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snexy-the-snail · 3 months

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Oop here we go

Percy really thought he had seen it all, heard it all. He had been at camp for years now and had no idea that this was a common thing. He stares at Annabeth who had gone back to reading her book as if she hadn’t said one of the most terrifying things to exist. “I’m sorry I don’t think I heard you, the Gods sometimes WHAT?” He asks slowly

It was after he had asked where Pollux had gone as he hadn’t seen the for a decent amount of time only for Annabeth to calmly say- “Sometimes the Gods will swallow their kids. Is that really a hard concept to grasp?” She says looking up from her book with a light frown. She was giving him the standard, ‘really seaweed brain?’ look which made him wince slightly. “Yes? No one told me that! That’s like a crucial part- like what if dad tried to Kronos me and I like stabbed him or something?” He squeaks out glancing towards the shores anxiously as if he expected his father to do just that.

“No one told you- oh I keep forgetting that you didn’t see the film.” Annabeth sighs chewing on her lip. She set her book aside and brushed her hair out of her face A twinge going through his chest when he notices the grey streak, the sun casting over the small scars she had gotten in their trip in Tartarus. She was beautiful as always, and he found himself getting lost in her stormy grey eyes. “I don’t think your father will, any of the elder Gods avoid it... The younger generation does it a lot actually.” She pulls her knees to her chest looking away from him.

Percy sits there next to her before lying down on the sand. He guessed they should try to relax, that's why they were here after all. Normally he would sit at the bottom of the lake but. After certain events, being in the water too long made unpleasant memories taunt him. His throat closes to the memory of wet earth suffocating him and the stinging of poison. He puts his hand in his pocket when something touches him before relaxing when Annabeth squeezes his arm.

“Will talks about it, there's a comfort about it because demigods are tied to their godly essence. It’s a sense of being complete.” Her voice soothed over any anxious feelings that had been building up. He could listen to her for hours, not sitting still but he could still listen to her. “Weird...they just...how do they even do it?” He whispers closing his eyes, grimacing at the thought.

There was a beat of silence, and he turned to get a look at her stifling a smile when he saw her face scrunched up, her nose wrinkling in concentration, her eyes darting about as she obviously gave it some thought. “I... I don’t know. We both know they can adjust size or forms, but if Mr. D does it then..there’s a possibility they can shrink us down as well...or transform us into something that’s easier to swallow in general...” Her eyes slowly light up and he can’t help but laugh at her curiosity.

“My mother’s never done it with me, she rarely does it with our siblings...It’s not that she doesn’t care, it’s just some Gods just enjoy it more I suppose.” she murmurs watching as the sun started to dip. The golden glow fading. She shifts to lay next to him, briefly closing her eyes. Peaceful...He hated it. Nothing was ever this peaceful. “It’s probably really gross too.” He supplies helpfully, smiling when Annabeth hits him on the arm and laughs.

“Don’t insult my mother’s stomach.”

“Why not? They’re all probably really gross! I’ve been in stomachs before they’re gross!”

They both dissolve into laughter, their conversation slowly drifting from what each stomach might look like, to adventures, their shared hatred of Gods and finally silence. It was dark now, the time when the harpies would come out, but they had wisely learned to leave them both alone. Apparently getting constantly sent back to Tarturaus after trying to get a meal wasn’t a fun time.

He smiles when he hears her breathing evening out, looking at her face. She was serious even when sleeping, her lips parted slightly as she dreamed.

“Sleep tight wise girl.”

Percy didn’t dare to try and move her, how could he? The sleep wouldn’t last long, he knew that. They both suffered from night terrors, and he was sure as much as her siblings loved her getting woken up by a knife wielding Annabeth was a bit much. Camp didn’t say much about them dozing off at weird places anymore.

He lets a breath out gazing at the water gently lapping at the shore, his thoughts slowly straying back to their earlier conversation. Sure, Annabeth had mentioned that the elder Gods rarely if ever came to swallow their kids but the idea of Poseidon doing it? Somehow it made him feel a tad upset. Maybe it wasn’t protection for most but where else would be safe for a demigod, truly safe?

The memory he never truly shared danced beside his eyes, a warm glow, a proud smile. The warmth of the memory soothed his nerves briefly. If his father ever changed his mind, would he have felt like that? A feeling of longing settled in his chest at the thought which he was quick to shake away. He wouldn’t need to worry about it, he could count the number of times he had seen his father in his hands.

“S’not like I’ll have to worry about it...besides its gross.” he mumbles to himself. It was something that was normalized apparently which only made him feel..left out. He closes his eyes feeling his chest rise with his breath. Whatever, it wasn’t like, the feeling of being left out was unusual.

#vore mentioned #none happens sorry lmao #pjo vore #pjo soft vore

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celinamarniss · 1 year

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We Can't Keep Meeting Like This, chapter three, part two. Part one.

Peli Motto came out to greet him from under the shade of the hangar’s repair shop as Din disembarked, chin up and hands fisted on her hips. “Mando! What are you doing here? You break the starboard motivator already? I already told you, it’s not that easy to find a motivator that’s up to your standards—”

She brightened as Grogu’s hovercradle came into view, abandoning her line of questioning. “There’s my little womp rat! Glad you haven’t lost him yet!”

She scooped him out of his hovercradle and tucked him into his side. “Look what I’ve got for you!” Digging around in her pants pocket, she pulled out a tube, tore the top off with her teeth and slid out a long strip of cured meat. “Dewback jerky,” she announced with a flourish. Grogu squealed and held out his hands. “Alright, alright. Take your time. Chew.” Grogu munched happily on the end of the jerky, his ears quivering.

“So what’s on your mind, big fella?” she asked Din.

“Do you know anything about Talon Karrde?” Din asked.

“Sure, he snapped up most of Jabba’s territory after the slug died—not the local gangs, of course, they were stuck with Bib Fortuna when he took over what was left on Tatooine. We all were. And Bib—you know—” She made a gesture with her hands that Din didn’t follow. “There are worse daimyos.”

One of her droids made a low blat.

“I didn’t say that!” she exclaimed, pointing a finger at the offending droid. “Don’t you go around repeating that.”

“Droids,” she said, and Din nodded in agreement.

“There are some people who are going to meet me here. I gave the coordinates to your hangar.”

“Do they need work done as well? Because this isn’t a public dock.”

“Uh.”

“Oh, great.” Peli shook her head in an exaggerated fashion. “Why don’t you just invite every bounty hunter in the sector to meet you in my hangar. Isn’t there anywhere else you can do business with your clients?”

“They’re not clients or bounty hunters.”

A shadow passed over the hangar and they both looked up at the sound of a ship circling above. The shuttle Din had seen on Morlana One cut sharply out of its turn and began to make a descent into the circle of the hangar. In the daylight he could see that the shuttle was painted a darker shade than standard Imperial grey. A black streak of carbon scoring from a laser canon marked the left side of the ship.

“A retrofitted Imperial shuttle,” Peli said. “Bold choice. These are friends of yours?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Unusual friends.”

“Yeah.”

The shuttle settled slowly beside the Razor Crest, kicking up a small cloud of sand as it landed. Din and Peli watched as the ramp lowered in a loud hydraulic hiss and Luke and Mara strolled down the ramp. Mara lifted her hand to block the sun streaming down into the hangar.

She wore high-waisted ochre pants with tall boots and a sage green shirt that came to her elbows, ending above the holster strapped to her wrist. Her long hair—returned to its natural bright red shade—was clipped back from her face on either side of her head. For the first time Din noticed a light dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks.

Luke was dressed in a dark blue shirt and fitted, dark brown pants with tall boots. The front of his shirt was stylishly undone, the triangle shape of the flap hanging down across his chest. His right arm was in a sling. The arm wasn’t bandaged, but Luke held it stiffly across his front.

A blue and white astromech trundled down the ramp behind them and swerved to make a beeline towards Peli’s motley crew of repair driods, greeting them in their own language.

“Mando! Grogu!” Luke called as they crossed the hangar. Grogu squealed in delight and waved his hands at the Jedi.

“Oh, he likes you,” Peli said. Grogu nearly squirmed right out of her arms as she passed him over to Luke.

Luke balanced Grogu in his one good arm and smiled down at the child. “I missed you, too! We came as soon as you called us.” Grogu placed his little hands on Luke’s chest and looked at him intently as he spoke.

“He some sort of gremlin whisperer?” Peli asked, leaning towards Din.

Luke grinned. “You could call me that.”

“Mara, Luke,” Din said. “This is Peli.”

“Welcome to Tatooine,” Peli said cheerfully, gesturing at the Razor Crest. “I keep that hunk of junk from falling out of the sky.”

“Good to meet you,” Luke said.

#we can't keep meeting like this #wip weds #wip wednesday

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fantasyoverreality98 · 1 year

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Forty-five minutes later, we pulled up to a small village. A tent stood several meters away from the cluster of buildings, the deep green tarp rustling in the wind. I squinted against the sunlight bearing down on us and tried to locate any other tents further in the distance.

“They said the sword is this way.” I jumped when William placed a hand on my arm. He let go, only to grab my hand and pull me from the vehicle. Together, we walked through the sand toward another tent closer to the village.

I sensed a shift in the air the closer we got. The men around us shifted their weight from foot to foot, eyeing the surrounding desert with frowns. One of them made eye contact with me and immediately looked away. I looked up at William to see if he could feel the change, but if he did, he wasn’t going to acknowledge it.

Someone spoke in harsh whispers from within the tent when we arrived. They mumbled in a mixture of different languages, the words hurried and incomprehensible. I caught a few English words between the other languages, but none of what they said made sense.

“Dr. Samuels?” My voice was alarmingly loud, seeming to echo off the dunes surrounding us. “Are you in there?”

The frantic mumbling stopped.

A few moments of silence passed before the tent flap peeled back, revealing the professor I’d been working with since my undergrad days.

Dr. Samuels looked far older than the last time I’d seen him. His ebony hair had streaks of grey in it, finally giving away his age. There were wrinkles where once the skin had seemed smooth, and his bronze skin looked paler than I’d ever seen it.

“Ah, Daniella. William. I wondered when you two might get here.” He hesitated before stepping aside to allow us into the tent. “Please, come in.”

William and I exchanged a look before we followed our old teacher into the tent. He hurried to clean up papers strewn across the tables, once again mumbling nonsense to himself.

“So…where is Excalibur?”

Dr. Samuels tsked, hugging the papers he’d grabbed against his chest. “Haven’t I told you to stop calling it that, Miss Osman? The sword has no name.”

I looked at William again, who was watching our professor with a frown. When he noticed me looking at him, he shot me a quick smile.

No one spoke for a while. The silence sent a shiver down my spine, and I looked around the tent.

There were countless papers still strewn across tables, messy Arabic notes in Dr. Samuels familiar writing littering every surface. Years without practice made them impossible to read. I made a mental note to start brushing up on what little Arabic I knew when I got back home.

“The sword is not here right now. My associates are preparing to take it back to London for further inspection. With permission, of course.” His eyes shifted around the tent. I noticed him lingering on one table with a covering over it.

Raising an eyebrow, I took a small step toward it.

Dr. Samuels threw the papers, scattering them around the tent. He cleared his throat, mumbling under his breath as he crossed to the table and stood in front of it. “We should hurry and get to the excavation site. There have been plenty of other discoveries there. The sword seems the least interesting part of the dig.”

This time it was William who frowned, looking over at me. Neither of us made any move to exit the tent.

“Come along! We haven’t got all day!” Dr. Samuels waved us out, lingering behind while the two of us stood outside in the blazing heat.

I wished I’d brought my tube of sunscreen with me. By the time we got back to the hotel, I’d be three shades darker and have a painful sunburn.

“So, he’s acting strange, right? It’s not just me?” I leaned against William, smiling when he pulled a hat out of his bag and placed it on my head. “I think that’s the most movement I’ve seen from the man since our freshman year in undergrad.”

“Oh, you know him. He’s probably just excited to finally be part of a new discovery. I’m pretty sure the old man hasn’t been part of any relevant expedition since we were in elementary school.”

I laughed.

#just putting this here so I have somewhere to access it #once again I have decided to write something based on a writing prompt #this is just a snippet of it #oh how I've missed writing #maybe tonight I need to do some more brainstorming #my writing #there are so many ideas swirling in my mind for this one #maybe I need to put some of them into action

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thathusenfulhu · 2 years

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abu ayn yaa wassalaam

'i'd like a "sweet turmeric", please,' i tell the owner of aboo ayn cuisine, the small cafe on chaandhanee magu near iskandhar school. as he explains the ingredients and their effects on the body, he sounds almost like a doctor, and he wrings his hands anxiously. he wears a shalwar kamees, a black thaakihaa, a long beard streaked with grey. i get a friendly, slightly nervous vibe from him. i'm with thakuru again. he really wanted to come here and not least because it's a haabee cafe. sampaafulhu pronounced the place safe, however, and i am inclined to believe her. yet it hasn't dispelled all doubt. we sit at a table near the plant-filled divider - it really enlivens the interior: though small, the space is green and tasteful. our juices are placed before us. i have a taste and here i am on the beach, my feet in the sand, looking on the starry sea. 'wow,' i say. 'just fucking...wow.' i raise my hand (as many of us are wont to in cafes) and the owner appears. 'how'd you sweeten this without sugar?' 'oh, you see, i juiced some overripe pears and mixed it in, you see?' 'oh man!' when he returns to the kitchen, thakuru asks me if i want a taste of his drink. i have some and i'm in the deep of a jungle: wet grass, loamy earth, green feels. 'holy moly!' i hand thakuru his drink and sip my turmeric juice. i try to do it slowly but my efforts are for naught. this juice is truly raveworthy. and worth raving about. i sit back and notice there are no air conditioners. yet it's not stuffy at all. i mention this to thakuru. 'this place is clearly aimed at a particular type,' he says. and soon, that type materialises. two women fill the cafe with their presence and conversation. with their cropped grey hair, short-sleeved office-wear and vaguely british accents, they are obviously NGO people. there is almost no pause to their conversation, and they seem to know the proprietor, too. 'within these humble walls, we seem to have achieved a kind of model society,' i tell thakuru. 'with a basis for coexistence: health food. and not just co-existence, a symbiosis.' 'ahh, they cancel each other out!' we pay a very reasonable price and turn to leave. and in the sweltering heat of noon i declare my love for aboo ayn. 'you've taken the first step towards conversion.' 'i don't care. our drinks were divinely inspired. hear me?' and we retreat into the midday traffic, becoming one with our terrible city.

#healthfood

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kokiseiko · 3 years

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Fleeting Touches and Unbreakable Bonds

Shouta Aizawa x Reader; Hizashi Yamada x Reader

Song Recommendation: All I Ask - Adele

(Y/N) – Your Name

(L/N) – Last Name

Word Count: 1.8k +

Fandom: My Hero Academia | Boku no Hero Academia

Pairing: Shouta Aizawa x Pro-Hero!Reader; Hizashi Yamada x Pro-Hero!Reader

Rating: SFW

Warnings: Angst, Bittersweet

Summary: Is it possible to love someone so much that you can’t let go even after death?

Note: This is a special request made by my lovely fellow Aizawa simp: @nire-chann.

Thank you for beta-reading this for me Ate Selene @yourgoddessselene | @saudade-mayari

The events that had happened at the start of this fic are a few months after Aizawa became a teacher at UA.

A rush of sudden adrenaline that wracks your body, heart pounding, ears ringing, your entire system shaking with emotions you can’t even pinpoint. Walking towards the white-lined road of the city, the rays of the noon sun spilling all over the bent light posts, the once smooth grey cement on the sidewalks now cracked, malfunctioning traffic lights blinking and crackling, the aftermath: debris of the earlier commotion.

It was an explosion, a burst of dust-filled smoke that pained the eyes of individuals who unfortunately had it opened, then a sickening crash of building facades, window splinters raining throughout the area, injuring civilians from which you’ve catered immediately. Quickly healing wounds and giving directions for immediate evacuation.

You were Frantic. Desperate. Searching throughout the wreckage even when your quirk wasn’t for such. Continuing to move through the rubbles of building you spot the shine of the once yellow gear now cracked, broken into three, not far from it was a mass of black, crimson spilling underneath him, a shine of a bloodied band adorning his right hand.

You knew that it was near impossible even with your quirk to stabilize him, yet you continue, hands glowing in hues of emerald as you move his blood-soaked charcoal locks.

---

He feels lighter every passing second, but your presence grounds him. There’s so much more to say, to feel, to do. He sighs internally, he looks at you with such intent, he wants to let you know, to speak to you, but how can he, when his throat feels restricted. Even lifting his hand to touch your tear-stained cheeks to help ease the furrow in your brows had him use too much energy.

There was so much more, but having to look at you with all the emotions he could muster in his two light-grey orbs are what he could only communicate with. He can’t speak anymore, but he wants to at least taste your lips one last time.

To at least feel your heat and the cool contrast of your wet cheeks.

He’s barely noticing the tingle of nerves, that strange warm sensation he used to feel whenever you used to tend to his wounds, his injuries. His eyes wrinkle slightly when he remembers your pout during a rant a few days ago, your plump lips moving and going on about him being reckless.

He’s doing it again, but it has been too long since he had let himself fall through a never-ending well of questions, of replays, flashbacks, images, doubts, concerns. This may be the last time he’ll ever let himself tumble throughout the dark abyss of just him and his thoughts.

Was he content? He doesn’t know.

He just simply wants to remember your smile, your tears. You.

You were his anchor back then. Back when he was crumbling into a mess of a wanna-be hero who had his friend die during Hero-Work Studies.

You pulled him up when he was too tired to even recognize and register the warmth feeling in his chest that was being overpowered with guilt, regret, and frustration.

He never really accommodated these positive feelings, thinking that they would just be swept away with a whoosh of wind, only to return with a hard blow of hatred, anger, and pain.

He doesn’t want to experience that again, to go through that momentary shock and be hit with the sad consciousness of reality.

His throaty whisper was heard above the ringing in your ears: “Thank you…” for loving me, he wants to add, for being with me… I’ve loved you, tears cascading his cheeks

“I’m sorry…” for not acknowledging these wonderful feelings, for taking so long to let you know that, looking to your also wet cheeks, eyes pooling with tears from frustration? Sadness? Pain? Maybe a mix of three he guessed, “… I love you.”

He feels the gradual easing of his muscles all throughout his body. The blood rushing throughout his veins were subliminally slowing. The wet pelts of your tears dropping down his features would be a mere afterthought if he wasn’t focusing so much on you, but alas, his own mind was keeping him from doing so.

Even within his last seconds, his mind kept him prisoner.

His mind where everything was being played. His head spinning with the rapid successions of memories he subconsciously held dear. The majority of the replays containing you, your comforting touch when he needed an anchor, your soft kisses during those casual dates back in his favorite café, the hitch of your breath when you momentarily stopped the cute cooing noises you made whenever you petted the cats as you trailed your eyes on his kneeling form, your whispered ‘yes’ when he finally popped the question “Marry me?”, your wobbly smile when you walked down the red-carpeted aisle, the crack of your voice as your eyes that were holding nothing but love and adoration staring right at him as you began to state your vows began to pool.

Smiling.

He never thought that in his last moments he would be smiling. You’ve made him do things he thought he’d never do in this short life of his. And for that, he’s thankful.

You are truly something else.

***

Breathing was hard. His every inhale didn’t even feel like air, it’s akin to something much more condense. Black was all that surrounds him: a pool of nothing but midnight skies. A weird sensation constantly falling down to a never-ending night is what grounds him to- what exactly.

Though his throat was constricted, a single sound not able to flutter out his lips, his thoughts seemed loud on this vast plain of nothingness.

Where was he?

How can he even breathe?

“You’re still bound.”

What?

“You need to let go.”

Looking around him to at least locate the voice’s body was futile. Was this in his head?

“No. You’re in the middle. Stuck.”

Middle?

“Your time’s done, but you’re still tied down… by your bonds. Let go.”

Realizing what this meant he answered the disembodied voice in his head, I can’t.

A chilling gust of an unknown wind made its way throughout his existence.

***

It can’t be. He knows it can’t happen. He died. How can he still be standing- oh.

He doesn’t know whatever the wind did to him, but he at least deduced that it returned him to you.

You who was now kneeling in the mix of wet gravel and grass whilst staring into the distance with streams still flowing down your puffed eyes, cheeks streaked with layers of endless tears that managed to drip down your wobbling chin, your neck covered in his scarf that had splats of dried hazel-vermillion.

How long was he falling back there?

Two new sounds of weeping.

He sees that the usual gravity-defying golden hair was now instead streaking down the shoulders of a black leather jacket-clad voice hero. Mic. A figure kneeling down beside your form, hugging your side, whose body shook with great intensity together with yours. Midnight.

He aches. Thorns felt like they were encasing him within.

For a moment he wants to hold you, to comfort you, placing his hand to your other shoulder, placing the loose strand of hair behind your ear, but you don’t seem to sense him.

***

It’s been a long month of just watching, of just seeing but not being able to do anything. He hates the unfairness of it all.

He tries. Convincing himself that his touches were felt, that his hugs were warming your numbness, that his kisses were making the sting dwindle little by little, that him laying by the other side of your bed while you sleep with a pillow covered in his old shirt lets you know that he’s still there, that he still loves you, that he still can’t won’t let go.

His touches on your shoulder, which were supposed to reassure you just in turn made you shiver and look confused, bewildered even.

He wants to be heard, to be felt, to exist, but his traces no longer lingered, only a mere susurrate, a short-lived touch in your still graying ambience.

He wants to hold you while you cry and let all of the frustrations out of that head of yours, where he knows that like him you’re stuck, in your own scribbles of granite thoughts, that you too were deprived of the other’s warmth, that you too felt like a shell stuck with all of this sand you called your chaos, your blurring mix of feelings.

And as weeks turns into fleeting months. Months of winter blooming into a spring of years, left on autumn, in auto-pilot, watching, always nearby to see you recover. Recover from the debris and aching splinters that his existence left behind, while he still remains crumbling, pieces of him falling.

“Thank you Hizashi… you grounded me when it all felt like a dream.”

He should’ve been the one doing what Hizashi is now. It should’ve been black instead of gold that you were nuzzling into. It should’ve been his deep baritone rather than the smooth and gentle voice Hizashi uses whenever he encourages, supports, and anchors you.

He should’ve been the one holding your hand whenever you sit in a creaky wooden bench in a nearby park to admire the sunset.

“I know that it’s impossible to reciprocate what I’m about to say, but I at least wanted to let you know-”

“I like you too, Zashi’.”

He should’ve been the one you’re tending, taking care of. Your tears of frustration and aura of concern that was once reserved for him was now for another blond.

“Zashi’ you should start being much more careful you know?”

“I promise I will- ow!”, your smiles at his friend’s idiotic antics just adds jealousy to his mix of resentment and longing.

He should’ve been the only one who sees your gaze of fondness swirling in your beautiful solemn orbs.

But he can’t. He can’t anymore.

And to that he goes back to that midnight swirl, that feeling of falling, to that voice inside his head that was constantly questioning him, encouraging him to release the rope that was still bruising his slowly crumbling heart that he’s put at the back of his mind, not yet wanting to face the reality of the other side, a world without your soft hands holding his cheeks, an existence without your love.

“Surrender Shouta…”

It all felt like déjà vu. Your pretty face blurred with the sheer veil. Soft smiles and salty droplets of tears. The gold-lined red carpet. The people present. It was all like back then, but instead of that classic black tuxedo and a black bow tie, it was a white suit and a navy blue tie.

You’re smiling… at him. Looking directly at him.

It was a whisper, a message just for him; words that helped him to finally let go, to accept, and to be patient.

“Shouta… I hope that you still remember that you will forever be a part of me. Until the next life Shouta Aizawa. Wait for me, we’ll start again; continue what we can’t finish.”

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I hope you all liked this piece. My requests are (finally) open.

#Shouta Aizawa #Aizawa #Shouta Aizawa Fanfic #Aizawa Fanfics #BNHA Fanfic #Shouta Aizawa x You #Shouta Aizawa x Reader #Hizashi Yamada #Yamada #Hizashi Yamada Fanfic #Yamada Fanfics #Hizashi Yamada x You #Hizashi Yamada x Reader #Eraserhead #Present Mic #Eraserhead x Reader #Present Mic x Reader

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solinarimoon · 3 years

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Little Sea - Part I

AN: This is my first time writing outside of The Last Kingdom fandom, but I originally joined tumblr to find Hvitserk content. So I hope my writing for him does it justice. This is for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie Congratulations on your milestone love! This story is a Vikings/TLK crossover but Sihtric is basically placed into the Vikings universe. I know in our heads these two belong in the same universe, so enjoy. My prompt was a reimagining of The Little Mermaid fairytale. The story got too long so I am breaking it into two parts. Sjór means sea in Old Norse, at least according to one website I found. I have more notes at the end of part two.

Warnings: Angst, unrequited love, suicidal imagery/implications, Vikings canon Ivar cruelty

My Masterlist

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

She swam, racing the currents in the sea. The water’s hazy depths constantly shifted and mottled in a swirling dance. Hues of blue and green mixed with inky darkness but faded to the rays of the sun’s light filtering through from the surface.

The cold temperatures below the fathoms began to warm as Alba swam towards the surface. Swishing her fins, she felt the drag of the water as she climbed higher until slowing and ultimately stopping herself just before breaching the surface.

His face stared down at her above the water. His lips spoke words that she could not hear. His face was calm and serene. Happy.

The only sound was the rushing tumult of waves breaking, crashing upon rocks at the base of a cliff.

Alba flicked her tail trying in vain to break through the surface. She wanted nothing more than to rise above the water and envelop Hvitserk in her arms.

The fear and the panic began to rise instead. And without warning, Alba felt her terror intensify as her tail had been replaced with two legs. Hvitserk’s face grew farther and farther away while she sank back below the dark depths.

~~~~~~~~

Alba woke with a start, sitting up in her bed and breathing heavily. Her hands clung to the furs draped across her, pulling them aside to reveal two legs and feet. The sight still seemed surreal to her.

This was not the first night she had awoken from this dream. It was occurring more and more often as she felt the pull to return to the sea. Return home. And as she watched Hvitserk continue to move further and further away from her.

Slowly, the young woman stood from her bed steadying herself as her legs wavered like someone returning to shore after living on a ship for weeks. She draped a cowl of furs around herself and pushed aside the door leading from her small hut on to the beach.

Only a few paces brought Alba up to the water’s edge. The waves lapped over her toes and Alba breathed easier. Salty spray drifted across the cove where the waves were always harsh and ragged against the cliffs to the north.

Alba trained her eyes on the grey horizon, watching as the mist began to fade and the shadows melted away. She breathed in the taste of the ocean’s air and for a moment felt content.

But that moment was broken when she noticed a set of forlorn footsteps approaching her.

“I knew you would be up and on the beach already.”

His voice was low and groggy as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders with a gentle squeeze. Alba wondered if he had seen his own bed that night.

“I wish I could help you find whatever you are looking for on the water, little Sjór.”

Alba turned her face ever so slightly to question him with a silent gaze. And to see his braids looking disheveled. And a small bruise just under his jaw.

“When we met, it was not unlike this,” Hvitserk paused when Alba turned her face towards him fully, furrowing her brow in confusion. “I mean it was very different because I still have no idea how a half drowned young woman came to be lying between the rocks on the north edge of the cove, covered by nothing but a ragged boat sail,” his lips had pursed slightly trying to ward of the smirk Alba knew he was fighting. Shuffling his feet in the sand and clearing his throat, he continued, “so it was different but you also still had that look I see so often. The one you had moments ago. Like you’ve lost something. And you’re waiting for it to return to you.”

Alba turned her eyes back to gaze across the water before dropping her face to the sand with a huff. “Looking for your voice, perhaps?”

Alba looked up with her mouth dropped open in shock to see the young man grinning fully while she pushed him lightly away. Hvitserk let out a true laugh before wrapping his arm once more around Alba’s shoulder. Comfortable and brotherly.

Scuffing a bare foot in the sand, Alba moved away from his side and began ambling down the beach knowing Hvitserk would follow.

It was no use trying to hold that one sided conversation again. Part of the enchantment prevented her from revealing the truth about where she came from, about what she was…is…would be once more. So even if they played a crude pantomime game, she still could not reveal if his guess were to be correct.

Her time on land was almost spent. Her time with him would come to an end. Alba knew in her heart that Hvitserk was not in love with her. And the binding nature of the enchantment would not bend. No matter how much love she felt for him. Or how much she had become endeared to him. That was not the problem. He did love her. But it was not true love. Not for him. So she would return to the sea, but not today.

Alba sighed, straightened her shoulders and raised her head, breaking herself from her thoughts.

She turned to look at Hvitserk walking alongside her, scuffing his boots beside her bare feet. Gently, Alba reached out her hand and tapped his neck where she’d noticed the small bruise.

Hvitserk met her eyes with a mischievous smile.

“Oh that, there? That is nothing, little Sjór. Only a slight bite I received from one of the forest trolls while I was searching for mushrooms.”

The pair laughed at his jest, her silently and him with gentle chuckles before he continued, sincerity beginning to lace its way into his words.

“I was with Thora last night.”

Alba arched an eyebrow at him.

“Yes, again.” Hvitserk chuckled lightheartedly. He missed Alba’s eyebrows relax and the smile on her face fall as she listened to him talk about the new woman.

~~~~~~~~~~

Alba woke to the sound of rain pelting the thatch roof of her small cottage. Sleepily, she opened her eyes just as a streak of lightning illuminated the sky. She had seen the flash through the leaking cracks of her shutters.

Several moments later the booming echo of Thor’s hammer against the clouds brought a slight curve to her mouth. A rain storm was dangerous on the water. Perilous. But under the water, Alba and her sisters had been fond of watching the crash and roll of the tumultuous waves. The lightning scattering crystalline lights across the surface of the water. A beautiful orchestra of light and movement.

A rain storm did not startle her. A rain storm felt like home. Alba nestled further down into her furs, feeling their weight and warmth bringing her back to sleep.

Except this thunderous booming continued on far longer than any true thunderclap. And it was now accompanied by a muffled voice.

Hvitserk.

No one else ever came to her door. Barely another soul knew she even existed or much less where she dwelled.

Alba opened the door to a torrent of rain blocked only by Hvitserk’s tall frame.

For a moment, they stood staring at one another, the rain continuing to sleet down on them.

In the dark, Alba could barely make out the features of his face. She searched his face, her eyes questioning. But only for a moment before Alba grabbed his arm, ushering him inside and closing the door.

In two strides, Alba moved across the room to gather up the furs from her bed and drape them across Hvitserk’s shoulders then settling him down on the short bench next to her cookfire. Alba stoked up the flames from the low burning embers before turning on her knees to look at him.

Beads of rainwater still tracked down the strands of his hair that had come free from his braids and he had made no move to wipe the dampness from his face.

He met her eyes as he spoke, “It’s Ivar,” he stated simply.

Alba shuffled closer to him and placed her hand on his arm, atop the furs.

“He is sending me as his messenger to King Olaf. In Norway,” Hvitserk paused to turn his head. He clasped his hands together while bringing them up to rest against his mouth. He was staring off towards the other side of the room. His next words were muffled against his fist.

“I don’t know what my brother thinks he is going to do,” he chuckled then continued, “my brother the god king.”

Alba starred while Hvitserk worked through whatever thoughts were raging in his mind. Increasingly in the past weeks, Hvitserk’s worry over his brother’s rule in Kattegat had grown. Though he did not often openly criticize Ivar, it was clear to Alba that he carried many burdens for his younger brother. Burdens that left him questioning his path and his fate. And questioning the path his brother was forging.

The young woman scooted herself closer to him and placed her palm against his cheek, lightly pulling his face back to meet hers.

She saw the torment and frustration in his brow. It was mirrored on her own face. She opened her mouth but could only huff and furrow her brow more. Sighing, Alba looked around the room, searching for everything and nothing before finally settling her eyes back onto him.

“Even if you had words, little Sjór, there are none you could speak that would save me.”

At this, Alba felt her face shift from frustration to concern, her eyes frantically searching his face for more answers.

“I must do as Ivar bids. And I leave you behind to deal with Ivar’s tyranny. His madness.” Hvitserk dropped his head into his hands, continuing to talk. His words came more easily now as his emotions boiled over. “And my love, Thora. I leave her behind but she does not have the anonymity you do to protect her. I fear for her. I fear what Ivar may do to her while I am away.”

Hvitserk hung his head and sighed heavily. Alba felt her chest stutter as she realized she was holding back tears. He truly did love Thora. And Alba could not help herself from liking the young woman as well.

Hvitserk had brought Thora to the beach to meet her one day. And though it made her heart ache, Alba could not deny that she saw the love that was blooming there. From the casual way that she saw their bodys lean into one another to the way Hvitserk watched Thora when she did not know he was watching. While Alba was watching him. That night, she had cried silent tears alone on the beach, while the ocean’s mist cried with her. And the ache in her chest now was the same.

Trying her best to quell the sobs threatening to escape her lungs, Alba shifted herself once more to sit beside him on the bench. Gently, she cradled him in her arms and stroked back the strands of his hair, now drying by the heat from the fire. Hvitserk hugged her knees and closed his eyes for a moment, taking comfort from the care and love in Alba’s touch.

“I will miss you while I am away. I know you enjoy your solitude. But if you can, keep an eye out for my Thora. Ivar has made comments. Said things that make me fear she may be a target for his frustration. She sees how dangerous Ivar has become. It threatens him.”

The more Hvitserk continued on, the more Alba’s heart continued to tear. Her prince's concern and worry was for another. He was in love with another. She let out a silent sob, but laying in her lap, Hvitserk felt the jolt of her body. The pain she could no longer hold back.

Sitting up, he questioned, “What is it, Sjór?”

Alba closed her eyes and felt the tears cascade down her face as she shook her head.

Hvitserk took her face in his hands, turning his body so that he straddled the bench. The furs around his shoulders dropped to the ground, forgotten.

“Hey, hey look at me?”

Alba opened her eyes to see concern etched across his features. Silently cursing her tears, she pushed his hands away and stood, wrapping her arms around herself and stepping away towards the door. He was tormented enough and did not need to add her pain to his. A pain that she could not explain to him.

“Sjór, I….” He started, standing to face her and grabbing her arms, firm but gentle. His words fell silent as he watched the tears continue to track down her cheeks.

Huffing in frustration, Alba wiped the tears away. The two stood silent except for Alba’s shaky breaths for several moments.

Finally, Alba brought her fist up to thump against her chest. Over her heart. Gathering her courage, she took her fist, relaxing her fingers and placed her hand over Hvitserk’s own heart. And then brought her head to rest against her hand, feeling his breath and the questions in his stance.

Taking a step back and removing her hand to wipe another stray tear, Alba met his eye. With more force she took her fist to thump against his chest. In the same spot, over his heart.

Looking down to her hand, Alba tapped her fist against him once more then brought her hand up and pointed a single finger towards her window. Towards Thora, towards his love.

She watched as Hivitserk’s brow, a deep line of confusion, slowly relaxed. A look of realization spread across his face.

To then be replaced by something more unbearable.

Pity.

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

Bare feet found their way along the soft mosses and lichen carpeting the ground up the paths surrounding the northern side of the cove. Alba stepped slow and deliberate, feeling the air growing cooler. The spray of the mist off the sea left salty pin pricks of water glistening across her bare arms.

Low in the distance, the rumble of thunder rolled. As she crested the height of the cliffs, Alba found the crash of the waves joining in the thrum of the oncoming storm. The energy in the air was mounting. Mirroring Alba’s rising anguish.

Thora was dead. A cruel and horrifying death.

Ivar was rampaging. His madness was building and unstable.

And Hvitserk. Her sweet Hvitserk was gone. If Ivar was to be believed...If what he said was true, he was lost. Dead at the orders of King Olaf.

Alba fell to her knees at the cliff's edge. Her hands gripped tight onto the sharp rock’s edge. The rough surface painful and grating at the pads of her fingers. She clung to the edge. Her eyes staring down at the waves below. The maelstrom of the waves calling to her. To end her suffering. End the anguish and pain.

Alba stood, the wind whipping her dress as the rain began, drops gently splattering across the terrain. The young woman looked up towards the clouds and closed her eyes, feeling tears spill over across her cheeks.

Silently, Alba let the anguish wash over her. Knowing he was lost. And the sea was calling her to return.

Alba’s time on legs would soon be done. She had not found her love returned. And she could not stay. The pull of the sea was calling to her stronger and stronger. Her sisters called to her to return to them.

Slowly, she dropped her face back down to the tumult below and took a step forward.

“Don’t!”

The voice stopped her movements. The roll of thunder boomed again. Several tense moments passed before Alba heard the voice again.

“Please don’t.”

The voice was deep and soothing. But Alba could sense something else behind the words. Panic. Desperation.

Weakly, she turned to face the nameless voice, her head turning back to look across her shoulder. The rain was cascading in steady rivulets now. Mingling with the tears staining Alba’s face. Her dress had quickly become sodden and clung to her skin.

When her eyes came to the tree line, she saw him.

He was tall. Dark. His hair plastered to the sides of his face from the rain. Hands raised to indicate he was no threat to her.

Slowly, tentatively the man stepped forward to stand beside her before he spoke again.

Alba’s eyes tracked his movements.

When he was close enough to touch her, he spoke once more.

“Please. Do not succumb to it.”

When Alba did nothing but stare, the man continued, “To your grief. Please.”

It was the please that caught her. The gentleness and the kindness in his eyes as he pleaded with her.

His arms caught her as she collapsed atop the cliff, allowing the despair to wash over her.

The man held her while she cried, silent sobs that shook her to her core. Her fingers twisting and clinging to the folds of his shirt. His arms steady and firm around her shoulders as he cradled her. He held her until she stilled while the rains continued their lament. And when she was half asleep, ruined with exhaustion he carried her back down the path.

He settled her down underneath his own roof, beside a comfortable fire to dry her clothes and hair.

The man handed her a small bowl full of warm broth.

“Go ahead,” he coaxed, “you must get dry and eat. You do not want to catch cold. And then you should sleep.”

When Alba stared at him questioningly, he added, “You have nothing to fear from me. I am called Sihtric.”

~~~~~~~~~~~ To be continued in part II

Tagging my usuals. Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my taglist.

Tags: @maggiescarborough @pokeasleepingsmaug @nxrdist @mystic-shadows42 @emilyhufflepufftlk @magravenwrites @lauwrite1225 @morosemagick @thebohemianpenguin @mrsalwayswrite @notyourwildestdream @obipoelover-deactivated20210806 @ecarroll1978 @93xdiagonxalley @nobodys-business-world @evelynshelby @trenko-heart @0hsappho

#cherrypie’s500 #Hvitserk #vikings #sihtric #the last kingdom #deans ch ch cherrypie #Hvitserk x OC #sihtric x OC #vikings/the last kingdom crossover #hvitserk vikings #hvitserk x ofc #hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitserk lothbrok #fanfiction

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i-did-not-mean-to · 3 years

Text

Diary found in K---D--- : Part 2

So, here's the next little part of this :D

Imagine by @lathalea is indented!

Enjoy <3

Taglist: @shrimpsthings, @mulasawala (so you see where I'm going with this lol)

(Yes, there will be MORE artwork coming, stay posted...)

Fandom: Hobbit

Characters: Ori x OC

Rating & Warning: Fluff and silliness

His name was Ori and he was a scribe in Erebor. It turned out he visited the forest often to sketch the animals and plants. You spent the rest of the day together. In the evening, you exchanged campfire stories, sharing a meal. At one point, he shyly asked about where you came from. Blushing, he admitted, almost whispering, he never saw a person with such beautiful hair before.

You told him that you came from another world, from a region called East Asia, where many people looked similarly to you. He was very curious about your homeland, your culture and your world. You spent hours telling him everything about it and he listened to you in awe.

“Ori.” He replied, his lips quirking a tiny bit as if he was not used to speaking his own name. “I’m a scribe. In Erebor. The Mountain.” He pointed to a tree beyond the clearing.

Thankfully, I was familiar with the Lonely Mountain and did not think that he didn’t know the difference between a living organism and a pile of minerals.

“I have never seen you, neither here nor in that Mountain.” I replied, for I went into the halls sometimes to translate for travellers, but for the most part, I let the king be his grumpy, glorious self.

“I come here often, to sketch, but I seem to have lost my way.” He admitted with a tiny frown. Ah, a real dwarf. They only knew up and down seemingly and if there was no way into a hill, they’d stubbornly trek up until they tumbled off the other side again.

As if to prove to me that he was not lying – dear reader, he had a face that was utterly devoid of malice or dissimulation – he showed me rather good sketches of the fauna and flora of the dense forest surrounding us. “That is really good, Ori, the scribe, from under the Mountain.” I commented which made him blush with a fierce and, apparently, unexpected pleasure.

In an expression of indescribable cuteness, he literally wiped his face with his sleeve as if he could clean away the rosy hue like a stubborn ink stain from under his skin.

“What are you here for?” He then asked, pushing out his chest heroically. As a reminder, he was the one who had lost his way, but apparently, he wanted to defend either the forest from me or the other way around.

“I am here to think…in silence.” I replied; he retreated a few steps. “Oh? I’ll leave you to it then, I guess. It was great to make your acquaintance…”

I gave him my name, after all, he had given me his, and he chewed on it for a few moments before his face split into a smile that was like the sunlight breaking through the cloudy afternoon sky: tentative, warm, and strikingly beautiful.

“Stay. I like your face.” I heard myself saying. Maybe, it was my teasing, mischievous streak acting up, but I had liked his embarrassment so much that I couldn’t help wanting to coax more of these blushes out of him.

“My…face?” In that weird dance he had been engaged in for the last few minutes, Ori stepped closer again, shuffling his feet in the heavy boots dwarrows insisted on wearing.

No, your ass, I thought, but bit my tongue; Ori the dwarf looked like someone who would die on the spot if I said anything even remotely inappropriate…as I was wont to do when nervous.

My sarcastic thought spurred my own interest though and I examined him a little closer: he was indeed swaddled like a babe, beads of sweat pearling down his temples on account of the steep climb and the stubborn blush powdering his nose and cheeks with pink blotches.

“Sit down, you’ll get a heat stroke.” I invited him and pointed to a patch of moss beside me while rummaging in my pack for the flask of ale I had brought.

“Thank you ever so much.” He plopped down in a cascade of earthen-coloured wool and awkward limbs. He did smell warm, I noticed, a blend of cinnamon and comfort.

Also, he had one of those faces that only became better when seen up-close, I admit freely; there were golden stars dancing in the depth of his dark eyes and he had the most adorable freckles as if some outlandish fairy had sprinkled gold dust over that heart-wrenchingly handsome face.

“Are you thirsty, Mistress?” He asked, nodding at the flask in my hand.

Handing it to him rather abruptly, I realised that I had spent the last moments intently staring at his face as if I had never seen a male dwarf before in my life.

“I have work to do.” I snapped, feeling immediately guilty for taking my own embarrassment out on him, but he merely nodded and pulled his sketching supplies into his lap.

Strangely enough, Ori did not disturb me. If anything, the silence felt fuller, richer, deeper with him by my side. As I translated a letter, as a spinster I had to support my family and my insufferable sisters as best as I could, I felt like the chirping of the birds and the vibrancy of the colours around me were even more enjoyable now that I shared them with someone else.

…

The sun crept along its never-changing arc slowly and yet, much too fast.

As I looked up, I wished I was a better painter myself, for this dwarrow was made for sunsets.

The way the last golden hurrah of a perfect day exploded in a halo of warmth around his figure, the way all the greys and the blues seemed to bleed out of the world to leave nothing but warm tones behind, and the way his smile was the perfect expression of this mellow, unhurried mood…it struck me deeper and more violently than a thunderstorm in all its booming rage would have.

“Will you join me for dinner, Ori?” I asked gently, “I shall escort you back down.”

“It would be my honour.” He nodded, tearing out a page of his notebook and handing it over.

“It was an invitation; I do not demand payment.” I said seriously, for the sketch of the doe was so good, it might have been worth actual money. “Oh…” His nose crinkled at little at that.

“I wanted you to…have something beautiful. I have seen you work very hard.”

Of course, he was a scribe as well, he would consider the scribbling work, I thought and gave him a thankful smile. “You’re beauty enough for one day.” I shrugged.

He gasped, bringing his notebook up to his face as if to shield himself from my words.

“You’re having me on, aren’t you? Dori has warned me that girls do that sometimes.” He sounded utterly dejected. “I am not having you on. Has nobody ever told you that you’re handsome?” It was my turn to be wide-eyed with shock.

“And who is Dori?” I followed-up when he didn’t really reply to my question even though I thought I had seen his braids move like strings of pearls in a draft. The minutest of shakes of the head, a quiet admission of inadequacy that sunk ugly, ragged claws into my soft heart.

“He’s my brother. I have two of them. Dori…and Nori. They’re…” – “Older than you.” I completed. “Protective.” He supplied.

He was still holding his drawing out to me, and, after a moment, I took it gingerly and put it between the pages of my own writing supplies. I would hang it in my room and look at it daily.

Nowadays, there were but very few gifts for me; all the money went to my two younger sisters who were still nubile and would, if Mahal willed it so, be able to make a good match.

Busying my hands with making a fire, I asked him to tell me about his brothers.

“Oh, Nori is…agile. He’s…funny and brave and resourceful.” Ori started, his voice warm with affection and admiration. He sounded like a proper rogue to me, and as it turned out, he was, but he also deserved every single ounce of the deep-felt care Ori held for him.

“Dori is…fussy. He’s polite, he’s very caring, and he’s exceedingly proper.” Ori went on as I waved a hand for him not to stop. I enjoyed hearing about the life of other families than my own.

“So, is he the one who raised you to be this…warmly clad and gentle?” I asked, turning to place the foodstuffs I had brought up and stored in the cool lake water on spits to roast over the fire.

“Warm? Oh yes…I was a sickly pebble and he’s been worried ever since. I hope I have behaved in a way that would not make him disappointed in me.” Again, he worried his lip.

“Let’s see, you’ve startled a bird and an unsuspecting dwarrowdam.” I listed with a wicked gleam in my eyes; his face fell, and he looked properly guilty.

“Then, you’ve kept me company, and the best company I’ve ever had, it has been, on my grandmother’s grave, I swear.” I went on and that treacherous blush was back with a vengeance.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He then said in a low voice. “Great beauty is always startling.”

“I am hardly Thorin Oakenshield.” He laughed. Readers, you cannot imagine that sound just by reading my words. If flowers blossoming had melody, if the sun setting on the eternal sea had a song, if autumn leaves dancing on a gale had a tune, they would have sounded like nails on scree, like cats having their tails trampled, and like kettles going unheeded compared to Ori’s laughter.

“There’s beauty in the doe as much as in the wolf.” I replied gently.

“May I…can I ask where you’re from? I don’t seek to be rude, but I’ve never seen anyone quite like you; your hair looks like those fabrics the Elves weave. It…seems so soft, so liquid, so smooth.” He blushed a darker shade yet.

This might well have been the first time that someone had asked me about my origins without making it sound like an accusation; there was honest fascination in his demeanour.

“My family and I have come from the Far East. I have travelled a lot, Ori, I have seen landscapes entirely made up of rock and sand, I have walked forests so stiflingly hot and moist it felt like being underwater, and now, I am here in the land of tall trees and taller mountains.”

I said, surprised by my own frankness.

“That sounds amazing.” He took the food I offered readily enough, and I told him about the people I’ve left behind to be stranded at the other end of the world.

“This is good, is that a recipe of your homeland?” He asked, looking down on the piece of meat I had seasoned with herbs I had grown myself in our small backyard.

“It actually is. I’m glad you like it. I had not planned to have company, otherwise I’d have brought something more palatable to the local tongue.” I apologised quickly.

“No, I like it. You should definitely trade some recipes with Dori…and Bombur…oh, and if any of your delicious herbs are medicinal, Óin.” He laughed again when he saw my dumbfounded expression.

“I make a good honeycake, if I can interest you in that? Maybe…” He fell back into silence.

…

A look at the sky told me that it was too late to go down in the inky darkness.

“We’ll have to stay here for the night.” I mumbled, slightly uncomfortable at the idea of spending the night with a dwarrow who had not lost a single word about a wife.

“Are you married, Mistress? Will that endanger your wedlock?” He asked shyly.

“No, I am not and I have no name to lose…It’s a long story.” I didn’t feel like blurting out my disgrace, lest it give him strange ideas after all, especially as he would easily have been able to overpower me if he so chose.

“Neither am I. I don’t know about my name…Doesn’t look like I’m going to be married either. There’s not enough dwarrowdams as it is, and I think the royal line has a prerogative there.” There was no resentment in his tone; he seemed to accept this as a fact.

How could someone that sweet not be married, I wondered. He was courteous, he was cute, and he would have made the fortune and happiness of someone.

“Well, in that case, I think we can risk our reputation rather than our necks.” I grinned, rolling out a blanket I kept tied to my pack for emergencies and stretched out next to the fire on the moss.

“Erm, yes…Good night…” He mumbled, fidgeting around with his different layers of clothing. Apparently, he was deciding which one he needed least on his body to use it as a bedroll or blanket.

I eyed the proceedings with interest and a good deal of amusement.

“I can offer you my cloak to lie upon…the ground will grow very cold and wet soon.” He said in a low voice, not sure if I had already fallen asleep or not.

“Alright, I can offer you a spot under the blanket then?” I extended my own graciousness.

“With you?” No, with the red bird, I thought, rolling my eyes internally.

“Yes, Ori the scribe, with me. I will not eat you, as you have witnessed, I have had dinner.” Not that he did not look good enough to devour, standing there with his cloak in his hands and his face all crunched up in embarrassment.

“Hmmm…I guess.” He muttered doubtfully, spreading out the cloak and sitting down on it carefully. Impatiently, I scooted over and spread my lousy blanket over the both of us with a flourish.

“Sleep!” I commanded as I turned around only to find him staring wide-eyed at the spot where the back of my head had been only a second ago. Now that he was presented with my face, only inches away from his, his eyes grew even rounder and bigger in wordless distress.

“Friend…Have you never lain with a woman? And I literally mean, lying next to one?” I laughed for there had been friends and cousins aplenty in my own life and the feeling of having another body so close to mine was not a new experience for me.

“Well, I fell down on the battlefield once, next to a foe…I’m pretty sure that was a Lady-Orc. She was dead. There was a…” He gestured, indicating a spear or a lance sticking out of his chest and brushing against my own with the back of his hand. Dear reader, he flinched back as if I was a tiny Durin’s bane wreathed in flames.

“A Lady-Orc, indeed…” I mused; no doubt, he could hear the smile I hid in my voice for his face crunched up in embarrassment.

“I am sorry.” He sighed, rolling his eyes, and thinking – there was not a shadow of a doubt about that much – of his brothers who would have mocked him mercilessly for his stammering.

“There’s no need to be sorry” I tried to reassure him, but I admit now that there were things that I did not tell him right away then. We had only just met, and he was blessedly unaware of my shameful past.

How could I have made him understand – without hurting his feelings – how much I enjoyed that air of purity about him that I had squandered myself on an undeserving fiend? As a daughter amongst others, I had been used to dwarrows coming to court or to seduce, their eyes ablaze with greed and their hands wandering.

He would not have comprehended how much the absence of that voracious hunger that had plagued my youth and had ended up destroying my promising future meant to me.

“Sleep.” I repeated, unable to put into words how miraculous and precious the things he seemed to be most ashamed of were to me.

“Good night, Mistress.” He breathed with a soft smile that was nowhere near the wolfish baring of fangs I was used to and so, it was easy to return it.

You who may or may not have stumbled upon this ludicrous account of the most important story in an otherwise unimportant life, you shall hear another confession I did not make at the time.

I was fiercely aware that – had I but leant forward a little – I might have pressed my lips upon his; I was young still at that time and, despite what had happened, parts of me, that should have withered and died in the aftermath of my botched engagement, were much alive.

He smelled like our dinner and warmth, and the gentle reticence of the curve of his smile was more inviting than any flashing grin I had ever seen before.

Yes, in that very moment, on this very first evening, I had already been conscious of the shrewd attraction this self-effacing dwarrow held for me…and it scared me half to death.

…

Part 3

#Fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ori the dwarf #Ori #OC #Fluff #Diary #1st person

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honey-dewey · 3 years

Text

The Story of how you Accidentally Married a Selkie

Pairing: Selkie Ezra/Reader

Word Count: 1,954

Warnings: None

When you met a handsome stranger with a fur coat in a coffee shop, you expected your one-time interaction to be just that. One time only. And then he shows up the next day with an engagement ring and things get a bit more complicated. (This is shamelessly based off that one Tumblr post about picking up a selkie’s coat and accidentally getting married to them.)

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell

Living in a small town was, in your opinion, the epitome of living. Nestled on the seaside, the Green was a tiny spit of a town with all of two grocery stores, one bank, a single bar, three coffee shops, and maybe two hundred people.

So, yeah, it was perfect.

Nestled down in front of your favorite coffee shop, overlooking the crashing waves, you slowly worked on a writing assignment for your boss, typing away at your laptop and letting the lull of the ocean keep track of your time.

Eventually, once high tide came in and the salty water came spraying up onto the road, you decided to move inside. Abandoning the sun, you shut your laptop into your bag and drew your jacket closer around your body as you hurried into the coffee shop.

Waving to the sweet college kid behind the counter, you found your normal seat, tucked away in a corner where you could still see the ocean, but it wasn’t threatening to kill your laptop.

Halfway to your table, you stumbled over something thick. A beautiful pale grey fur coat, speckled with darker grey and so soft looking. It was ringed around a chair with someone sitting in it, so you assumed they’d draped it over the back of the chair and hadn’t known that it had dropped.

“Excuse me!” You said, scooping the jacket up and holding it out to the person. “You dropped your coat.”

The person turned, eyes wide with surprise as you handed him back his coat. He was attractive in an almost inhuman way, his eyes too big and his skin too soft. But you just chalked it up to the lighting and walked towards your table with a small wave goodbye.

The entire time you worked, the man stared at you, still looking shocked. When the college kid came around with your coffee, you grabbed their attention. “Hey, do you know who that is?”

They shook their head. “Apparently he’s a regular around this time of year. Story goes he’s just passing through to visit his family.

You nodded, wrapping your hands around your cup and turning back to your laptop. Now that you thought about it, that head of brown curls with the prominent blond streak was familiar.

Once the sun had begun to dip below the horizon, you headed out, bundling up and waving yet again to the pretty stranger. His wide brown eyes caught the light and seemed to almost glitter as you left the coffee shop.

That night was bizarre. The waves were almost violent, crashing against the shore with a strange urgency. The wind howled mournful words, as if someone was singing. You heard the soft barking of faraway seals, although that must have been stray dogs. The Green didn’t have seals. Rolling over in bed, the softness of that fur coat crossed your mind briefly before you slipped away into sleep.

The next day, you woke up to birds chirping. It was horribly cliche, but you did. Getting out of bed, you stretched, opening the curtains on a picturesque summer’s day.

“Thought it’d be stormy,” you mumbled to yourself, digging up work clothes and beginning your morning routine.

Most days, you were able to slip away during work hours and sit in the coffee shop, but today was too busy. Instead, you were trapped in the office, your only connection to the outside world being your open window. Occasionally, a warm breeze would drift through and you’d smell the baked goods across the street. It was awful to know that your sanctuary was literally twenty feet away, and yet you couldn’t visit until work was over.

At noon, you happily left work, waving to your boss and promising to get all the appropriate documents emailed to him by the time you went to bed.

The weather was warm, warm enough for you to leave your jacket draped over your arm as you pulled open the coffee shop door.

“Hey!” The college kid said happily. “You weren’t in for breakfast!”

“Work,” you explained, holding up your laptop. “Anyway, is my table open?”

They nodded, and you smiled. “Perfect.”

You were only settled down for a few minutes before someone sat across from you.

Looking up, you got a pleasant surprise. It was the man from yesterday with the fur coat. Said coat was currently draped over his body, overtop a black shirt and pants. Now that you could get a good look at him, you were able to commit his details to memory, like the unique slope of his nose and the way his deep brown eyes yet again seemed overly large. You were starting to suspect he really wasn’t human, which was a ridiculous theory, but it was either that or he had an incredible plastic surgeon.

It wasn’t until he fidgeted that you realized two very noticeable things about him. Firstly, he had no right arm. Secondly, he was holding a small black box with foreign words written in silver on the top. He held the box out to you, a clear invitation to take it.

You did, hesitantly opening it up. Immediately, embarrassment and surprise filled you. That was definitely an engagement ring, with silver swirling designs and a stone in the center that looked just like the ocean, a beautiful teal with just a touch of white. “This is,” you paused, suddenly unable to find the words. “Is this an engagement ring?”

The man nodded, his wide eyes filling with worry. “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you said slowly, still enthralled by the ring. “Why are you giving it to me?”

“Oh!” The man went red, ducking his head down and smiling nervously. “I just figured, and pardon me if I got it wrong, but I assumed you’d want us to be married by human customs as well.”

That was where he lost you. His words snapped you out of your shock, causing your face to go cold and your voice to fail beyond one simple word. “What?”

The man faltered, his expression turning sour and almost broken. “I-“ he stammered, taking the ring and snapping the box shut. “I have to go.”

Before you could say anything, he was gone.

“Wait!” You shouted, following after the mystery man in a hurry. The issue was, you had no idea where he went. Looking up and down the street, you saw no indicator as to where he had gone.

“Dammit!” You yelled, heading down the street, towards where the road sloped down to the beach. It was your thinking spot, and you definitely needed to think right now.

When you managed to get down to the beach, you sat automatically on your favorite rock, the one with the jagged back and the small spot that was indented to make a seat for you. At high tide, it was partially underwater, so you had to wade out to sit down. Looking at the rolling waves, you breathed in the salty air. Technically, the entire Green was under the veil of ocean air, but out here it was especially prominent. It calmed you to your core, the gentleness of the water lapping at your ankles tethering you to the earth below you.

And then you saw him.

The fur coat yet again was the focal point, draped across his body as he lay in the sun not even twenty feet from you. He was breathing in and out deeply, eyes shut as he simply basked in the daylight, on his back in the sand. The ocean water occasionally soaked him, coming up as it hit the shore and covering everything from the waist down, reaching just high enough to wet his curls before it receded again.

You almost wanted to say something, anything really. He’d looked absolutely heartbroken when you’d recoiled from him, and it was a look that made your chest ache. And then there was the issue with what he said. Married by human customs as well. As well, two small worlds which implied that by some magical, non-human custom, you and him were married.

You watched the waves come up again, soaking the fur coat. As the water flowed back once more, you remembered an old folks tale you’d heard upon first moving to the Green. Something about the beach being a safe haven for Selkies during their migration. For five nights in the middle of summer, the beach filled with Selkies, who were allowed those five precious days to shed their seal skins and run around as humans. The seal skins, which turned into...

“Fur coats,” you breathed, whipping around to stare at the man. “And I returned his coat.” Which meant that, yes, by Selkie standards, you two were married.

“Hey!” Jumping off your rock, you fought the water as you ran towards the man, who sat up with wide and suddenly fearful eyes. “No! Don’t go!”

He tucked the coat close to his chest, holding it in place with his arm. “You.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, sitting beside the man, not caring if your clothes got soaked in salt. “Me. I’m sorry I overreacted in the coffee shop. I just, I didn’t think Selkies existed! This is kind of a shock.”

The man’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry!” He said, scooting closer to you. “I should’ve explained.”

“And I should’ve listened,” you replied, smiling. “I suppose we got off on the wrong foot. It feels horrible to be married, or are we engaged?”

“Married.”

“Oh.” You paused. “Okay. Married to someone who I don’t even know the name of.”

The man nodded, taking your hands in his. “I’m Ezra.”

You gave him your name, and he grinned. “Nice to meet you.”

“Right back at you,” you said happily. “So. Married. How does that work?”

Ezra pulled the ring out of a pocket in the coat and shrugged. “I’ve never been married before.”

You took the box, flicking it open. “So we’re winging it?”

Ezra smiled, putting his arm around you and nodding. “We’re winging it.”

-Two Years Later-

You hummed to yourself, flickering around the kitchen and making dinner. The window in the kitchen was open, and whenever you stopped to put a dish in the sink, you caught a wave of ocean air, pausing for a second before going back to whatever you had been cooking.

A wet sound on your back deck caught your attention, and you smiled, not pulling away from the pot of pasta. “Back door’s open!” You shouted, hearing the creak of the rickety sliding door being pushed open.

Ezra came up behind you, pressing a salty kiss into your skin, catching your lips the second time. “I missed you.”

“Ditto,” you said happily, watching Ezra out of the corner of your eye as he hung his coat up on its designated hook on the coat rack. “How was the migration?”

“Long,” Ezra groaned. “I’m glad we’re here though. Shame I can’t stay until the equinox.”

You shrugged, pulling the pasta off the stove and properly greeting your seal husband. “Damn shame. But that just makes the time we have all the more precious.”

Ezra grinned, long and lazy. “That is true, my love. That is so very true.”

Late that night, after dinner and after Ezra had given you a thorough hello, you lay in bed, curled around him, breathing in the ocean and dust smell. Both of your rings sat on the bedside table, glittering in the low moonlight.

Rolling a bit so you were facing Ezra, your head pressing against his chest, you were very glad, not for the first time and surely not for the last, that you’d picked up that Selkie coat.

#prospect #prospect (film)#ezra (prospect)#ezra x reader #ezra x you #Pedro Pascal #my writing

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slutforagoodsmut · 3 years

Text

We All Get Nightmares

(Lars x OC)

The waves crashed along the sand, the moonlight glittered across the sea. For once in a long time, there was silence, There was peace. No gem saving, no gem destroying. It was a quiet, normal night; and for once in a long time, Primrose went to bed without a sore body or broken bone. Curled up in the bed layed the precious girl, her dark locks of springs for hair bunched up in a ponytail, and the one streak of light pink laying lightly against her face. Her soft warm touch, her skin glowing in the moonlight that beamed through her window. Her pencil striaght physique now starting to blossom from child to young woman, her hips starting to curve out and chest starting to broaden. And on her back, in between her shoulder blades, sat a rose quarts gem that reflected off of any twinkling light, which she kept hidden beneath her hair. Primrose Universe was indeed a beauty, just like her mother was.

There she layed all snuggled up in her plush bed on the other side of the room, a small smile graced upon her lips as she clung to the teddy bear her father gave her all those years ago. She just looked like some ordinary 14 year old girl, a girl who wanted to go far in life, go beyond the limits as any teenager would. The Primrose everyone knows, the girl everyone cherishes, was much more than a silly little teenager. She was a gaurdian, a powerful protector of the gems; keeping the bad out. The twin sister of a powerful boy and the daughter of a gem herself.

But aside all that schmazzy jazzy stuff, Prim was just your avgerage teenager. A girl who listened to her father's old music and laughed at the silly faces he made. A girl who enjoyed her friend's company and eating doughnuts. Someone who loved adventure and would sometimes get in a lil trouble along with her brother. An open minded person who accepted anyone as a friend. That is who Primrose was.

It wasn't far into the night when Prim's phone began to buzz on her nightstand. Prim, being the light sleeper she was, woke immediately, her eyes being blinded by the light the phone gave off. She groaned. "Who's calling in the middle of the night?" She fumbled for the phone and pressed the 'accept call' button, holding it lazily to her ear. "Yo," she said.

"Prim, are you awake?" A certain Lars Barriga voice came through the phone. Prim rolled her eyes and sank her head back into her pillow.

"Oh yeah sure, totally awake, like i always am..." she peered over at her clock, "...at 2:30 in the morning," she said sarcastically.

"I know it's late but I just couldn't sleep! Maybe you could come over for a bit?" Lars asked, his voiced getting a bit high. "Ya'know, help me fall asleep?"

"You've gotta be kidding me Lars," she sighed, her hand sliding down her face. "Dude, you're like almost 17 years old, can't you tuck yourself in? I mean, haven't you tried calling Sadie?" Prim yawned out as she spoke, covering her mouth.

"Yes I could tuck myself in, thank you very much!" Lars hissed. "I just...I had a bad dream and now I can't sleep," he mumbled into the phone. "P-Please?"

Primrose looked back at the clock, then sat up and looked at Steven, who was sleeping soundlessly all the way on the other side of the loft. It'd be easy getting passed her brother, but what about the gems? Nothing could get passed them, and I mean nothing. She put a hand on her head and sighed again. "Fine, I'll be there in 15 minutes."

"thanks Prim, you're the best!" Lars said into the phone.

"I know I am," she grunted as she sat up, stretching her legs and arms. "Oh and Lars?"

"Yes?"

"You owe me." Was the last thing she said to him before ending the call. She couldn't believe she was actually doing this. 'I swear to god if this is a joke...' Prim yawned again as she put her hair up in a messy bun, not bothering to do anything with it at the moment. She didn't bother changing either, and not that it was a big deal anways. Prim was wearing a pair of shorts and tank top, all she needed to do was throw on a bra and head out. Prim walked passed her brother and got her flip flops on, kissing him on the cheek before climbing down the loft. 'Was it cold out?' she wondered, before grabbing a sweatshirt just in case. Now here was the difficut part; getting passed Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl. Pearl was a nutjob when it came to safety, and on the other hand Amethyst could care less, so she would be easy to get by. But then there was Garnet. Garnet was a tricky one, and probably the sneakiest and wisest off them all.

"Alright one step at a time..." Prim whispered as she tip toed silently across the floor boards. Amethyst was snoring on the couch and Pearl was curled up in a ball, but where was Garnet? They should have been in the temple, so this was going to be a little harder than usual. Prim looked around. Uh oh, this wasn't good. Garnet must be in the temple, right? No harm at all! She lightly stepped around carefully, making sure not to step on a squeaky floorboard by mistake. 'Just an hour!' Thought Prim 'and I'll be back before sun rise!'

It took a few minutes but Primrose managed to slip out of the house quickly and quietly. "Phew, that was close," Prim said feeling a bit exhausted.

"What was close?" A voice asked.

She gasped, holding her breath as she clasped a hand over her mouth tightly. "Oh Bejeebus!" Prim slowly turned around to see the giant gem standing over her with her arms crossed, no emotions expressed over her face. It wasn't that she was terrified of Garnet...well....maybe just a tad, it was the fact that Garnet was always right, and to see Garnet dissaprove her actions was one of Prim's biggest fears.

"Where must you be so late at night?" Garnet asked.

"W-Well, I--uh, ya see, something--um c-came up! Yeah that's right, something came up and...." Prim faltered, looking down. Garnet raised a brow behind her glasses, putting a hand on Prim's shoulder. She looked up at the gem and sighed, rubbing the side of her arm. "Lars called me..."

"Lars?"

"Oh! I meant Big Donut Boy!" Prim corrected herself.

"And what does "Big Donut Boy" want with you at this hour of the night?"

"Its sort of embarrassing but...he had a nightmare. And he called me cuz he couldn't go back to sleep."

"A nightmare, huh?" Garnet repeated, putting her hands on her hips. "Well, if you must. This does sound important."

"Yeah I know Garnet I shouldn't leave without--wait what?" Prim stopped herself with wide eyes, looking up at Garnet like an idiot. "Really?"

"Yes, you may go, but don't tell Pearl."

Prim blinked, raising a brow. "Are you an imposter Garnet? Shouldn't you be giving me words of wisdom or something and telling me not to go?"

Garnet cracked a small smile and ruffled Prim's bed head. "Geez Prim, you make it sound like I'm another Pearl." Prom laughed at that. "But yes, I trust you. Just be back before Pearl notices."

"You got it Garnet!" They young girl whispered and gave the gem a quick hug before running down the steps.

*10 minutes Later*

The temple was only a few blocks away from Waterman St., so a walk to Lars's house was a piece of cake for Prim. Her sweatshirt was tied around her neck to keep her shoulders warm and hands tucked in her pockets with her phone. Like she expected, it was a little chilly, but nothing Prim couldn't manage. Matter a fact she loved the chilly weather, and sadly it was something Beach City hardly ever got.

In the distance Prim could see Lars sitting on the steps of his porch, resting his head on his lap. 'Oh man, maybe this really is serious,' she thought as she got closer. He looked miserable, but what was different? He always looked miserable, especially around Prim and Steven. Yes Prim knew Steven could be a bit annoying, but so was she at times! They both had many flaws and messed up--a lot--but hey that's what twins did together! It was both of them or none at all!

"Hey," Prim said, stopping in front of the Barriga Residence.

Lars looked up and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked like he hadn't slept for days! To be honest he looked like a crack head in Prim's opinion... 'No, he would never!' An image of Lars doing crack came to mind. Prim shuddered in fear. 'He may act like Mr.Badass all the time, but he wouldn't dare to do such a thing!'

"Oh, Prim! You're here!" Lars exclaimed a little groggily, as if he were just dozing off. He wore a black Under Armour tank and a pair of grey shorts, her hair a bit of a mess btw.

"Well no shit Sherlock, of course I'm here."

"How did you get out of that wacko of a house and passed that nut job of a family?" He questioned. 'Such a bitch...' Prim thought as she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Watch it chicken legs, I still don't have a problem breaking your arm."

Lars backed off. "Alright alright."

"Well it was fairly easy to get passed my nut job of a family, besides, Garnet is covering for me."

He nodded and patted the spot next to him, indicating for Primrose to sit. Prim gladly took the seat and looked off into the distance, sitting in an awkward silence.

"Rough night?" she asked.

"Uh yeah, rough night," he said, sighing wand rubbing the back of his head. "It hasn't been good the past couple of weeks, I haven't gotten a single drop of good sleep."

"Have you gone to the doctors?"

"Phssht, the Doctors?" Lars scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Doctors are for wimps, big baby, wusses, shall I go on?"

"And the Doctors are for people who are in need of major help, for those who need a diagnosis, and for recovery," Prim corrected him, eyeing Lars up.

"Oh whatever," he groaned, putting his head in his hand. "My parents said that I should go to the Doctors but...I don't know I feel little weird about it."

"Yeah I get," Prim started, "the doctors could be a scary place, no lie, but the only thing they want to do is help you."

Lars sighed, looking down sadly. "Yeah..."

Prim put her hand on his shoulder. "Hey, why don't we go in? Sort of chilly out here don't you think?"

Lars looked at her with depressing eyes and nodded, getting up from his seat and Prim followed him in quietly. "My parents are away on a trip, won't be back till like sometime next week."

"That's pretty cool, gonna throw a few parties?" She elbowed his side and wiggled her brows. Lars shrugged and gave a very small smile.

"I suppose a party or two wouldn't be so bad," Lars thought aloud, flicking the lights on in the kitchen. There on the island sat a plate of doughnuts, soaking in all the glory. Prim licked her lips and her eyes lit up. Lars plopped down on a chair and the younger of the two sat across from him. "Want one?" Lars asked, taking a pink icing topped doughnut.

"Do I ever!" Exclaimed Prim, taking the one with white icing and rainobow sprinkles. She could never turn down the most delicious thing in the entire world. Well, right behind cookie cat. "Oh man these are bomb!"

"Big Donut never fails to impress," muffled Lars while eating his doughnut. After a few more bites of their delicious treats, Prim cleared her throat to speak.

"So how about we talk about the nightmare, hmm?"

"Oh, u-um, now that I think about it, I don't really think it's worth mentioning anymore." Lars rubbed his arm uncomfortable, fidgeting around in his seat.

"Dude I came all the way over here because you had a nightmare, I could be sleeping right now." She rolled her eyes. "So you're telling me."

"But it's stupid, really."

"Not to me it isn't."

"Well to me it is."

"C'mon Lars I didn't come here for nothin' "

"Prim just let it go."

"Nope."

"You're really starting to annoy me."

"Don't care, now spit it out already!"

"No!"

"Why not?!"

"Because it's dumb!"

"Its not dumb!"

"Yes! It! Is!"

"UGH!" Prim stood from her seat and jabbed her finger into Lars's chest. "Why must you be so freakin stubborn?!"

"Why are you always trying to get into everyone's business?!" Lars pushed Prim's arms away.

"YOU TOLD ME TO COME OVER!" Prim flailed her arms around. "God, you say you're life is so horrible, so miserable! Oh boohoo Lars!"

"Yeah! SO WHAT?!"

"Maybe if you talked about your feelings you would be a nicer person and everyone would like you!" Prim yelled at him, shoving the chair in and leaning over table to get in his face.

"Well in so sorry your majesty but I HATE talking about my feelings!"

"WHY?!"

"B-BECAUSE I'M SCARED!!!" Lars's hand went down and he hit the table with a loud bang. Silence fell between them, the only sounds filling the air at the moment was their heaving. "Are you happy?!" His voice cracked as he wiped the building tears from his eyes, sitting back down and hiding his face in his arms. Lars's shoulders shook as he cried and Prim looked down at him pitifully.

Prim sat back down and sighed, running a hand over her face. "Lars..."

"W-What?" He whimpered into his arms.

"Look at me."

Lars moved his head so that Prim could only see just his eyes; those dark eyes that were streaked with tears.

Prim put her hand on his arm and leaned in. "Tell me what happened."

Lars furrowed his brows, wiping his eyes and grabbing a tissue from the tissue box beside him. "It's just...it was all dark. No light, nothin, just pitch black. A-And I was alone! Just me, falling down an endless pit of darkness. Prim I couldn't escape! I was so scared! No mom and dad, no Sadie--no Steven...n-not even you..." he placed his hand over Prim's, looking away with tinted cheeks. "I thought it would never end. And then there was horrible voices. They said such hurtful t-things..." Lars shut his eyes tightly and his shoulders shook.

"What did these voices say Lars?" Prim asked gently.

"They....they...called me pathetic. A-A waste of s-space. They said my parents were ashamed of me. That I was a loser." He covered his eyes. "But they were true. These voices were right about everything they said."

Prim's eyes widened and it felt like her heart broke. 'Oh you poor thing...' She was his friend, this was probably the first time Lars has ever opened up to anyone, but Prim didn't know what to do.

"Why can't I just be like Steven?" Lars said. "Why can't I just be like...you?" He looked up at her. "You're kind to everyone and everything. You're smart, passionate, you help everyone who has a problem, and you make a new friend everyday--the same with Steven. Y-You're nice to me, even when I treat you badly," the teen looked away with shame.

Prim shook her head, "There's only one Steven, there's only one of me, and then there's just one of you. And to just think of two Stevens drives me nuts," she cracked a toothy smile, thinking of her brother. "The things those voices said aren't true in any way, shape, or form, I promise you that. You are who you are, and no one could change you. Sure you have your bad days, but who doesn't? And sure you have more bad days than good, but that just makes the good days seem even more special then they really are." Prim cupped Lars's cheeks, wiping the tears away with her fingers. "You're special."

"R-Really?" Sniffed Lars, swallowing hard and face becoming hotter.

"In my eyes you are. To me you always will be." The two smiled at each other, faces rather close now. "We all get nightmares. Even you Lars, even I."

"Thank you, Prim..." Lars whispered. "Ya'know, now that I look at you more and more often, I never told you this, but you really are beautiful."

"Jeez, I get you to open up once and you're already telling me I'm beautiful?" She smirked, blowing a lose strand of hair out of her face.

He rolled his eyes, moving his eyes away from hers. "W-Well, since we're in the moment n' all, I thought I should just tell you. I mean, you're gorgeous!"

Prim's face started to feel hot with embarrassment, the sweatshirt suddenly not being needed anymore. Prim pulled back and pulled the sweatshirt off, the cool breeze hitting her skin and her gem glowing with passion. It was out there, making her body feel warm with....love? 'This is an odd feeing...' she thought to herself. She only ever felt her dad's fatherly love, or Steven's brother love, even the Gem's motherly love in a way...never this kind. Maybe it wasn't even love, she didn't know, but from then on when she looked at the boy in front of her, she felt...different. Her stomach tingled, like butterflies swarmed inside. Her heart pounded in her chest, her cheeks going red as she leaned forward again.

"O-Oh w-w-well thanks," Prim laughed softly, rubbing the back of her head. "You flatter me---

A pair of lips pressed against hers, a hand on the back of her head. Prim stuttered into the kiss, her heart skipping a few beats, a feeling of warmth engulf her. Prim kissed Lars back, holding his shoulders. A few seconds later they both broke away, gasping for air, falling back in their seats. She touched her lips with her fingertips, slouching in her chair. 'Did he just...?'

Lars himself looked like he couldn't believe what he had done. He covered his mouth, his face passed the color red, looking away out of sheer humiliation. "I'm sorry Prim, I...I-I don't know what came over me--" Prim rose from her seat, looking at Lars with a smirk. "Wait, where are you going?" He asked, sounding a bit saddened and panicked.

She rolled her dark eyes at him and walked around the table and stood in front of Lars. "Where am I gonna go?" She asked, a smile on her lips.

(Ok so like I don't know if this is Would be labeled as pg 13/14 form this point on, so don't go nutso in the comments!)

Prim sat down on Lars's lap, facing him with her arms around his neck. Lars seemed to be in a dazing shock, his eyes still glittering with settling tears and face shining with streaks. She pressed against his chest, a small cheeky smile spread against her face. Lars stuttered over his words, his hands resting on her back, fingers moving over her gem. "I-I-I like you..." Lars mumbled quietly, looking her in the eyes (I know, real cheesy). "Like...really really like you..."

"Really? I haven't noticed," Prim raised her brows, "I'm just curious why me and not Sadie."

"Sadie..." he started, "I only ever seen Sadie as a friend. Nothing more, but I think she feels a bit stronger about me instead."

"You don't think she'd be really mad at us, do you?" The girl of 14 asked a bit worriedly. After all, Sadie was her friend too, and she would never want to upset her.

"I don't know, actually, we'll just have to see."

"So that means..." Prim laughed a little, shrugging her shoulders, "that we're dating? Like...a thing?"

Lars smiled widely, nodded his head, and rested his forehead against hers. Prim kissed his cheek, then his jawbone, and then laid a small kiss on his neck, and then a bigger one where his shoulder and neck met. "You won't ever abandon me, would you?" he moaned, his grip on Prim becoming stronger. "Like, leave me for someone better?"

Prim, the girl with dark, long springs for hair, chuckled softly, hugging the older boy's skinny yet strong chest to her. "Never" is what she whisper, giving him a loving kiss on the cheek.

#steven universe #lars #lars barriga #lars x reader #stuff #idfk #garnet #pearl steven universe #amethyst #Steven

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angelthebedsheet · 4 years

Text

“All I Wanted”

a peter 🅱️ parker x gender neutral! reader

a/n: jay’s sexc ass brain gave me the godly idea to make an angsty song based fic for pbp. we both love that himbo so here we fuckin go!!

contains angst, reader wanting pbp, established relationship, cursing but hey it’s fuckin me i curse in every fic i’ve written lmao, angst pbp lovers come get yalls juice

lets get it!

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“Be careful out there, Pete.” You said as you caressed his cheek. He kissed your hand. “I will. I’m sorry again. I know this was supposed to be our date night and I wished I could sta—” You interrupted him. “I know. Just go, Peter. New York needs you.” You mumbled, opening the window. He frowned at you and pressed a kiss to you forehead before pulling his mask down. “I’ll see you, bugaboo. Again, I’m so sorry we had to cancel.” He whispered before jumping out of the window. You watched him shoot his webs, swinging away. You sighed and pulled out your phone to cancel yet another restaurant reservation.

Yet again, another date night was ruined by the crimes that occurred coincidentally each time. You were proud of him. You really were. He was amazing each night you watched him swing onto the scene and risk his life each time to make sure New York was save. But, you wanted to be selfish for once and try to beg him to stay for atleast one night. What did you expect when you decided to say yes to him two years ago? He was a hero and the world didn’t stop spinning. But, god did you wish it did. You wanted him to take a break.

You sighed, sitting down on your cold bed and took off your dress shoes, mindlessly tossing them wherever. You lost track of how many times you did this action. You wiped the makeup you can took your time to do off. Wasted. “All I wanted was a peaceful date night... Is that too much to ask?” You mumbled as you changed into some sweats and one of Peter’s shirts. You let your hair down and fluffed it out before walking into the living room. You plopped yourself onto the couch, toying with your ring. Seeing Peter got more and more sparse as he did his patrols and missions, but this city never slept and neither did he. You missed those nights where he would fall ontop of you and pepper your face with slobbery kisses. You missed when he’d rant about what dumb thing a criminal did or when he’d tell you corny jokes at 2am trying to get a tired giggle out of you.

You missed him. Now he would plop into bed, dead tired from getting punched from criminals and you’d massage his tired muscles, hearing a sluggish “thank you, baby.” You wished New York didn’t always rely on your tired man. He was only one person but was seen as a pillar of strength. Only you knew he wasn’t just that. He wasn’t Spider-Man when he came home to you. He was your Peter B. Parker.

You sighed as you turned on your TV. “Now on the scene, Spider-Man!” The reporter exclaimed as the camera panned to show Peter shooting his webs. Your eyes welled up in tears as you switched channels. I love you’s turned to Stay safe’s and I know’s. Was it so bad to crave more love from him? Was it so bad to want to be his main priority for the night like you used to be? Was it so bad? The world was too much on your Peter, always cutting off hours of sleep as Peter was too devoted to making sure he was blanket of security for the city. You wiped your eyes as you watched the shitty Hallmark movie that came on. You sniffed as the average brunette woman and average brunette man held hands while walking down the streets. That could’ve been you and Peter. If you had decided to beg, would he stayed? Or would he sent you that sad smile and apologize repeatedly before kissing you and slipping through your fingers like loose sand?

You lost track of time and how many shitty Hallmark movies you watched before you fell asleep. It was 1 am when Peter swang home. He cursed under his breath as he slipped through the window. He closed it behind him before noticing how your bed was empty. He looked at the time and groaned. “They’re gonna be upset.” He mumbled as he pulled off his mask. He rushed to shimmy off his spider suit, wincing every so often. He placed his suit in the hamper and he threw on a random shirt along with his grey sweatpants. He walked into the hallway, hearing the noise coming from the TV. “Baby?” He called out before walking into the living room.

He frowned as he noticed your sleeping figure, slumped to the side as your head rested on your hand. As he walked closer, he noticed the dried tear streaks on your cheeks and felt his heart break. He lost track of many nights he found you waiting for him to come home. He gently shook you, regretting the fact he had to wake you up. Your puffy eyes and bloodshot eyes fluttered open. “Hey, lovebug...” He said with a sad smile. “Oh... you’re home, Pete. Let me go get the first aid kit.” You mumbled as you got up. He sighed, knowing you’d fight him on the topic if he even tried to debate with you on it. He reached over and turned on the lamp. You tiredly walked to the bathroom, grabbing the first aid kit and sat back on the couch. You started to patch up the cut on his cheek, mumbling a small apology each time he winced.

“Baby I....” He started off. “Save it, Peter. I get it.” You said as you dabbed peroxide onto the cut. He winced again. “No but I need to make it up to you. I’m so sorry we haven’t been able to be with each other that often.”

“Peter.”

“And I know how much you miss spending time with me and trust me I miss you too.”

“Peter.”

“And I know how much you wanted to have this date night—”

“PETER.” You exclaimed as you shut the kit closed. His eyes widened as he looked at you. “All I wanted was you! All I wanted was to at least have one night to ourselves and everytime you promise me that you’ll find a night off you never fulfill your promise. I get that you’re Spider-Man! I know you have to save the city! But can’t you try to take a break?! I’m so. So tired of patching you up every night! I’m so tired of massaging your aching muscles every night. I miss you.” You exclaimed. He opened his mouth to speak but you held your hand up. “2 months.” You said. “What?” He questioned. “It’s been 2 months, Parker. 2 months since you’ve came home to me unharmed. 2 months since you’ve held me close. 2 months since we’ve even ate dinner together. I’ve been trying so hard to not literally get on my knees and BEG you to stay! Each time you always tell me ‘The city needs me’ but have you even thought that I need you too? I miss my husband. The citizens out there see you more than I do. I’m tired of being your medic!” You cried out as you gripped your shirt, holding the place over your heart.

Peter’s eyes watered as you continued. “Sometimes I pace around this damn place wondering if you’ll even come home to me. I always wait for you, Parker. I even start to dream about having a date with you again. I fear that one day you won’t come home and I’ll regret never begging you to stay more. Regret never holding onto you. I always have you so close then at the end of the day you always manage to slip through my fingers. When we first started dating I knew you wouldn’t always be able to stay home but I was fine with it because I was willing to wait for you. I was fine with being the second choice because you were doing so much good.” You said as you got choked up. “No no no baby you were never the second choice.” He said as he reached to wipe your tears away.

You sniffled and slapped his hands away. “You and I both know that was a lie. You never take breaks anymore. You’re so devoted to your city but is it so much to ask to have you stay home and make fun of those shit Hallmark movies with me again? Would it be so much to even ask if you could skip patrol? I feel so stupid pining for you to kiss me again, which I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be wishing for my husband to... to show me more love when you’re out there. Saving lives and I’m here staring at that damned clock waiting for you. All I wanted was you and I know that’s already so much to ask for. I’m going to bed, Peter.” You said as you stood up. “Baby please.” He said as he stood up with you. You ignored him and walked past him. He watched as your figure disappeared into the dark hallway and heard your bedroom door close behind you.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he pushed his unruly hair back. He let out a shuddering sigh as he sat back down. He ran his hand down his face. “I love you.” The man on the screen said. Peter watched as the woman said it back before pulling the man into a kiss. That used to be you and him. All you wanted was him and he couldn’t even give that to you fully. He missed you too. Now the kissing couple was there mocking him. “Oooh look at us we’re so happy while you just got into an argument with the love of your life. Fuck off.” He grumbled as he roughly wiped his cheek and grabbed the remote. He shut the TV off before turning off the lamp. He sniffled and got up, exhaustion seeping into his bones. He walked down the hall and quietly opened the door. The moonlight shined through the curtains as they lightly blew from the nightly breeze.

He saw your figure facing the window under the covers as he quickly walked to his side of the bed. He carefully got under the covers and looked at your back. He scooted closer to you and gently caressed your side. “I’m sorry...” He mumbled, making you gently shrug his arm off. “Sorry loses its meaning when you repeat it again and again. Save it and go to bed, Peter.” You said quietly. “I love you.” He said as he scooted away, laying on his back. “I know.” You whispered as tears rolled down your cheeks. He wiped his eyes as he stared up at the ceiling.

“All I wanted was you.”

#spiderman x reader #into the spiderverse x reader #peter b parker x reader #x gender neutral reader #x female reader #x black reader #x male reader #angst babyyyy #Spotify

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turtletimewriting · 3 years

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Patton’s Adventure- Go Around

Summary: now that would be telling wouldn’t it.

Note: AY! I’m back from my break. Sorry about that again!

This is based on Fluffomatic’s idea of a Tickle Forest, so show some support!!!

The Beginning! --- Logan’s part!

_._._

“C’mon. Let’s be sensible about this. Let’s just go around,” Patton smiled as he started guiding them into the dense grass and bushes to walk around.

“Ew, when are you actually sensible,” Janus teased but truly he relaxed at that. He followed him without much thought.

Thankfully, the bears were all crowded in one group. They both stayed low to the ground and kept silent to see if another would walk by. If there was a group, then there may be more. Patton held his hand out to get him to stop. But there were no lumbering footsteps or any rustling. Nothing was coming. The bears were perfectly content to sit in the middle of the path, snuffling about and being generally cute. Patton waved all clear and then kept walking.

As much as he would much rather they run past the bears so to get past the danger as quickly as possible, Patton knew it would only get them chased down. Janus, regardless of what he said, was clearly tired.

Tickling always did that to him. If it lasted any longer than a quick swipe or pinch, then Janus would be found napping somewhere nearby afterwards. Patton couldn’t help his curling smile remembering how that was the very best part of tickling Janus. Immediate cuddling followed by taking a small self care nap. There was nothing that could beat that cozy warm feeling.

Janus hissed without thinking as they were now passing past the bears. Patton looked back at him with a wince. He shushed him as he awkwardly got down to his belly and crawled past the bears. That way they were a little more hidden and maybe they could play dead if they got found? Okay, maybe it wasn’t the best plan but then again it wasn’t like a lot of his plans had succeeded in this adventure.

They managed to crawl past without any incident. They continued to stalk through the overgrown grass until they could no longer see the bears. Then they excitedly fumbled back on to the path with bewildered looks.

“There was no way, that actually worked,” Janus gasped.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Patton twirled him around with a giggle, but he did make sure to keep his celebrations quiet. They really didn’t need to alert the bears right now. Janus smiled wide before tugging them down the path.

It was now setting into the evening. The sun had streaked across the sky and now everything was settling into a muted grey. The path was clearly defined with white flowers that seemed to glow despite the disappearing light. “They look like that motherbloom flower,” Patton pointed out uncertainly. They really did look like perfectly normal flowers and they didn’t react to him kicking at them. But they looked identical to the motherbloom’s flowers. It had to mean something.

Janus frowned as if this was the first time he was seeing them, “Didn’t it say something about that?”

Patton pulled out the sheet that was now very thoroughly crinkled but he pointed out the sentence where it explained that it could turn other flowers, “They’re not attacking us.”

“Well of course they look big enough to do any sort of damage to us.” Janus kicked at the tiny daisy looking flowers with disdain.

“I wouldn’t under estimate Remus and Roman if I were you,” Patton giggled.

“True. Do you think they could communicate?”

“What do you mean?” Patton frowned but now he felt the very distinct feeling of being watched.

“If the motherbloom can turn other flowers then what’s stopping them from almost, uh communicating. They could see any weak spots of ours and be able to tell the whole ‘queen’ of this place,” Janus awkwardly spoke, clearly embarrassed by the whole ordeal.

“Huh,” Patton hummed, “Well it might be a little too late to worry about that but then again, we’re the only team who knows about it.”

“Yes, they definitely don’t know about the motherbloom. Virgil was whining about how their sheet didn’t tell them much.” Janus smirked.

“Cheater!” Patton gasped. Janus laughed evilly and walked forward with a smirk.

They walked through the rest of the way with no distractions. But they both paused when they heard running water. Janus immediately pounced on Patton to wrangle to the map from him, and just ever so slightly tickling him on accident, only on accident of course. The map was very clear that the river was at the very end of their journey. They would have to cross the river and then a short walk until the massive obnoxious ‘X’.

“What do you think the treasure is?” Patton asked as he walked with a new increased sense of purpose.

“No clue. But I do suspect that one team will get a treasure from one creativity. For example, our treasure may be made by Roman while Logan’s was made by Remus. I can’t imagine them ever agreeing on what should be a reward.”

“Ooh! That would be fun!” Patton chirped.

Breaking through the woods into the river was immediately satisfying. All this time, it was very hard to keep track of where they were and to feel any sense of progress. But this was definitive progress. They had battled through all these tickles and were getting through this at a decent pace. Even with their little blips, it truly felt like they had made alright time.

The river was fairly calm and smelled strongly of the sea. Patton jumped down from the soil banks into the expanse of sand banks that lined the river. Childishly kicking the sand up, Patton turned back with a proud grin before pouncing over to a fallen over log. It was immediately soothing. The water wasn’t loud but just enough to be a quiet background noise.

“If I could propose a plan our great responsible leader,” Janus bowed down to a Patton standing over him on the log.

“Yeah JanJan?”

“You created the rule that we have to sleep a full 8 hours in the adventure so I propose we should create a camp here. I feel like we’ll get wet no matter what when getting through the river so we should sleep now before our clothes get all wet,” Janus reasoned as if the bags under his eyes and droopy sleepy demeaner wasn’t enough of an excuse to sleep.

Patton jumped down and snapped his fingers. Janus then immediately yelped as he dragged to the floor by a sudden weight on his back. That weight was a camping bag filled with supplies and a sleeping bag. “Oh! Sorry, JanJan!” Patton squeaked.

“You did that on purpose!” Janus said as he grabbed Patton’s hand and pulled him down into the sand too. Patton squawked but got his revenge pretty swiftly by dumping sand in Janus’ hat and plopping it on his head.

After they finished all of that, Janus stood up to see what would be a good place to sleep and noticed a little hut down the beach. They both jogged up to it only to stop. It was a little shop. A little rundown wooden hut with a bright tacky sign proclaiming Beach Stuff! It was lined with frumpy dad sun hats and inflatables. “Hello there young gentlemen!” The owner cried out with a wide grin.

“Hello there!” Patton answered but Janus stopped them from walking to the shop.

“We should focus on camping first then tomorrow we can organise if we need to buy anything.”

“Good point. But I feel like we definitely need to use floaties to get across!”

“Hmm, it seems too convenient.” Janus guided them both away to the soil bank again.

They found a small gap in the trees and ferns that was off the sand. It was a small walk to the shop again. It was perfect.

Patton occupied himself with the dad task of building a fire and starting to heat up some bacon while Janus was the actual responsible one by setting up the tent. If he also summoned an actual bed cover rather than the measly sleeping bag then that was his own business. He rolled his eyes at the neon blue tent and the mustard tent side by side. Of course Patton would summon their colours.

“What should be our plan? I feel like now we can actually sit down and think about this, we should create a good plan.” Janus wiped his forehead as he slumped down next to Patton.

“I do think the floaties would be the easiest way. It avoids us going into the water which may contain more tickle loving creatures and we don’t get wet!”

“Why are you so worried about getting wet? You’re literally secretly a giant frog,” Janus deadpanned.

“Yeah, but you’re not!” Patton responded with a wounded look.

“Well I don’t think we should use the inflatables as it seems too obvious. I’m unfortunately very aware of Remus’ tricks and this screams a trick.”

“That is true but I don’t see what else should we do? Swimming across just seems like a mistake,” Patton argued, actually using some logic and reasoning.

“We could... uh... maybe the shop has some specialised swim suits! This is a world based on a certain childish activity and so there must be ways they still function. How do divers work in this world!” Patton nodded along but he still frowned.

“We’ll decide in the morning, I think we’re both tired and hungry. Let’s take this one step at a time!”

They ate quickly as Janus was practically falling over asleep into the fire. Settling into the tents and of course saying goodnight, they both snuggled into their blankets.

Snuggling as they fell asleep, completely unaware of their bug companions they picked up when literally crawling around the grass floor of a tickle world.

This adventure took: 30 minutes!

Total time taken: 1 hour and 23 minutes!

And there we are!! Time to decide again...

A) Use the floaties B) Use the swimsuits

#TicklyAdventure #Tickling #ts patton #ts janus #ts deceit #turtle writing

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astaralys · 4 years

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A Frozen modern AU oneshot

Oneshot collection can be read on: FFN | AO3

[Backstory chapter, direct continuation of oneshot #3, Searching] In which Anna officially moves in with Elsa.

-----

Anna sifts through the stranger and collects details like flecks of gold buried in the sands of time.

When she follows her sister through the airport and realises she still has to look up even though Elsa is only wearing flats: Wow, she's taller than me.

When Elsa tries to help her with the luggage and nearly drops it on her own foot: … But not exactly stronger. Got it.

When they get into a small white car: Oh, she does drive.

When Elsa struggles so badly to merge lanes she misses their exit on the freeway: Oh my God. She can't drive.

Anna tries so hard not to grip the door handle for security that she can't remember what she spends the ride rambling about. Her sister is mostly silent, all hums, terse nods and white-knuckled hands on the steering wheel. Anna tells herself it's because all of Elsa's focus is going into keeping them on the road, and not because Elsa, like, hates her or anything. That's absurd.

Right?

When they reach the city, Elsa's driving suddenly improves; Anna suspects it's because there's so much traffic they're barely moving. Sitting at a red light (Elsa slammed on the brakes when it turned yellow), Anna is so captivated by the bustle beyond her window that she nearly misses her sister tentatively asking, "Do you have your license yet?"

Anna snaps her head around too keenly, and winces when she sees Elsa flinch. Is she scared of me? "Sorry? Oh—my license? Ah, no, I kinda, um, failed the test. Twice. But I know how to drive!"

Elsa blinks, and Anna panics—crap, she thinks I'm a total dunce for failing twice—but then the lights go green. Almost immediately, the car behind them honks impatiently and startles them both.

Seeing her sister's shoulders tense up again ignites something inside Anna. She twists in her seat, stares straight through the rear window, and glares at the other driver. She can't tell if they can see her, but she likes to think it was the heat of her wrath that sent them scurrying into the nearest side street.

"What a stinker," Anna huffs as she turns back around. Then she remembers that it's not Kai in the seat beside her, and flushes as she glances towards Elsa. "Am I embarrassing? I'm embarrassing, aren't I? Hans always says so—i-in a nice way, of course. Like, you know, 'you adorable dork' or—"

"You're not embarrassing," Elsa says quietly. There's a pause as she carefully navigates an intersection. Then, "Hans is a friend?"

Oh, Anna realises. I'm not the only one playing detective.

"He's, um, a little more than that."

Elsa's surprise manifests as an especially jerky stop at a pedestrian crossing. "You're dating someone?"

The urge to defend him rises from nowhere. "You'll like Hans! He's a perfect gentleman with the sweetest sense of justice. He just graduated from law school. And he likes chocolate and sandwiches, just like me."

He didn't like you moving across the country, a niggling voice reminds her. Anna purses her lips and pushes the thought to the back of her mind.

"I'm sorry. That question came out strange." Elsa glances at Anna, adding softly, "Sometimes I forget that you're not five years old anymore."

"Well, we're lucky you remembered today, or you never would have found me in the airport. Waaait a minute… why didn't we just go to the information desk and tell them to make an announcement?"

To her surprise, Elsa laughs. "Haven't you had enough of that for a lifetime? You used to get lost every time we went shopping with Mom and Dad."

The memories come flooding in like a storm carving up a forgotten river. "Hey, you got lost all the time, too!"

"You got us both lost all the time."

The warm glow fills Anna's chest and remains there as Elsa turns into a long driveway leading down into the basement of one of the tallest apartments. Elsa takes a full five minutes to park, and then they're zipping up in the elevator.

Following Elsa down the plushly carpeted hallway, Anna discreetly pinches herself. Ow. It's actually happening. It doesn't matter that Hans planted that horrible question in her head ("You haven't lived with your sister in over thirteen years, Anna. How do you know she even loves you anymore?")—she's here. Elsa's here. They'll be coming home together from now on.

Then they reach the door at the very end of the hallway, fitted with one of those fancy keyless locks, and as Elsa reaches for it, she seems to remember something and says rather awkwardly, "It's your birthday."

She forgot.

It shouldn't be so surprising—Elsa hasn't been there for thirteen years of birthdays. Their parents would always give Anna 'a present from Elsa', but Anna knows how hard it is to pick out something for a sister she sees once a year at Christmas ("She likes books," Grandpa replied every time Anna called for research). And Elsa's presents are always a little too perfect, as if she still sleeps on the top bunk and can't escape twelve-year-old Anna gushing about skateboards. And after Anna noticed that, it became harder to ignore the voice that kept wondering if those presents were really from Elsa—a voice that is now smugly saying: I told you so.

"Y-Yeah! It was actually two months ago but time sure does fly. It was a super fun day—Hans and I went to an amusement park. I spent, like, two hours at the bottle toss trying to win this cute Baymax plushie. I've got it in my suitcase; I'll show you later. It's the best cuddle buddy ever."

This gets her an odd look from Elsa, but a beep from the lock distracts them both. Elsa opens the door. She steps back, gesturing shyly for Anna to enter first.

"There had better not be a trapdoor in there," Anna jokes. She doesn't know why she's nervous about this moment. It's a door. It's open.

She steps through.

Her first thought is that everything is minimalistic and very white. An open kitchen with an oak splashback against pale tiles. Cream carpet visible through a glass coffee table sitting in front of a light grey leather couch that looks more like a recliner for one than a place to watch Netflix with friends or sisters.

Even the bookshelves standing sentry on either side of the wall-mounted television contain neat rows of books with the stark pages facing outward. Anna opens her mouth to make a quip about finding any books—but then her curious gaze falls on the small dining table with its single placemat and chair.

Why does this detail hurt so much?

"This place is amazing! I bet myself ten bucks that you had great taste." Even Anna can tell she sounds too loud, too bright. "Remind me to treat myself. I'm craving chocolate fondue right now. Actually, scratch that. I'm always craving chocolate fondue. Any good places around here? Please say yes."

She hopes Elsa still likes chocolate and building snowmen.

Elsa hovers by the shoe cabinet, her left hand loosely gripping her right elbow. "Yes. I'll take you someday. Would you like to see your room?"

Anna catches herself on the verge of saying something stupid like 'Of course! It's the whole reason I'm here.'

"That's the bathroom." Elsa points to a door at the end of a short corridor, then gestures to two other doors on either side. "My room. Your room. I was only using it as a study, so it's very empty after I moved the desk to my room. We can—"

"Relax, sis! I'm so easy. All I need is a—" Anna throws open the door. "—bed."

It's literally the only piece of furniture in the room.

"Woooow. You really weren't kidding about empty, huh?"

Behind her, Elsa sounds apologetic. "I wasn't sure how you wanted to set it up, so I only got a bed. If the mattress is too hard or too soft for you, we can exchange it tomorrow. Or if you don't like the view, you can take my room instead. It really doesn't—"

"I love it." Anna spins around with a grin. "This means we get to go shopping together! But let's get IKEA to deliver to us, yeah? Your Mini Cooper can only fit, like, two-thirds of a flatpack. Ooh, I've seen apps that let you drag furniture onto photos to see how the room looks with—" She's interrupted by a shockingly huge yawn. "Goodness, 'scuse me. Where was I? Right—apps… Elsa? Where are you going?"

Her sister returns with the suitcase. "You just got off a plane; change into something comfortable and get some rest. Dessert and furniture can wait until tomorrow."

"But I'm not—" Another yawn swallows up the rest of Anna's sentence. "—sleepy… Okay, fine. But promise you'll wake me up for dinner, or my rumbling tummy will wake you in the middle of the night."

Elsa promises, and then the door closes with the softest of clicks.

Anna listens, but there's carpet and her sister moves so quietly that it feels like she's back in the big house. Alone. Except she's not.

She checks her phone. Nothing from Hans. She sends him a quick message to say she's arrived at Elsa's place, then looks around at her new room, and decides not to add a photo.

Her suitcase springs open as soon as she unlocks it, spilling her life across the floor. Gerda helped her pack, but none of her neat folding survives the trial of Anna digging for something to sleep in. Anna changes into pyjama bottoms and one of Hans' shirts.

Then her gaze catches on a grey, threadbare sweater.

There's a cartoon graphic of a single slice of pizza. The rest of the pizza is on her father's sweater; a matching Father's Day gift that immediately became a game of chicken. If one of them wore their sweater in the house, the other had to wear theirs, no matter how sweltering the day. It drove her mother crazy. "Can you two please stop wearing those long enough for me to wash them?" she used to sigh.

Now, pulling the sweater over her head, Anna realises in the darkness that it's the little details. It's the fact that their sweater streak was still unbroken when she answered the door to find two police officers solemnly waiting. It's electricity and phone bills that continue to pay themselves, because direct debits don't care that Anna's parents are gone. It's not being able to send videos of Elsa's horrible driving to the group chat because no one else will see them.

A knock on the door startles her. She whirls around with her head still stuck in the sweater and—oh no, bad idea.

"Anna? I forgot to give you… are you okay? I heard a loud noise."

Lying winded on her back, Anna wheezes, "Nothing! My shirt just fell."

"That was very loud for a shirt."

"Yeah, um, that's because I was kind of in it."

The door opens as she sits up. "Did you break anything?" Elsa asks as she helps Anna get her head through the sweater.

"God, I hope not. Keep all your favourite mugs away from me. Actually, keep all your expensive stuff away because I'm ridiculously uncoordinated. As you can see."

"I meant bones, Anna. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Oh." Anna lets out a laugh, rubbing an elbow. "Totally fine. Super thick skull. What did you forget?"

Elsa gestures towards the bed, where she's placed a stack of bath towels. "To give you towels in case you want to take a shower first."

"Thanks. Wow. That's… a lot of colours."

"I wasn't sure which ones you liked."

Anna blinks at her sister. Who might have given her a spare room with nothing but a bed, yet bought towels in literally every colour of the rainbow, just for Anna.

"Oh, and this." Elsa holds out a silver key. "In case the keyless lock fails for any reason. There's a panel you can slide down to open the door normally with this key."

The key feels both light and heavy in Anna's hands. She flashes Elsa a grateful grin. "I'm going to use this every day because that pin code looked so long, I'd forget it every day."

"I don't think you will."

"Hah. You don't know how bad my memory is." And Elsa really doesn't know, does she? There are so many things they don't know about each other.

But then Elsa cocks her head to one side and says, "You can't forget it. I told you: it's your birthday. Month, date, year."

When Anna stares speechlessly for too long, Elsa hurriedly adds, "When I moved in, I was told not to use my own birthday because it's too obvious, so the first thing I thought of was yours—b-but we can change it to your phone number if that's easier for you. Or maybe… Anna? Are you okay?"

The details Anna has collected scatter as she throws her arms around Elsa for the second time that day. Except this time, it doesn't feel like she's hugging a stranger.

When Elsa awkwardly rubs her back, Anna wipes her eyes on her favourite sweater and thinks: That's my sister.

#I actually wrote this before I finished the last chapter of TNU #and then deadass forgot all about it #I am a goldfish #frozen fanfiction #frozen modern au #snow sisters #elsa #anna #these days are precious #my writing

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camomills · 4 years

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Title: Stars of Soot Relationships: Silica/Sinon Fandom: Sword Art Online Word Count: 3083 Summary: Sinon shows off GGO to Silica as a date, at Silica's request. As she experiences the different sensations of such a hardy world, Silica wonders why this world means so much to the other girl. Notes: Made for SAO Pride Week 2020 - Day 2: Stargazing. This one wasn't beta read because I was a bit pressed for time, so please forgive me for any glaring errors. It's been a while since I wrote Silica/Sinon! It was quite fun to revisit the ship. As per usual for me, this wound up as a weird mix of fluff and character study.

AO3 Link

The air in Gun Gale Online smells like gasoline and gunpowder, but Silica doesn’t mind… much. Not when she clings to Sinon’s back as they speed down the highway on a rental buggy, pigtails fluttering in the wind as her cheek finds rest in-between her girlfriend’s shoulder blades.

“I still can’t believe you want to try out this game,” Sinon says, the metallic hairpins on the sides of her face clinking lightly. She’s still not that used to driving, in the game or otherwise, so she keeps her eyes on the road instead of turning her head back as she talks. Vehicular collisions are not particularly romantic.

I just want to know what you see in it , Silica replies in her mind, raising her head.

She understands that, for all the time they spent together in ALO ’s fairy realm, that wasn’t Shino’s ‘world’, not in the way this place is. When she doesn’t bury herself in the curve of Sinon's back, the gas and soot is more apparent to all of her virtual senses, and even though it was her own proposition, she has to ask, why? Why choose colorless tiles and cracked pavement over the boundless hues of fantasy?

“I’d be lying if I said I… particularly get it,” Silica admits. “But this world is important to you, right?”

“Yeah,” Sinon replies. “ GGO might be an acquired taste, though. This game is gritty.”

She rolls her shoulders, leaning further back onto Silica.

Excluding Silica, Sinon has never been one for bubbly and cute, so GGO would always be a better fit for her. But this virtual world was made with inhospitality in mind, so not exactly the perfect dating spot. The fact that she’s here for one surprises her more than it does anyone else.

“Well,” Silica says, “good thing you’re here, then! Having a tour guide to show around should be a huge help.”

Sinon wheezes. “So I’m your tour guide, now?”

“Yes!” Silica proudly proclaims.

The sniper smirks. “Okay, then.”

Sinon twists the handlebars, and the bugey roars as it peels through the road. She can’t help but smile as Silica’s high-pitched yell reaches her ears, just barely audible over the revving of the engine.

The howling of gunfire can’t be heard as much within GGO ’s hub city, but the loud advertisements that echo from the bright signs serve as a fitting substitute, volume-wise.

Silica’s only knowledge of this game comes from watching Sinon and Kirito fight for their lives, real and virtual, through a tournament broadcast. The fact that Sinon still logs in daily to Gun Gale even after that incident would be odd to anyone other than people like the beast tamer and her friends, who are all VR addicts despite their time in Aincrad.

The two years in the floating castle, despite the pain it caused her, was where Silica grew the most. She’d never openly say that there’s a part of her that misses the days after the one year mark, when she’d settled into her reputation in those lower floors and tried to forget the outside world so much that she succeeded. None of her friends would. It’s a silent understanding and an untold promise; not to admit missing those days, so they don’t have to, either.

What does GGO, a medley of grit, greys and metal, mean to Sinon?

Their circumstances are different, but the scars they bear stain their skins in similar ways. The masks offered by virtual worlds, Silica knew, gave one the opportunity to confront themselves in ways one couldn’t anywhere else. There was something to the kind of place one chose to do so that Silica found important to know.

Sinon got to see New Aincrad, walk over the same plains wherein the beast tamer had met Pina, bask under the same electronic sunlight she experienced for two years.

It’s not fair if only one of them gets to do it, is it?

The sun sets while they stroll through the city, and Silica understands more of the acquired taste Sinon had mentioned. The approaching dusk was somewhat nice on itself, but the place was still a palette of monochrome then, all steel on sand, black on white. Once it’s officially night time in game, 6:00 PM sharp, however, everything changes. The dark of night makes the huge, floating billboards pop, neons of purple and blue scattered through the cyber landscape. The virtual city night lights become luminous streaks in her vision while they dash on the way here on the buggy, not unlike how she imagines speeding through one of Tokyo’s nightlife districts in a motorcycle would feel like. It’s movielike, but not fantastical or unreal, but maybe that’s the point; she doesn’t think she’d have the guts to go at such high speeds with her flesh-and-bone body, nor would Shino have the confidence Sinon presents.

There are things from real life that one can only do in a game like this.

***

They stop by an equipment shop at the center of the now-luminous city. Unlike the last time she was here with someone else, Sinon has no tournament sign-in to get to after shopping, so they can take their time.

Sinon is surprised when Silica picks an overall sensible combat outfit; a tactical green and black leather outfit with red accents, along with a dark, moss-colored poncho. We kind of match! Silica beams as she presents herself, pointing back and forth between her and Sinon’s outfit colors. She frames her face delicately and comically she does so, her eyes shining like a cartoon fawn’s. Sinon knows it’s on purpose, this over-the-top display of sweetness, but it makes her smile anyway.

Of course Silica found a way to make this cute.

It’s also cute, albeit in a different way, when Silica’s eyes look away from the armor section of the store and widen as she takes notice of a display of combat knives. They’re military-grade blades, absolutely indistinguishable from the real-world articles. Unlike just a moment ago, the shine in her eyes is unfeigned.

“Oh yeah, this game has these!” Silica exclaims.

Sinon turns to her with a quizzical look.

“... You’re interested in the knives?” That makes it two for two, the times she’s taken someone new here and they thoroughly ignored guns. Are all fantasy game players like this?

“Of course I do!” Silica exclaims, like it’s obvious. Her look all but says, I spent years fighting with daggers, remember?

Silica takes one of the knives from the demo display. It looks comically large in her hands, and yet it pales in comparison to the ones she’s grown used to in fantasy games. She spins the handle in-between her fingers, resting it on her knuckles. The hand flourish when she bumps the blade upwards, sending the knife spinning high, and then catches it from the air with her open palm is almost too fast to see. She gleefully changes the grip a few times before finally settling it in a simple reverse grip.

“They have such a better feel than those bulky daggers!” Silica exclaims in glee.

“ Impressive,” Sinon mutters under her breath. She can’t help but be hit with a sense of deja vu .

There’s a sensible distance one can gain when looking at someone brandishing a bright sword that looks more like a cosplay prop, or a fantasy dagger coated in filigrees. But there’s no distancing from seeing Silica, in all of her titanic five feet of height, doing knife tricks one would expect of a special forces soldier, or perhaps a movie greaser, when the blade is so realistic.

Sinon would be lying if she said she doesn’t find the display at least somewhat attractive.

Sinon heads over to a small menu in front of the knife section as she selects the same blade Silica had in hand. Soon after she goes through the proper transaction steps, holding Silica’s hand and laying it over the holographic display, one of the store robots scoots over to hand Silica her item.

Silica’s smile makes the credits Sinon spends all worth it.

… Is a knife a weird gift to give your girlfriend? Sinon thought, but that was a bridge already crossed. Then, she remembers the real reason they came here.

“I know you’re mostly here to look around, but you’ll still need some sort of main weapon if you’re to experience the game. Pick whatever gun you’d like to test out and we can go to a shooting range.”

****

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am absolutely serious!”

Instead of the shooting range, the two find themselves by a station near the edge of the city, connected to the game’s starter fields.

The vehicle’s mounted weapon protrudes from a hatch on top. Its long, steely frame glimmers as it reflects the sun’s harsh light. The heavy machine gun could be mistaken as some sort of cannon for the uninitiated in the ballistic arts, with its bulky, long barrel, but it’s a high-RPM, lightning-fast automatic weapon, nothing short of a reinforced harbinger of death.

“You said I could pick any weapon,” Silica reminded the other girl. “I’m picking this mounted gatling gun.”

Machine gun, actually, Sinon thought of correcting. Other than the regular shooting ranges in GGO, there were also training grounds for driving by the outskirts of the city, by the game’s starting area - it had been where Sinon had trained her bugey skills, in fact - but the knowledge of that, or of the existence of mounted weapons, is the sort of knowledge most newbies wouldn’t have.

Silica did her research for sure... and was probably planning this.

Sinon’s original plan was to simply show Silica around the game, so buying an expensive armored vehicle sounds unwise, especially when there’s only two people.

The sniper squints her eyes at the shorter girl. Noticing Sinon’s glare, Silica fans her eyelashes pleadingly, and Sinon’s resolve falters.

… I guess I was thinking of getting everyone else to convert and help me out, anyway?

“... Fine,” Sinon concedes. “But you better help me convince everyone else to hop on here for the PKer problem, then.”

Silica immediately jumps in excitement. The humvee’s engine purrs to life as Sinon turns the engine key, and the newbie gunner excitedly hops to the top hatch.

*****

Silica is small, but she doesn’t feel so when she holds onto the trigger in the huge weapon’s handlebars, the generated mobs in the starting fields shattering into red sparks. She loudly laughs in excitement as the high speed vehicle traverses the shifting sands.

The ride is a feeling unlike her other experiences with virtual worlds. It might be due to what Sinon earlier described as a “commitment to grittiness,” but the game still replicates hints of discomfort; her small frame vibrates from the gun’s recoil, her fingertips feel a bit too warm, and she has to ask Sinon to stop every so often because of dizziness.

It’s annoying at first, but it grows on her.

Silica wonders if this is part of what draws Sinon to this world.

******

Silica finds the pink hue that covers GGO ’s desert sands endearing.

She gets a good vantage point to admire the landscape as she’s wrapped in one of Sinon’s arms and they zip up a rocky structure. The grappling hook’s line is taut with their combined weight.

Despite the pleasure found in their proximity, as her hand holds Silica’s body close to her by the waist, Sinon does so primarily out of practicality, as Silica doesn’t possess a grappling hook of her own.

Silica, however, finds herself smitten by the situation. Being carried in the arms of a cool girl as she takes in the sights of a foreign world, the warmth of her body providing solace in the cold, simulated night, is a scene befitting a dream she’d have long ago if she’d known she liked girls sooner.

Silica sighs in disappointment as they reach the summit, going from dream to simulated reality. As she looks at Sinon, she’s glad this reality, virtual as it is, is still dreamy aplenty.

The plateau atop the rock formations, where monsters couldn’t reach, was the perfect stargazing spot. It allows them to wind down after spending an entire day driving, shooting, and in Silica’s case, shouting in excitement. Sinon is not exactly the romantic type, far from it, but even she recognizes what the beauty of GGO’s night sky can do to one’s heart. She’s glad she gets to watch it with someone else now, instead of only her sniper rifle for company.

Sinon sits herself by a boulder on the plateau that she manages to find snug. The wordless invitation she gives Silica, as the spot to her side seems like it would fit her perfectly, beckons the younger girl, who hasn’t acquired the same grit to be truly comfortable on the hard surface. Thankfully, Sinon’s shoulder is softer than the rocks.

“So, what did you think?” Sinon asks. “Was I a good tour guide?”

“Yes,” Silica answers. “I give you five stars!” She nuzzles closer onto Sinon’s side.

They stare out at the sky. The moon is hidden behind drifting clouds.

“I have a confession to make,” Silica admits, in a tone that sits between jokey and serious. “I didn’t want to try this game only to shoot guns.”

“Oh?” Sinon’s surprise is clearly feigned. Even she would be able to understand that Silica’s request to see this game was a date proposition. There was a reason she decided to cap the night off with stargazing.

“Yeah. I guess I figured… playing this game would make me feel closer to you.”

“Oh.” Sinon’s surprise this time is genuine. “Well… do you?”

“Hmm.” Silica looks at them, sitting side by side, sharing warmth, and yes seems like the obvious answer here. “I mean, yes. But I suppose I was looking for an answer.”

“An answer… did you find it?”

“I’m not sure I did. I think I found… something,” Silica says. Her grip on Sinon’s arm tightens, a mix of affection and nervousness. “I think there is something important about virtual worlds, and why we’re drawn to them. I... now that I think about it, maybe I could’ve just asked you from the beginning.”

Her heels pitter-patter on the rocky surface.

“What does this… What does GGO mean to you?”

Sinon looks at Silica, a bit puzzled.

Silica doesn’t know how fair of a question it is, really. Could she explain what drew her to virtual worlds? Why thinking of Aincrad, her former prison, makes her feel homesick? But she’s nothing if not sincere, and she wants to know. She figures Sinon, introspective as she is, thinks about those things more than she does.

“GGO is, you know.” Sinon makes a meaningless hand gesture. She thought obsessively before about this question - her objective, her growth, her path towards becoming stronger , she called it. She doesn’t know how to distill it in a sensible way, is all.

A place to face my fears?

Where I met Kirito, thus, how I met you?

“ Home?” Sinon says without registering.

Oh.

It’s under this night sky, beneath a red moon, that Sinon realizes this is the first time she got to enjoy this world with someone she truly cared for, life-or-death situations notwithstanding. This place, with its odd smells, rattling sounds, and even unpleasant sensations, has been one of the few places of respite she had from… everything. Others. The world. Herself. It’s more evident now, with someone to share it.

“I came to this world because I wanted to surpass who I was. I wanted to become stronger,” Sinon explains, unsure of whether she sounds pretentious. Sinon’s jaw clenches, and Silica gives her a reassuring squeeze. “When I first came here, there was nothing I wanted more than to erase my real self with this- this stronger version of me. This better version of me.”

The image of Hecate II, her sniper rifle, her companion, comes to mind. She’d thought before, at times, what was she without its weight on her back, other than a fragile girl who can’t help but retch at the sight of gun replicas? Without burnt fingertips and trembling shoulders from gun recoil, how could she call the strength she built here real?

This place is home because it was under this same carmine moon that she realized Asada Shino, the high-schooler, was just as much of a warrior as Sinon, the elite sniper. Under this virtual sky, nothing but code threads woven into a reality, was where she accepted who she was.

She fidgets with her fingerless gloves as she continues. “It’s hard to give a simple answer,” she concedes. “But if I had to try, I’d say… this is the place that showed me it was okay for me to be myself. To recognize my strength, to connect with others. Back then, before this game, I never thought I’d get to have... this, I guess.” Sinon nudges Silica’s shoulder with hers, playfully. “Who knows. Maybe I just wanted to be proven wrong.”

Silica’s heart tightens. She moves a hand to Sinon’s cheek.

“I’m glad you were proven wrong, then.”

In what Silica is pretty sure is the first time, Sinon is the one approaching her for a kiss.

It’s quick and sweet. Sinon’s thin lips press onto Silica’s lightly. It’s easy to forget they’re in the virtual world then, with their eyes closed the way they are, the waves of warmth radiating through their faces as the only signal their AmuSpheres send to their brains.

*******

The night goes by quietly as they stare to the sky, save for the distant sounds of underground monsters shifting the sands and Silica’s occasional comment of how she’s sure she can tell the constellations even through the thick clouds. They have little time before GGO’s short day cycle robs them of this sight.

That sky, this world, are virtual, and they know that. It’s hard to tell, though, when it shares stars with the real one, when it shares warmth with the real one, when the strength they gain, the bonds they deepen, the sights they see, carry over to the real one.

The air in Gun Gale Online smells like gasoline and gunpowder, but Silica doesn’t mind… at all, really, when it grants them the opportunity to be so frank and close, so near when they’re so far.

When it grants them the opportunity to be themselves more than anywhere else.

#SAO #Sword Art Online #saoprideweek2020 #Silinon #Silicon #Fili writes

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kikizoshi · 4 years

Text

GoDost Historical AU: Sonya & Raskolnikov Room Meeting 2

An hour or so past midnight, in the sleeping town of St. Petersburg, a tiny apartment’s door suddenly became victim to an intense, forceful banging.

The rattling and creaking of the door, followed by one final slam, roused the room’s tenant, a young, healthy civil servant of about twenty and three, who, having woken in such an abrupt manner, promptly flailed, toppled off the decaying couch on which he slept, and landed on the floor with a groan (whether from the floorboards or the man, it was hard to say).

Cursing, the civil servant pushed himself up onto his feet and stared grouchily toward the door. The banging had ceased, and in lieu, some muffled, raggedy breaths could be heard. ‘My door’s attacker has tired himself out already,’ he thought, ‘and just at the beginning of his tirade! It surely serves him right, but what has he come for? I paid the rent already…’ Thoughts carrying on in a similar manner, the young man shuffled over to lean against a battered vanity, atop which many half-transcribed sheets of paper rested. He was careful not to displace any of them.

He couldn’t simply rest, he knew, yet the idea of confronting whatever beast came walloping upon his door wasn’t a pleasant one. He sighed and gazed about the room. He had no choice but to meet his attacker, lest a second and third barrage rob him of the little sleep he could gain--or, Heaven forbid, break the lock, the replacement of which would surely tear a hole in his wallet--and shouldering this responsibility, the civil servant trudged back over to the couch, along the back of which was laid a drab grey undercoat. He swung the thin fabric around his shoulders--making no effort to wear it properly; his visitor could reap the hospitality he sewed--and turned round again to the door, wondering what to do.

Just then, a stream of moonlight glinted off a polished samovar--the man’s one luxury--and for a moment, the twinkle whispered a wicked idea into his mind. As quickly, however, he shoved it away and spat at it for good measure. ‘And why would I do something like that? I’ve not even heard out this stranger yet! Though who would call upon a man in the dead of night--and not only call, but hammer!--without any slight inclination such as my own... Well, but I know not him…’ And again, the civil servant’s thoughts wandered.

Suddenly, he laughed and said aloud, “But who would draw such attention to himself if that were the case?” Certain, then, he went to the door and amiably, in a full display of manners which he would have liked himself to receive, and knocked thrice upon the--surprisingly--sturdy wood door.

“Might I inquire,” the civil servant began, raising his voice so as to be heard through the door, “what brings such a violent tirade upon my lodging at such an hour?”

“Inquire trite.” A thin, exasperated voice, with an edge that the young man couldn’t place, sounded faintly back. “Let me in, Gogol.”

Gogol, as the voice named, stood back and contemplated. Soon, he had a tailored reply, but at the impatient “now” proceeding the voice’s words, Gogol took firmly the door’s handle, unlatched the poor lock (which by then wobbled on a few loose screws) and opened the door.

Not a word managed to pass Gogol’s lips before the man who called upon him--Fyodor Dostoyevsky, that was, a young student Gogol struck up a camaraderie with over the past few months--shoved past him and into the small room. Gogol smiled and shook his head, shutting the door (and for what it was worth, relatching the lock).

“You could have at least a greeting,” he said, affecting offendence, “But- hey, what’s gotten into you?” Dostoyevsky, as though in delirium, paced around the room, muttering to himself. Gogol strained an ear, but managed to decipher nothing, and so moved cautiously closer, leaning against the vanity. His nose twitched at a faint iron smell. “Really, what’s this? It’s as though he’s gone mad! Surely you’re still with me, Fedya.”

“I’m here, I’m here!” Dostoyevsky gritted his words, wringing his hands as though the noise buzzed around him.

“Are you really?”

“Yes, really. Quit with your stupid questions.”

“Really?” Gogol squinted. Amid Dostoyevsky’s ramblings, a cloud had passed over the moon, casting everything in shadow. As such, Gogol could not see the panicked expression plaguing his friend’s features, nor make out the blood flaking his overcoat. “They’re not stupid. I may be blind, but my ears work perfectly fine. You’re practically hyperventilating!”

In fact, quite the opposite was true. Dostoyevsky’s breaths weren’t fast, but they shook, and came at an uneven pace. The snow which Gogol noticed covering his friend when he came in had mostly melted by then, and he shivered and dripped onto the grimy floorboards.

“Well, anyway,” Gogol started after a moment, “What have you come for? And so late?”

“I…” Dostoyevsky began, but trailed off. He himself was quite incapable of answering such a question. Understanding that he must speak, however, Dostoyevsky made an effort to continue. “I needed… that is, I wanted… but no, no it’s all… Why have I come? The answer is quite… that is to say… Why have I come?” The last phrase, spoken as though without taking any notice of Gogol, worried said man further.

“You’re shaking,” Gogol said, “Here, sit down here,” he pointed to the couch, “Don’t worry about dirtying it--I needed to clean it anyways. Hey, why simply stand there? Sit, I say!”

“I’m not a dog,” Dostoyevsky spat, “You need not command me.” And, petulantly, as though to emphasise his words, he moved away from the couch. In his new location closer to the window, a stream of moonlight escaped the sky’s sheet of grey and illuminated a streak along the young student. Gogol set his jaw as the first spike of genuine dread shot through him.

In a lower pocket of Dostoyevsky’s overcoat, the light caught on some heavily-embroidered purse, shot through with golden threads and splotched with a muddy, dull reddish-brown. The colour seeped from the pocket, streaking down the coat to join the melted snow on Gogol’s floor. When his eyes found the courage to travel back up to Dostoyevsky’s face, he drew a breath.

“Perhaps I’m not the only one with evil in him,” Gogol said drew a breath. “I dare say you’ve done something despicable.”

“And what if I have,” Dostoyevsky whispered, “what will you do? Call the porter?”

“Well, and what if I do?” Gogol cocked his head. He was careful to hide the discomfort creeping up his spine by crossing his arms. “Will I meet the same fate?”

Dostoyevsky was silent. For several moments, a tangible fog suffocated the room. It pressed in around both men, squeezed their lungs, crept into their minds and robbed them of their rationalism. Dostoyevsky’s eyes slowly, as though dragging across sand, shifted over to the samovar, matte by then in the darkness’ shroud. The same horrid thought passed over his features, and Gogol tensed. For two more minutes, they stood in apprehension. Finally, Gogol spoke first.

“It won’t be as easy, anyway.”

“What? What won’t be easy?” Dostoyevsky shook his head, tried to dispel the buzzing fog and, when he found he could not, scowled and turned from the samovar to face Gogol. “No, I won’t do that, why should I? You won’t tell anyone.”

“Won’t I?”

“No, you won’t. Of that I’m certain.” Dostoyevsky crossed his arms.

“As certain as when you decided that,” Gogol pointed to the purse, “was a simply capital idea?”

“It is,” Dostoyevsky hissed, “Or do you not trust me? Do you need me to spell it out?”

“That would be appreciated,” Gogol said, voice carefully restrained. His eyes never left their intent focus on Dostoyevsky. “I, simple, mortal man as I am find it hard to understand, you know, how it is I am to… trust, a man in such an attire.”

Dostoyevsky clenched his jaw. Was he to spill every detail of his plans to a man whom he knew for not even a full year? Was he to incriminate himself so thoroughly just for the sake of a slightly cleared conscience? Even if Gogol wasn’t one to speak, if anyone found out about their visit, he would surely be questioned. ‘And then it would all be over,’ Dostoyevsky thought. ‘My efforts would vanish into nothing, and nothing is what would come of me.’

“Or maybe you don’t have a reason?” Gogol brought out.

Dostoyevsky said nothing. The moon, finally unobscured by the passing clouds, shone brightly in the room once more, and the new illumination upon the weak man’s features--how gaunt he was, and, starkly, the copper blood--transformed him into a pitiful sight. Gogol pursed his lips, and Dostoyevsky couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was laughing at him.

“And what’s your excuse?” Dostoyevsky snapped. “What with your misplaced emotions, you ought to be ashamed, and swear your devotion to the Tsar at once.”

Gogol drew a breath, an angry twitch pulling at the corner of his mouth, “Ashamed of what? The only thing I have to be ashamed of is not turning you out right now! ‘Ashamed of my emotions.’ Bah! What’s there to be ashamed of? Tell me. And make it clear, mind you.”

“Oh, you know very well. It’s the reason you’ve let me stay, is it not? Certain feelings for--”

“Oh, you!” Gogol flung his hands up in exasperation. He hadn’t thought Dostoyevsky would be so crass as to say it aloud. “Out with it! Why have you come? And if you don’t care to answer, then I don’t care, and get out.”

“Perhaps I don’t care to answer,” Dostoyevsky screwed up his eyes, “What will you do then?”

“But you know very well what I’ll do!” And, in a state of frenzy, Gogol went over and grabbed Dostoyevsky by the arm with every intention of hauling--or, more likely, throwing--him out the door. Dostoyevsky paled.

“No, I can’t go out there yet,” he brought out in a whisper so faint, Gogol nearly missed it. “I’ll leave you, certainly, but not yet.”

“Now or later,” Gogol said, grip strong on Dostoyevsky's forearm, “What does it matter? Unless--no! You have a witness? A civil stalker? If so then they have every right by me to--”

“That isn’t it.” Dostoyevsky pursed his lips. “I have a… premonition, and I’m sure I’m right. I can’t go out yet--it would be the death of me.”

Gogol raised a brow. “So what? The ghost of whatever poor soul you killed wants revenge, is that it?” Dostoyevsky shook his head. “Well what, then? A demon’s come sniffing your malice and decided to take you in? Good riddance, I say! It’ll be all the better for the world.” Dostoyevsky’s downcast expression was soon joined by his eyes to examine a raggedy carpet gloomily, and Gogol scoffed halfheartedly, a pitying nature seeping into his angry tone. “And once more, your delicate sensibilities escape my reason. How a man can kill and yet be devastated by the tiniest outcry--it defies all reason.”

A despairing look overcame Dostoyevsky’s face. Gogol felt a pang of guilt. ‘But why should I be guilty?’ thought he. ‘Fedya has surely killed a man--or a woman, more likely!--and for what? A decent purse and some change? No, not him, the crime doesn’t fit. So why…’ Gogol’s hand loosened, and fell to his side when Dostoyevsky pulled away.

“You’re wondering why I did it,” Dostoyevsky said, “And… you’ve reason to wonder. But I’ve not time as it is--” A spasm crossed his face, and his eyes widened, purple irises laced with fear as he stumbled over to lean on the vanity, displacing a few neat stacks of paper. “I’ve not time,” he continued, “I can feel it. I just know… I’ll tell you later, but for now...”

“What are you, dying?” Gogol faltered, could not figure out whether offering his arm would be justified, and stood in worried confusion.

“I don’t… believe so. As said, I’ll leave you come morning, so please just let me…” Again his strength failed him. Concern dispersed the last of Gogol’s outrage, and he hurried over.

“Well here, don’t strain yourself anymore. Sit.” And he guided Dostoyevsky to the couch, the latter collapsing onto it with a grimace. “Ah, water!” Gogol exclaimed, “But I don’t have any. I’ve not even any left-over tea. What to do, what to do...” He tapped his foot agitatedly.

“It’s alright,” Dostoyevsky said, “I just… I need rest. Let me be.” He sank back against the couch, face scrunching involuntarily at the grime--though the couch was in no worse condition than his own, in fact, Gogol’s was cleaner--and pulled a tattered grey blanket round his shoulders. Gogol frowned at his friend’s condition.

‘To think this frail man committed such an act…’ Gogol thought, ‘It seems like such an impossibility, yet here he is, right before my eyes.’ He sighed and drug a hand over his face. “Here, give your overcoat to me,” Gogol said aloud, gesturing to Dostoyevsky’s huddled form, “You can’t sleep covered in blood, and I don’t want my couch smeared with it, anyway.”

Dostoyevsky nodded, shakily removed the blanked and overcoat from himself and, handing the latter to Gogol, drew the blanket once more around himself and lay down, his back to the other. Gogol raised a hand, as though to touch Dostoyevsky, but cursed quietly and lowered it.

For the next few hours, nothing but the sounds of Gogol’s scratching pen and Dostoyevsky’s ragged breaths could be heard dispersed in the silence. In a brighter hour, when Gogol was halfway into a new stack of transcriptions, Dostoyevsky suddenly was thrust into a wave of convulsions, for which caring spent several hours more into the morning. It was nine o’clock by the time Dostoyevsky’s faculties returned enough for Gogol to--hesitantly--deem him suitable for going out.

“Wait,” Gogol stopped him at the door. “You’ll want an overcoat, but you can’t go out in that, covered in blood.” He pointed to the abandoned coat.

Dostoyevsky shrugged. “Well, give yours to me then. I’ll be sure to return it.”

“Give you mine!” Gogol exclaimed, “I don’t have one of my own!”

“Haven’t you? You talked about saving for one, didn’t you buy it too?”

“Oh, yes… Confound our Russia.”

Dostoyevsky cocked his head to the side, amused.

“I bought a new one, yes,” Gogol elaborated, “But some bastards stole it during a trip. I went to some important personage, to see if I might be avenged, but when at last he received me, I was turned out just as quickly! It’s a miracle I didn’t die of hypothermia on the way back… Such is the beauty of our glorious nation. So I don’t have one anymore.”

Dostoyevsky chuckled, a frail, tinkling sound, and unlatched the wobbling lock. “Give your undercoat to me, then, and I’ll return it with an overcoat.”

“Sure, sure, but only if you return both! I need them, you know.” And taking off his undercoat, Gogol paused once more, and quickly added, “If you get any blood on it, I’ll thrash you,” before handing it over.

Dostoyevsky took the coat with a smile. “If I did,” he said, “You’d never be any the wiser,” and he went out of the small apartment.

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space-blue · 4 years

Text

Map of Hope

"Maas'Haku, are you bleeding all over me?" I asked, lowering the weight of my Maas to the ground.

"Hah. This is when you ought to leave me behind and save your own skin."

Night hid the vulgar gesture I waved with the hand that wasn't fumbling at my kit, but not my expletive.

Low red light burst out, creeping at the fringes of my perception, its quiet glare catching in two bright orbs in front of me : Maas'Haku's iridescent eye-shine. They gave its hunched figure an ominous quality.

I looked at it, my face a studious mask of passive interest, hiding my anxiety as much as I could while I scanned its body for injuries.

"Maas'Haku, your–"

It waved a hand in annoyance.

"Given our circumstances, I think you can stop calling me Maas'anything. Haku will do fine. Now now, don't protest," it said, seeing me frown, "even if you won't leave me, you're not my retainer anymore. Right, you can help me up if you want."

"No, if we're to keep moving, I need to see to these wounds."

The monochromatic light made the interwoven strips of its tunic a study in shades of red; speckled by large, dark streaks – the black blood of its kind.

I met its eyes, glowing discs that never left me as I undressed and turned my clothes into strips and compresses and gave what aid I could. There was no mending broken bones or torn flesh. I had no medpack on me. Nothing even for the angry burns and cuts I could see and feel along my left hand and arm, glistening with evil promises of infections to come.

As soon as I was done, I shut the kit's light and gently lifted my Maas' back on its leg. It was time to leave the path behind us. We walked for a while in silence. Stumbled really, weaving around and under the coarse vegetation. The bushland rustled around us, oblivious to our struggle, covering the sounds of our escape just as well as the ones of our pursuers. The night was bright with starlight, dimmed only by the fires of the grid's outpost, their glow a bleeding patch of orange hues in the sky that we kept to our back.

A vibration set off in my wrist, following a pattern. Regular beats bearing sour news.

"That was?"

"The fourth tracker."

"So they're well on our trail."

I pushed us further in silence, doggedly, until the constant tripping of Maas'Haku made it unmanageable. Seeing a large boulder, I tugged us under its overhang, under which flimsy soil broke into coarse sand. I put my back to the cold stone and arranged Maas'Haku's large frame against mine, setting its head in the hollow of my shoulder.

We caught our breath, waiting for the vibrations that would tell of our enemy's progress.

"It's not what I had planned for you," Maas'Haku whispered.

Emotion kept me quiet for a while. I stroke its hair, anger creeping back over me as I smoothed away long strands of it that had turned silver under stress and pain.

"That my Maas ever made plans for me delights me beyond measure."

It waved a hand, forming the sign for exasperation, certainly due to my persistent formality.

"Has the grid come offline yet?"

I grimaced in the dark.

"No telling. I cut connection when we left, and won't risk being pinpointed by turning myself back online."

The lack of information usually pouring from the grid felt like a horrible void. Only the direness of our situation kept me from freaking about it. My mind still returned to the absence often, like a tongue distracted by the hole of a fallen tooth.

"If you stay with me they'll kill you when they find us."

"If I left you I'd die as well. Just later, when the Commons crush that stupid rebellion."

Its eyes shot up, searching for mine.

"Still, wouldn't that be... better? Ah. I see I have offended you."

I made no reply. Its hand found mine, soothing in turn.

"Noor, you know I meant no offense. I just would rather not see you die. Not because of me."

"And I'd much rather die in a manner consistent with my desires, choices and beliefs," I replied, keeping my tone as matter of fact as I could, mostly failing.

"I suppose I could order you away?"

"As you said - Haku," I put emphasis on that, "I'm not your retainer anymore."

"If they found you alone, these rebels would let you live."

"Oh I doubt it," I said, tapping with one of my right hand's metallic finger on the plating that braced the sides of my skull, over one ear and across to the other, cutting my shaved scalp like a set of silvery scars.

"If it's Maas'Kuma's people, they'll treat me like a piece of equipment. If they burnt their own grid, the cyborg of another Maas can't be worth much. If it's our people... Why, they'd know which side I stand for."

Maas'Haku looked up at me with a warm smile and curious eyes.

"I don't know that I've ever done anything to you to deserve such loyalty."

I waved the sign for "nonsense" in silence.

Child of hull scrapers on the poorest of the six stations, I had not been wild enough a kid to ever dream of going planet-side, let alone live and work there. Grid workers and scientists were the only humans allowed on Earth. At ten I was sent - sold - to work instead of school. Things grew worse, and at fifteen, I wasn't wild enough to dream of anything anymore.

The day my right arm caught in the void-port I was tasked to clean, life froze. I was so shocked by the loss of my hand - of my future - that I withstood my boss' beating in silence. I didn't notice the Parali that walked to us. I knew I was going to get spaced. There was no room for lame workers. Especially if they made a bloody mess of what they were meant to clean. They'd charge me more chitz than I had and then space me and... The Parali, after some discussion I had not been aware of, pulled me to my feet and dragged me away.

Away from the red mess, away from the beating, from the work, from the station. Ultimately, away from misery. From hopelessness.

Once stable and recovered from the shock, it had taken Maas'Haku several trials to get my name, and several more to forge an agreement. I had never interacted with a Parali before, and at the time Maas'Haku terrified me.

You couldn't grow up in a human space-slum without being nurtured with fear of the invader. The alien Parali, with their otherworldly technology, statuesque humanoid bodies, their sleek grey skin, ever changing hair, and predatory eyes, had come crashing down on humanity, saving us by enslaving us to the benefit of our own planet.

They had come with the grids and the willingness to teach us how to operate them. These monstrous weather regulators required a lot of work, and the cybernetic surgeries had made me into a perfect intendant for one of them.

"I can't believe they'd destroy a grid," I said, my thoughts overflowing into speech. "We owe them to you, your kind. Without them, without you, we'd be all orbiting a dead rock by now! No protest is worth destroying a grid. Killing Maas'Kuma was enough to get them executed anyway."

"I'm not surprised that Kuma's people felt like burning him up though."

My wrist vibrated. The signal for the sixth tracker. Haku pushed himself up, groaning. Our faces almost touching, we bent over my wrist, expectant. I'd planted the sixth tracker where we'd left the path.

Pitiless, the seventh tracker buzzed. They were going fast, we were in serious danger.

"We need to leave. Now."

As I made to move from our shelter Maas'Haku caught my metal hand.

"Noor, listen!"

"Haku, they're here!"

My maas pulled me back down to it.

"I have lived for several lives of men, seen much and met many. But of all people I've encountered, you..." Its voice wavered. "For what little kindness I did you, you repaid me a thousand-fold. Noor, you brilliant one, there is so much laying for you in the future. So much that I wanted to offer you." Its eyes burned, catching the growing lights of our pursuers. Yet we stayed still, riveted in each other's grip.

"Please, Noor, understand – I love you. I don't want to witness this, your human blood spilled for the sake of repaying an old kindness."

"Oh Haku..." I whispered, my tears blurred the shapes that rushed us. The flow of my emotions felt trapped by words too small.

"Old kindness? That's not why I won't leave." I reached for its big, alien, beautiful face, its lines the map of hope. "It's just that I love you, too."

~~ December 2015 – Theme : Young Love

#original work #original story #competition #scifi

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