It is strange to think that Peter did not alight in the church and forbid the banns [formal announcement of a marriage].

Years rolled on again, and Wendy had a daughter. This ought not to be written in ink but in a golden splash.

"What do we see now?"

"I don't think I see anything to-night," says Wendy, with a feeling that if Nana were here she would object to further conversation.

"Yes, you do," says Jane, "you see when you were a little girl."

"That is a long time ago, sweetheart," says Wendy. "Ah me, how time flies!"

"Does it fly," asks the artful child, "the way you flew when you were a little girl?"

"The way I flew? Do you know, Jane, I sometimes wonder whether I ever did really fly."

"Yes, you did."

"The dear old days when I could fly!"

"Why can't you fly now, mother?"

"Because I am grown up, dearest. When people grow up they forget the way."

"Why do they forget the way?"

"Because they are no longer gay and innocent and heartless. It is only the gay and innocent and heartless who can fly."

"What is gay and innocent and heartless? I do wish I were gay and innocent and heartless."

Or perhaps Wendy admits she does see something.

"I do believe," she says, "that it is this nursery."

"I do believe it is," says Jane. "Go on."

They are now embarked on the great adventure of the night when Peter flew in looking for his shadow.

"The foolish fellow," says Wendy, "tried to stick it on with soap, and when he could not he cried, and that woke me, and I sewed it on for him."

"You have missed a bit," interrupts Jane, who now knows the story better than her mother. "When you saw him sitting on the floor crying, what did you say?"

"I sat up in bed and I said, 'Boy, why are you crying?'"

"Yes, that was it," says Jane, with a big breath.

"And then he flew us all away to the Neverland and the fairies and the pirates and the redskins and the mermaid's lagoon, and the home under the ground, and the little house."

"Yes! which did you like best of all?"

"I think I liked the home under the ground best of all."

"Yes, so do I. What was the last thing Peter ever said to you?"

"The last thing he ever said to me was, 'Just always be waiting for me, and then some night you will hear me crowing.'"

"Yes."

"But, alas, he forgot all about me," Wendy said it with a smile. She was as grown up as that.

"What did his crow sound like?" Jane asked one evening.

"It was like this," Wendy said, trying to imitate Peter's crow.

"No, it wasn't," Jane said gravely, "it was like this;" and she did it ever so much better than her mother.

Wendy was a little startled. "My darling, how can you know?"

"I often hear it when I am sleeping," Jane said.

"Ah yes, many girls hear it when they are sleeping, but I was the only one who heard it awake."

"Lucky you," said Jane.

He was exactly the same as ever, and Wendy saw at once that he still had all his first teeth.

He was a little boy, and she was grown up. She huddled by the fire not daring to move, helpless and guilty, a big woman.

"Hullo, Wendy," he said, not noticing any difference, for he was thinking chiefly of himself; and in the dim light her white dress might have been the nightgown in which he had seen her first.

"Hullo, Peter," she replied faintly, squeezing herself as small as possible. Something inside her was crying "Woman, Woman, let go of me."

"Hullo, where is John?" he asked, suddenly missing the third bed.

"John is not here now," she gasped.

"Is Michael asleep?" he asked, with a careless glance at Jane.

"Yes," she answered; and now she felt that she was untrue to Jane as well as to Peter.

"That is not Michael," she said quickly, lest a judgment should fall on her.

Peter looked. "Hullo, is it a new one?"

"Yes."

"Boy or girl?"

"Girl."

Now surely he would understand; but not a bit of it.

"Peter," she said, faltering, "are you expecting me to fly away with you?"

"Of course; that is why I have come." He added a little sternly, "Have you forgotten that this is spring cleaning time?"

She knew it was useless to say that he had let many spring cleaning times pass.

"I can't come," she said apologetically, "I have forgotten how to fly."

"I'll soon teach you again."

"O Peter, don't waste the fairy dust on me."

She had risen; and now at last a fear assailed him. "What is it?" he cried, shrinking.

"I will turn up the light," she said, "and then you can see for yourself."

For almost the only time in his life that I know of, Peter was afraid. "Don't turn up the light," he cried.

She let her hands play in the hair of the tragic boy. She was not a little girl heart-broken about him; she was a grown woman smiling at it all, but they were wet eyed smiles.

Then she turned up the light, and Peter saw. He gave a cry of pain; and when the tall beautiful creature stooped to lift him in her arms he drew back sharply.

"What is it?" he cried again.

She had to tell him.

"I am old, Peter. I am ever so much more than twenty. I grew up long ago."

"You promised not to!"

"I couldn't help it. I am a married woman, Peter."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, and the little girl in the bed is my baby."

"No, she's not."

Peter continued to cry, and soon his sobs woke Jane. She sat up in bed, and was interested at once.

"Boy," she said, "why are you crying?"

Peter rose and bowed to her, and she bowed to him from the bed.

"Hullo," he said.

"Hullo," said Jane.

"My name is Peter Pan," he told her.

"Yes, I know."

"I came back for my mother," he explained, "to take her to the Neverland."

"Yes, I know," Jane said, "I have been waiting for you."

When Wendy returned diffidently she found Peter sitting on the bed-post crowing gloriously, while Jane in her nighty was flying round the room in solemn ecstasy.

"She is my mother," Peter explained; and Jane descended and stood by his side, with the look in her face that he liked to see on ladies when they gazed at him.

"He does so need a mother," Jane said.

"Yes, I know." Wendy admitted rather forlornly; "no one knows it so well as I."

"Good-bye," said Peter to Wendy; and he rose in the air, and the shameless Jane rose with him; it was already her easiest way of moving about.

Wendy rushed to the window.

"No, no," she cried.

"It is just for spring cleaning time," Jane said, "he wants me always to do his spring cleaning."

"If only I could go with you," Wendy sighed.

"You see you can't fly," said Jane.

Of course in the end Wendy let them fly away together. Our last glimpse of her shows her at the window, watching them receding into the sky until they were as small as stars.

THE END

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