#painting is not my forte I am. very nervous. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anenbylittlepotato · 3 years

Note

I hope i'm not bothering you with this request, you're free to ignore if you want!

If that's okay could i request the brothers or the side characters comforting a teen MC who's scared about their future? As in they don't feel ready to become an adult despite them being almost 18 and that overwhelms them a lot. (I see all of my classmates already knowing and being ready to adulting and i feel like shit cause i'm literally sitting here worrying about how being an adult is scary and that i'll never find a job that makes me happy or that i'll never be happy with my life as an adult...)

This is all platonic ofc!!!

Oh no, it's alright, you're not bothering me at all 😁 I've actually been hoping for some more requests, so I'd be more than happy to do yours. I am also very close to graduating high school and becoming a full adult, so I know how you feel there.

The Bros Comforting a Teen MC who's Scared for Their Future

Lucifer

You're scared for your future?

Well, he supposes that makes sense. After all, it will make for a very large change in your life and you're going to be dropped into the real world with all these responsibilities with no sense of direction. You're bound to be a little afraid.

He'll sit down and listen quietly as you tell him your fears, rubbing your back soothingly.

He might offer to help you figure these things out by sitting with you as you do it and helping you get your foot up. I mean, hell (pun intended), he's been doing this stuff for him and his brothers for thousands of years. Adulting is kind of his forte.

He'll also offer advice to you, giving you tips and tricks he's learned over the centuries of doing it himself.

Seriously, this man will give you a full lecture on how to be an adult if you let him

Mammon

Huh what?

Haha, what makes you think he's any more prepared to be an adult?

This man didn't even know you had to pay rent to live in an apartment lmao

If he were tossed out on the streets right now, he'd be homeless. Especially with all his debt he has to pay.

So don't expect much advice from him there.

But he'll try his best to comfort you. Even if he sucks at it.

He'll smile that smile that could light up the dark side of the moon and pat your head, telling you not to worry about it.

I mean, he hasn't gotten it all figured out yet either, and look how great he is! After all, he's the GREAT Mammon!

So just take it easy! Not everyone has to work things out right away!

Leviathan

Bro same.

He's terrified of his future. He doesn't even know if his plan to be a pro gamer will even work.

But fuck if he's not gonna try.

And, hey, he may know what he wants to do, but he's had thousands of years to think about it. Don't rush yourself! I mean, some of his favorite idols didn't know what they wanted to do until after they'd finished college!

I mean, not everyone's gonna figure things out right away. He didn't know what he wanted to do for the longest time!

Honestly, though, he feels bad for humans. They all have such little time to figure things out.

He'll offer to sit and talk to you about it, or if you don't really want to talk about it, he'll offer to play video games or watch anime with him.

Satan

What's that? You're scared for your future?

Well, that's understandable. Humans are quite fragile, so it's not surprising that there's a lot of things that would scare you. And to make matters worse, you're plopped into all sorts of responsibilities straight out of high school. I mean, that would be pretty scary. Especially if you have no idea what you want to do.

He'll offer to lend you some books, to do some research and help further prepare yourself for what's to come.

He might even sit with you and help you work things out. He's read so many books about and from the human world that he knows plenty about how things work up there.

If you're still nervous, even after all the studying and reading, he'll recommend some books to you that he, personally, likes, to distract you for a while.

Asmodeus

Aw, you poor thing! You're afraid? Don't worry, come here, Asmo will make you feel better~!

He'll pull you into his bed and immediately start giving you a makeover.

Spa day! And the entire time, he'll be chatting your ear off, telling you all about tons of partners he's had in the past who also had no clue what they were doing with their lives.

He'll give you all the juicy details! Well... Maybe not all of them... Hehe~

He'll tell you all about their own fears, of which are quite similar to your own, and he'll tell you all their struggles and how they got past them.

All the while, he's painting your nails, and doing you hair, and applying your makeup.

Beelzebub

Oh no... Don't be afraid!

Um... He doesn't really know what to do here. He's never really thought much about what he'd do in his future. Do you want some food?

He'll sit down with you and offer you some food. He'll try to give comforting words, but he doesn't really have much experience with this sort of thing.

He'll mostly listen as you tell him about your fears, offering small words of comfort.

He's not very good at this and he doesn't know much about all of it, but he'll try his best to help you feel better.

I mean, he hasn't really thought out his future either. The most he's gotten is that he wants to do something involving food.

Belphegor

Lmao why tf are you coming to him for comfort about your future?

He doesn't know wtf he's doing either. And he doesn't really care all that much either. He'd rather sleep.

Why you just sleep? It would be nicer than thinking about all that.

Oh, you can't sleep? Fine. He'll use his power to ease you to sleep then. Now you won't bother him while he's trying to sleep.

He might consider helping you better later. When he's not trying to sleep, that is.

But even then, he can't promise he'll be any good. Being nice and comforting people aren't exactly his forte.

But, if you're still nervous by then, then he supposes he'll help you

I couldn't do the side dateables, sorry, but I might do them another time.

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me levi #obey me leviathan #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me writing #obey me headcanons

130 notes · View notes

maybebanks · 4 years

Text

I Noticed You

jj maybank x kook! reader

“Alright, Sarah. Bye now,” you groaned, stepping out past her white painted bedroom door.

“Noooo,” she whined, “don’t leave,”

“I gotta go.” You pouted, “my dad wants me home,”

“Fine. Be like that.” She waved you off.

“Your parents are way less strict then mine!” You argued.

“Uh huh,” Sarah responded sarcastically, “I’m gonna miss you, bitch,” she smiled.

“Okay...see ya,” you waved while walking through the door.

You continued down the hallway, it was a sort of narrow hallway, but you’ve been down it many times before.

“Hey Y/n,” you heard Rafe’s voice call for you, he was leaning casually against his door frame.

“Oh..hey,” you answer, stopping infront of him.

You had to look up to talk to him because he was taller than you.

“Can we talk for a minute?” Rafe asks. You had no idea why he would want to talk to you. I mean, he’s always been nice to you, but he was nearly 20. And you were barely 17.

You nodded, following his gesture for you to come into his room.

He closed the door after you. You just stood by the window. Raising your eyebrows at his suspicious actions.

You looked behind you and saw their backward looking fresh, a Pogue, you think his name is JJ but you didn’t know him well, mowing the lawn.

“I have to be quick. I promised to be home,” you mentioned.

Rafe smiled, not saying anything, just looking at you.

You fumbled with your crop top, “So..what’s this about?” You asked.

“You know how long I’ve been trying to get you alone. You and Sarah...it’s non stop,” he said.

“What?” You asked, very confused in general.

“You were at Toppers party right? Damn..when I saw you snort that coke I was like...this girl...she’s bad,” he chuckled.

“Oh...that was-that was a mistake. I don’t do drugs like that anymore,” you reassured, feeling regretful about that mistake.

He laughed, “don’t lie to yourself, baby. Just think of the fun we could have together,”

Is this some kind of flirting?

“Look...uh, I have to go. Talk later?” you opened the door a bit but Rafe slammed it shut.

“What the hell?” You asked angerly.

Rafe scoffed, “hanging out with Sarah makes you a real bitch,”

“Rafe...I have to go!” You raised your voice. This seemed to anger him. For next, he lunged towards you, trapping you against the wall.

“You think you can tell me what to fucking do?” He asked, his voice surprisingly calm.

When you saw his eyes, you could tell he was high.

“No, I’m-“ you began but stopped yourself when the door creaked open.

Wheezie’s brunette head peaked through the crack of the door.

When she saw both of you, her eyes turned confused.

Rafe moved off of you, “Wheezie, get out of here,” he ordered.

She didn’t argue like she usually would, she didn’t even exchange a glance at you. Just left the room, leaving the door a crack open.

“Shit,” you whispered involuntarily.

“Tell me, Y/n, what’s it gonna take?” he asked.

“Hi!” Wheezie shouted over the loud noise of the lawnmower. Waving her hand towards the boy out in the field.

JJ chuckled, he mowed the lawn for the Cameron’s once or twice a week. Wheezie was basically the only Cameron to talk to him, she would test out flirted to him, even though he was a pogue.

JJ turned the lawn mower off, walking over to Wheezie.

“What’s up?” JJ asked, honestly, he enjoyed a break from his work, and he would never get in trouble becuase Wheezie would defend him.

“So...uh...I don’t know for sure. But I think Rafe is gonna hurt her. And he’s kinda....you know, I mean he does drugs. I saw him this morning! Anyway, he’s in his room and I think-“

“Whoa! Slow down! Who’s gonna hurt who?” JJ asked, now concerned.

“Just put on a shirt and come with me!” She demanded, pulling him by his wrist towards the house.

“I don’t think your parents would be okay with me comin’ in,” JJ chuckled again.

“Just...okay...you know Y/n right? She’ll kill me if she knew I brough you into this becuase she hates attention or whatever but I’m worried, because you know...Rafe has a thing for her and I’m just worried he might try to kiss her and...” She trailed off, but JJ knew what she meant.

He frowned, “You sure I should go in there? What if she wants it. I mean, a lot of kook girls hook up with Rafe,”

“TMI!” Wheezie exclaimed, “anyway, Y/n isn’t one of those kook girls. She’s wayy too good for Rafe. Plus I think she’s into surfer boys,” Wheezie shrugs.

JJ sighs, “alright fine. But you owe me for this,” JJ began walking up the stairs, “what, you not comin’?”

“I am not about to get yelled at by Rafe. Plus I’ll cover the fort down here, so my parents don’t get involved.”

When he finally made it to the second floor, he heard your voice. You weren’t strangers, you’ve met once or twice, but JJ always thought you were way out of his league. And that was saying something.

“Rafe seriously. My dads gonna kill me!” You stated, pushing against Rafe’s rather buff chest.

“Who cares about your dad, Y/n. Just get on your knees,” he stated.

JJ felt disgusted. Even he knew that was no way to talk to a girl.

He stood outside the parted door.

“No, asshole,” you said bluntly, trying to get around him again.

He grabbed your wrist, harshly, pulling you back so you hit the wall. You moaned in pain when the doorknob from his closet door hit your back.

That’s when JJ interfered.

He pushed open the door to make his presence known.

You both looked up at him at the same time.

Rafe immediately stepped back from you, and you pushed the sleeve of your shoulder back to covering yourself.

“Everything alright in here?” JJ asked, studying the situation.

Rafe sniffled slightly nervously, he knew he probobly couldn’t take JJ in a fight due to all the drugs he’s on.

Rafe looked at you, to which you immediately understood, “uh...we are fine. Thanks JJ,” you answered, clearly nervous.

He was surprised, and unexpectedly flattered, when you addressed him by his name.

JJ thought fast, “there is a car here for Y/n,” JJ lied. But you believed it, and so did Rafe.

Rafe scratches the back of his neck, “Okay Y/n...have fun.” Rafe said as you stepped out of the room.

You wanted to flip him off, but JJ was right behind you.

When you got outside, JJ was about to tell you there was no car, but he couldn’t when you thre your arms around his torso, a hug, where you rested your head on his chest.

“Whoa,” he chuckled.

“Thank you, J, you have no idea...” you mumbled.

JJ slowly moved his arm to hug you back. But when his hand reached your mid back, you took a sharp intake of breath and pulled away.

“Sorry, for that. You really saved me back there,” you explained, looking up at him.

“It’s not problem. Oh and by the way, there’s no car here for you,” JJ mentioned.

“Oh...right. Shit I kinda need a ride. You looked around. Until your eyes landed on JJ again.

He studied you.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” You asked.

“No...” JJ shook his head, “this is the most you’ve ever talked to me,” he blurted. Kinda regretting not usuing his usual approach when talking to girls.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you before. I just didn’t want to get you in trouble,” you explained, “but I have noticed you,”

Your phone dinged, and that’s when you remember to check the time, “shit,” you blurted.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just...my dads gonna kill me. I was suppose to be home like an hour ago,” you sigh, still nervous.

You noticed JJ tense, “I can give you a ride? The van is gonna smell like weed though,” he winked, gesturing for you to follow him.

You nodded, following him down the driveway to where his “busted” van was parked.

“I’m not usually this helpless, you know,” you blurted, wanting him to know you for the real you.

“Oh believe me, I know,” he chuckles, opening the van door for you.

He was surprised by himself, again. He’s never cared enough to open the door for anyone. But it was so simple you probobly wouldn’t notice.

You smiled, at him and hopped in. There were some all black aviators and a red SnapBack on the seat. Which you moved so you wouldn’t sit on them.

As JJ walked around the van, you couldn’t find anywhere to put them, with all the clutter around, so you just decided to wear the sunglasses and his hat.

When he opened the car his eyes widened in excitement, “looks good on you Y/n,” he said starting the van.

“Who the hells that? I’m JJ,” you joked. When you took a deep breath, you scrunched you’re nose at the stench.

“Whoo,” you sighed, “it’s strong in here. What’d you hotbox or something?” You continued with the JJ impression.

“How do you know me so well?” JJ laughed and grabbed the hat off your head and placed it backwards on his own.

“Just guessin’,” you shrugged, moving the sunglasses farther down your nose.

“Where’s your place?” JJ asked as he turned the wheel.

“Uh...” you trailed off when you noticed Rafe running out of the house, looking angry, waving at the van.

“Shit! JJ go!! Drive!” You commanded. Grabbing his hand and forcing it on the wheel.

You knew Rafe would judge you for spending time with a Pogue, and he would also be mad.

“Calm down, princess,” JJ responded, stepping on the gas.

You immediately retracted, “sorry.” You muttered.

He pulled out of the driveway quick and started heading down the wrong road.

“Where are you going?” You asked, slightly nervous now.

“Back to my place. Since you didn’t tell me where yours was,”

“Wait...uh it’s down that road. I’d really love to hang but I gotta be home,” you told him.

“Ya sure?” JJ said turning the wheel and heading down your street.

You nodded.

“No, I mean, kook princess, would be down to hang with a Pogue?” JJ asked.

You pointed to the pastel yellow mansion with terra-cotta roofing, “of course JJ, I think you’re dope,”

“Holy shitt,” JJ moaned when he saw your house, admiring its beauty and the boat you had parked in the front.

“Jesus, what id give to be a kook,” he mumbled.

“Trust me, it’s not as good as it-“

“Y/N!!!” Your father shouts, he must have seen you pull in.

“Fuck,” you muttered.

JJs heat started to race, that was so damn hot.

You pulled of the sunglasses and placed them on the dash.

“See ya later, and also, you can come over any time use any materials you like. My brother got a new surf board and then went off to college, it’s all yours if you want it,”

JJ smirked, perks of having a kook friend that lived with a family that bought status symbols with their money, “can I get your number?”

“Yeah, it’s-“

You both stopped at the banging on JJs window.

Your father, was urgently yelling, “Y/N get out here right now. Your late for training, god damn it,” it was muffled, but you both understood.

“Training?” JJ questioned.

“See you at the Cameron’s,” you winked, then hopped out of the car and joined your dad inside the kook mansion.

JJ contemplated a life with you, only for a moment, then pulled out of your, rather long, stone driveway.

happy friday !

my masterlist

#jj maybank #obx imagine #obx fanfiction #outer banks #obx netflix #jj imagine jjxreader obx #obx jj #obx jj maybank x you #outerbanks #jj outer banks #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank fic #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank blog #jj maybank angst #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank x kook!reader

440 notes · View notes

waiting4inspiration · 4 years

Text

Ride (Ivar x Reader)

Summary: Ivar only wants the best. And when his search for the best horses leads him to your city and he sees you trying to tame a wild stallion, he ends up wanting something different

Warnings: strong language, SMUT, +18 content, unprotected sex, slight fem!dom, mentions of war, i don’t know much about taming horses but i did the best i could,

Word Count: 3,875

Vikings Masterlist

Ivar only wants the best. The best soldiers in his army, the best ships in his navy, the best horses for his soldiers. He has the first two, now all he needs his horses. Strong, well-bred, well-trained stallions that will ride his army into battle against the Saxons. And there’s only one place in all of Norway that breed and train horses like that.

The city of Kvia is known to everyone as the Horselands. So much so, that it’s hardly even called Kvia. The Earl of Kvia, Denrin, only gives a team of his best horses to whoever pays the best price. And because Ivar wanted that, his bargaining with the Earl of the Horseland went on all through the winter season.

Now, it’s time for the king to see his prize.

It’s exactly as Ivar imagined it to look like. Green pastures far as the eye can see, herds of horses grazing on the luscious grass, some being rounded up by men, others being ridden. It’s only once they pass a certain point that leads them deeper into the land that there is a horse everywhere Ivar looks.

Denrin meets Ivar at the gates of his city, riding a gallant pale stallion to lead Ivar and his company to the fort-like building that would be Denrin’s Great Hall. The grey stone building, rigid and strong almost contrasts the freedom the green land gives off.

“We’ve given you a fine team of horses, King Ivar,” Denrin speaks as he leads Ivar and his brothers through the training ground. “All of our horses are trained to look fear and danger in the eye, obey their rider’s command whatever they may be, and might even be the steed that would lead you to Valhalla,” he mentions with a chuckle, but Ivar doesn’t laugh.

Ivar watches and men and women lead horses between training circles and stables, alternating between feeding stations and drinking wells. The sounds of steeds braying almost overshadow the communication of the people in the area.

“Even though we breed our own horses, wild horses roam the outer banks of the land. Those horses you saw when you entered the Horselands,” the horse lord states, looking over his shoulder to the visiting party. “We leave them be, unless they have been hurt or cast out of their herd. Then, we take them in and try to tame them,” he mentions, holding his hand out to gesture to a training ring with a single horse inside it.

The black beauty gallops around the fence, around a single trainer inside and a lunge line connecting them. “It also gives us a chance to breed fresh horses with different blood. And it gives the trainers something different to work on. Breaking a wild horse is not an easy job.”

“Who is that in the center?” Ivar questions right as Denrin stops talking. His eye has been fixed on the woman in the center of the horse’s galloping circles the entire time.

Denrin smiles as he shifts on his feet. “That is my daughter,” he states proudly, making Ivar turn his head to look at him. “She has been working on taming that horse for weeks. He’s a stubborn thing, only listens to her,” he mentions, nodding to you when you click your tongue and gently tug on the lunge line to order the horse to come to you.

The horse shakes his head and huffs out as his gallops turn to a canter. With a stern voice, you call the stallion and tug on the line again. And this time, he listens to you. The black steed walks over to you, keeps his head up confidently before nosing the hand you hold out for him.

“She will attempt to ride him today,” Denrin mentions as he takes a step forward to carry on leading Ivar, Ubbe, and Hvitserk through the training grounds and towards the stables holding their horses.

The rest of the tour goes by before Ivar can realize it. He is happy with his horses. His trust for Denrin and his horses is much like his trust for Floki and his boats. And even though he thought most, if not all, would be stallions, Denrin said that some of the mares can be just as spirited. They made their arrangements on how and when the horses would travel to Kattegat for Ivar’s use, and then it was time to witness the event everyone seems to have been waiting for.

The visiting guests didn’t think that someone trying to ride a wild stallion would be such a big deal. But there’s a crowd gathered around the training ring you and your horse were in before. Now, only the black stallion is there, minding his own business. He’s used to the crowd by now because it’s always busy during the day. He’s learned that if he doesn’t mind them, they won’t mind him.

“Do you think she’ll succeed?” Ubbe questions as he and Ivar find a spot where they can see the ring and the horse perfectly.

“I hope she does,” Hvitserk mentions as he comes to join his brothers. “I’ve placed a bet on her. A good one,” he chuckles, glancing down at the pocket of coins in his hands before he looks up at Ubbe and Ivar.

Ivar only rolls his eyes as he turns to try and find you. “She’s Denrin’s daughter. The chance is she learned how to ride a horse before even learning how to walk,” he mutters, smirking to himself at the thought of that. His words mean that he’s sure you’ll succeed in riding this wild beauty.

Seeing you walking out the stables, a saddle over your arms, and your gaze fixed on the training ring, Ivar shifts in his spot and marvels at the determination in your eyes. Hvitserk laughs to himself as a thought crosses his mind when his eyes wander down your body. “With legs like that, I wouldn’t be surprised if she rode men the way one would ride a wild horse.”

Those words bury themself in Ivar’s mind, making thoughts of his own spark up with him even trying. It makes his eyes fall to see what caused Hvitserk to say those words, and he takes in a deep breath at the sight of your legs. Oh yes, he can see the vulgar image his brother tried to paint so vividly now.

The image of you mounting him, those legs of yours either side of his useless one, hand on his chest to steady yourself above him as his fingers dig into the muscle of your thighs. Gods, what it would be like to have those legs clench around him as he-

You break his thoughts by placing the saddle on the fence with a thud, making him turn his gaze down to the ground to avoid meeting your gaze. Curse Hvitserk for putting the thought in his head. Now, he won’t be able to think of anything else on your attempt to ride the wild horse in the ring with you.

Walking to the horse, you breathe out a sigh and hold out your hand when he starts to walk to you again. You’ve accomplished this trick to get him to come to you by feeding him treats at first, making him think that you’ll always have something to give him. When other trainers have tried, he doesn’t budge.

“I know you’re nervous. So am I,” you whisper to him as you stroke his face with one hand, the other resting on the bridle you put on him this morning so that he’s used to it by now. “But, I trust you won’t throw me off and try to kill me,” you chuckle, grab the reins and slowly lead him over to the saddle.

It’s quiet. Everyone knows this part is crucial. If the horse doesn’t smell the saddle or doesn’t accept it, you won’t be riding him today. So, they all watch in anticipation as you secure the reins to the fence and place a hand on the saddle.

You know that this wild horse is also a curious stallion. You know he’ll smell the saddle. And when he does and doesn’t back away or get nervous, you smile to yourself and stroke his neck in affection, telling him he’s done a good job.

Ivar watches intently as you place the saddle on the horse’s back. He watches as you watch the horse closes, looking out for any sign that he doesn’t like this. It’s very, very clear that you’ve done this before.

With the saddle tightened and the horse still calm, you can breathe out a sigh of relief and turn to look for your father as the crowd softly cheers. They don’t want to freak the horse out while you’re so close to him. Denrin gives you an approving and encouraging nod. This is the moment he knows you’ve been waiting for since you managed to wrangle the wild spirit.

This isn’t the first time your horse has had a saddle on him, another thing you’ve made sure he’s used to before trying to ride him. It’s only a case of getting him to get used to having someone on his back and controlling him from there.

With the reins back in your hand and you now standing beside him, everyone holds a breath as you slip your foot into the stirrup and slowly, very slowly, pull yourself up to mount your horse.

You try to stay calm to keep your horse calm, but you can feel your racing heart in your chest as you sit on top of this strong animal. Patting the side of his neck when he doesn’t freak out, you sigh gently and nod your head as you whisper an approval to him.

Now, you need to ride him. It’s all good and well mounting him. But you need to take him around the ring a few times for you to be successful. And with a click of your tongue and a light urge from your heels, he starts to walk.

But you can see he’s on high alert and you make the small mistake of tightening your grip around the reins.

He startles, kicks his back legs out and whinnies as he shakes his head. You try to calm with him a smooth tone, but he does it again. “Easy,” you sternly say.

Shaking his head to get you to stop touching him, he breaks into a canter around the ring. When he bucks, an attempt to get whatever’s on his back off, you clench your legs to stop yourself from falling off and tug lightly on the reins.

Ivar’s mouth falls slightly at the display in front of him, the fight for power and dominance. It makes Hvitserk’s words come back to him and the thoughts he had afterward. He watches how you move your body to accommodate the bucking and rearing motions of the horse, and his mind immediately sees you above him again, rocking your body like that as you moan.

The horse stands up on his back legs, making people gasp and become more alert in case you fall and get hurt. But, you stay in your place. When the horse is back on all fours, you decide that it’s enough. Stroking his neck and you dismount, you breathe out a deep sigh and shake your head as your lips turn up into a smile.

The crowd around the ring cheers. You’ve done it. You’ve successfully ridden your wild horse for the first time without being thrown off.

And you’ve left images in Ivar’s mind that will no doubt make him hard every time he thinks of them, but you don’t know that part.

He won’t officially meet you until tomorrow, but he wants to meet you. Oh Gods, does he want to meet you. He reminds himself that he is a King. If he wishes to meet you, then he will do just that.

Which is why he finds himself standing in front of your bedroom doors minutes after your successful ride, his hand just inches from the door to knock. There are horses engraved in the wood, something that keeps his eyes busy for a moment before he eventually knocks.

“Yes?” He hears your voice from the other side, encouraging him to enter the room. And he does.

He walks past the door, his hand gripping the crutch at his side tightly when Hvitserk’s cursed words come to mind again. Now it not the time to think of you fucking him, he scolds to himself.

Then, he sees the bath in the room, wonders if you had just gotten out or if you were getting in. But the sight of your damp hair tells him he had come at a good time. The thin nightgown around your body says it’s a very good time.

“King Ivar. I wasn’t expecting you to introduce yourself today,” you say as you stand from your seat and take a small step forward.

It’s because of the journey here. He knows you’ve been told to let him rest before introductions can be made, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help his thoughts.

There’s a look in his eyes when they return to yours after wandering over your body, an action that makes a shiver roll through your body. Here, a man you have yet to meet, a King, staring at you in awe and fascination.

“I had to meet you after watching you ride that wild horse,” he explains, making your head nod in understanding as you fold your arms over your chest when he walks forward. “I couldn’t help but see for myself the woman able to tame something so strong.”

You chuckle at his words, bite your lower lip and stare into his eyes as he stands in front of you. You take the chance to do as he had done to you and run your eyes up and down his body. He’s afraid you’ll be discouraged by his legs, but that thought disappears as quickly as it appears when your eyes shoot back up to lock with his as you take another step forward. “You and I both know that is not the whole truth,” you whisper in a low voice as you drop your arms to your sides.

His face drops and his heart skips a beat as your lips stretch into a smile. “Don’t worry. You’re not the first man to get hard at the sight of me taming wild stallions,” you laugh as you turn to walk away. “Or to fantasize. I understand,” you add, standing beside your bed and to pick up a necklace on the pillow, a medallion of your father’s crest hanging on the chain.

“Really?” Ivar questions, intrigued about how you know this without having even met you.

You hum, turn to face him again as you rest your hand on the medallion and turn your body to him. “My mother told me something very important before I became a woman,” you begin, luring him closer as you glance down to your hands and smile innocently to yourself. Ivar can’t help stepping forward in curiosity. “She said that some men like to imagine themselves as the horse a woman tames. It’s the reason my father fell in love with her. Because he saw himself as that mighty steed my mother once rode, trying to make it submit to her, trying to overpower and already powerful creature. And sometimes, that’s what a man wants,” you explain, making Ivar’s skin erupt into goosebumps as he stops right in front of you.

“She told me, some men want a woman to try and break them. Tell me, King Ivar, is that what you wanted when you saw me?” you ask, taking that final step forward as your hands reach up to rest on his chest.

He reaches up as well, to touch the side of your face as he leans slightly closer. Shaking his head, he holds his stare with you, making your heart racing like a team of horses as his eyes flicker down to your lips. “No. When I saw you on that horse, I didn’t want you to try and break me. Because I cannot be broken,” he whispers, your bottom lip tucking in between your teeth as he leans closer even more and drops the crutch to the ground. “I wanted the power I saw from you. Your strength, your determination.”

A breath catches in your throat as he moves his hand to rest around your neck, your lips popping out from between your teeth as you smell that warm, earthy smell on him. “I want you to ride me like you ride your horse,” he growls, his breath hitting your face before his lips crash over yours.

Moaning into his mouth as you let his tongue in, your fingers grip his tunic tightly - like reins - and you turn him so he can sit on your bed. His hands slip under the sheer nightgown and run up those thighs he’s been thinking about since Hvitserk mentioned them. He can feel your muscles constricting and relaxing as you shift to adjust your position, grinding your body against his as you kiss him deeply.

As you pull the tunic off over his head and break the kiss, you stare into his eyes as you try to catch your breath and calm your racing heart. His hands continue to rise up your body, pulling your nightgown with it before he lifts it over your head, leaving you naked in front of him.

“I ride rough,” you softly mention as his hands run back down your body, over your breasts making a tingle run through your body.

Ivar hums as he drops his face in the bend of your neck to kiss your skin, making you breathe out a shaky sigh and grip his shoulders. “I cannot be broken,” he reminds, muttering his words against your skin before biting it.

Before he can leave a mark, you push him down onto his back and keep your hands on his chest as you stare down at him with the same look in your eyes as you had before walking into the ring to ride your horse. “We’ll see about that,” you murmur, running your hands down to his pants to free the hard cock you’ve felt growing as he kissed you.

He smiles wickedly up at you, helps you untie the laces of his pants and stops you from pushing them all the way off. Maybe, if he gives you a bit of a challenge, a goal to get him full naked, it will make you come back for more and this won’t just be a one-time thing.

Wrapping his hand around the back of your neck, he pulls you down for another kiss, this one full of lust and carnal need. Rolling your hips against his, you make his moan at the friction between you and he breaks the kiss to focus on what he wants most.

Just like he had imagined it, your legs come either side of his as you sit upright, your hands on his chest as you raise yourself above him, his fingers digging into your thighs to slowly, slowly, bring you down onto his cock.

As you stretch around him, your mouth falls open as you take in a sharp breath, your head falling back as you let out a moan at the feeling of him filling you up perfectly. He watches as a tremble runs through your body before you start to rock your hips, your head falls forward so you can lock your gaze with his.

He thrusts up into you as he remembers your horse bucking when you rode him moments ago, the action making you gasp and your body to jerk as your nails dig into his chest. The mischievous look in his eyes makes you smile and laugh as you shake your head. “If you’re going to behave like that then,” you whisper, leaning down to press your body to his as you tease his lips with a kiss.

Groaning as you rock against him, your pace picking up slowly, he grabs a fist full of your tight meat and bucks his hips against you, making a moan fall from your lips. “That’s better,” he says to himself, but you chuckle at his words and push yourself up again.

Grinding down on him as a way to try and tell him to stop bucking, you feel pleasure starting to grow in your stomach. You almost want to break him. Right now, he could walk out of your room after this and go fuck some other girl if he wanted to. But you want him to stay thinking about you, wanting you. You want him to come to you, just as the horse you trained does. You want him to be yours.

As he thrusts again, you scrap your nails down his chest, pulling out a hiss from him as he grips your hips tightly. And that’s when he starts working with you.

Instead of wildly bucking his hips when he feels like it, he decides to roll with your movements. He watches you as you back arches, your riding becoming harder, and your walls clench around him as he scratches your thighs as you did his chest.

He wants all of a sudden turn you around and fuck you into the furs over the bed. But perhaps he’ll do that later. He wants to carry on with this, with you riding him, moving with his rough hips snaps, moaning out his name and panting in pleasure. He wants to finish dragging your hips in the movement he wants, feel you struggle against him, try to tame him to do what you want. He wants to finish seeing you try to make him submit to your ways.

“Oh, Gods,” you curse, throwing your head back as your break, letting him decide the pace and going with his movement. Because sometimes, in order to not fall off your horse, you need to go with his movements.

You feel his cock twitch inside you, ready for his release. And you can’t hold your pleasure back any longer. “Ivar, I-” A moan stops you from speaking as your pleasure explodes inside your, making every part of your feel light.

Ivar curses at the feeling of your legs clenching as he spills his seed into you, just like how he pictured when Hvitserk made that comment about your legs. Your fucking legs. Now that he thinks of it, he probably wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for that comment.

Falling to his chest, panting and in a daze, your legs tremble slightly when Ivar softly strokes them with his fingers. Turning your gaze up to his face, you smirk as he glances down at you with a proud smirk to say that he was right to you not being able to break him.

But little does he know, it takes more than one ride to break a stud.

Like my work? Support me HERE!

Permanent Tags- @cassindeansass @simsadventures @fandomfic-galore @belovedcherry @a-mess-of-fandoms @what-just-happened-bro @sucker-for-malfoy @geekandbooknerd @lonewolf471 @rainbowkisses31 @moonie-flower101 @p8tn0lish @rinkashirikitateku @readsalot73 @louisolos @petlaufeyson @bangtan-serendipity @aworldwideapart @mythicalbullshit @ateliefloresdaprimavera @xbuckxnastyx @madithemagicalfangirl @ivarthebloodyking @shannygoatgruff @a--1--1--3 @nerdypinupcrystal @mblaqgi @tephi101 @coconutqueen21

Ivar Tags- @sallydelys @youbloodymadgenius @walkxthexmoon @chaoticfiretaconerd @didiintheblog @witch-of-letters @thorins-queen-of-erebor @eleganttravelercloud @youbelongeverywhere @noseyrosey1597 @hxnnigrxms @wonderlandofsu @secretsthathauntus @portraitofinsanity @grincheveryday @fuckindiva

#ivar smut #ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar ragnarsson #vikings ivar #ivar lothbrok #ivar's heathen army #king ivar #ivar the boneless smut #ivar imagine #ivar the boneless imagines #vikings #history vikings #vikings smut

767 notes · View notes

thegreatestofheck · 4 years

Text

warm //Fred Weasley\\

warnings - mentions of death, angst and a lot of it, really like there is nothing here except angst and also Fred dies again. also, I didn’t edit this. synopsis - you and your husband survive the second wizarding war, but so do some of Voldemort’s old followers, and they are hell bent on revenge. pairings - muggle!reader x Fred Weasley a/n - so this is based on a dream I had a long while ago and I just needed to get off my chest. I hope y’all enjoy it. Also, sorry, I’m not british and it feels weird typing Mum and not being british so I just used Mom. I apologize. And yes, the first part of this was an actual dream that I had once and it absolutely broke me to pieces. So, here I am sharing it with you so that you can all cry too. You’re welcome.

~~~

You had spent many Christmases with the Weasleys, but this was your first Christmas celebrating as a Weasley.

You twisted the simple copper bands around your fingers, as you always did when you were nervous. Fred Weasley, your husband, reached out to take your hand without even looking at your fidgetiness. He knw you well enough to know when you were nervous.

“You already know everyone here,” he said in a low whisper. “There’s no need to be afraid.”

“I’m not scared of your family!” You told him quietly with a smile before placing your other hand gently over your stomach. “I’m just...nervous about telling them.”

Fred looked over at you as if suddenly remembering that you were expecting your first kid, who would be the second of Molly and Arthur’s grandkids, right after Victoire. He smiled at you and then smiled down at your hand.

“George and Angelina already know, what’s the difference from telling everyone else?”

“Well, let’s think,” you hummed sarcastically, tapping your free hand against your chin. “Oh, right, there’s like a million people in your family and I have a paralyzing fear of public speaking.”

Fred laughed and it sent your stomach rolling like it always did. Your dad had warned you about what would happen after your honeymoon period had ended, how the butterflies might go away, but it had been almost a year and every time Fred smiled, your entire body still burst with joy at the sight of it.

“We’ll just go in and figure it out from there, yeah?” He said, with a side smile and his never fading confidence. You squeezed his hand and smiled back.

“Yeah.”

You sucked in one last calming breath as Fred lifted his hand to knock on the wooden door. It was your final chance at peace before the world decsended into the chaos that was the Weasley-Potter-Granger-Johnson-Delacour-y/l/n family.

Arthur opened the door and barely had time to recognize that it was you and Fred before Molly let out a cry of joy and ran to greet you.

“My dear y/n!” Molly Weasley wrapped you in a tight hug. “How are you? How was Spain? Didn’t run into any trouble I hope?”

“Mom!” Ginny laughed, pulling her mother away from you. “Merlin’s Beard, let her breathe!”

“Hey, Gin,” you whispered as she pulled you in for a short squeeze.

“Hey, sis.”

Ginny escorted you to the dining room where the others were waiting eagerly to greet you. George and Angelina stood back, watching you and Fred with knowing smiles. Hermione let out a squeal of excitement at the sight of you, tossing Ron’s arm from around her shoulders so she could run to embrace you.

Throwing her arms around your neck almost threw you off balance, but Fred was right behind you to keep you steady.

“The house looks amazing,” you said Hermione pulled away. You looked up at the tall ceilings, the crooked paintings on the wall, the charmed knitting needles doing their own thing in a vacant chair. “Just like it always has been.”

Fred snaked an arm around your waist, but not before Hermione and Ginny pulled you away to chat.

“And who is this lovely lady?” Fred asked, walking over to a brunette standing beside Percy. The girl blushed and extended a hand.

“This is my friend, Aubrey,” Percy told, the same level of sobriety as always.

“Friend,” Ginny mouthed to you with air quotes. You laughed, just as easily as you always had.

“Are Bill and Fleur here yet?” You asked. “I haven’t had the chance to get my hands on that baby of theirs.”

“Not yet,” Angelina said as she walked over to join the group of girls. You could see the smirk on her face as she settled in beside you near the fireplace. “You’re going to have to forcibly take Victoire from Bill. He doesn’t like to let her go.”

“She’s gonna be a daddy’s girl I see,” you teased and the girl’s laughed.

“If Bill has anything to say about it,” Ginny added.

Fred and George fell quickly back into their usual antics, leaving you and Angelina to watch with amused smiles from the side.

“So,” you said quietly once the two of you were alone. “When is he asking?”

Angelina sighed.

“He refuses to tell me. Said something about waiting for the right moment.” You rolled your eyes. Fred had said the same thing. “Have you seen the ring?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“What does it look like?”

“I can’t tell you, Ang! It’s a surprise!”

Angelina nudged you gently with her elbow, but not too hard.

“Have you told your parents about...?” She nodded down to your stomach, sure to keep her voice low.

“Of course I did,” you said. “My mom is just excited that her little girl’s all grown up and my dad is hoping for another magical baby.”

“Right. How is your sister doing?”

“She’s good. Out there living her best magical life.” There was only the faintest trace of bitterness in your voice.

Both of your parents were muggles. Your sister ended up being a witch, but you, unfortunately, did not. Still, you and your family had always been exposed to magic, having been family friend’s with Angelina and the rest of the Johnson’s for almost your entire life. It was Angelina who introduced you to the twins when you were nine, Angelina who forced all three of you to hang out until the twins actually started to like you, Angelina who convinced Fred to ask you out, and so, naturally, it was Angelina (and George) who was that first to know about your baby.

“Have you picked out any names yet?” Angelina asked, leaning in even closer. Your eyes sparkled as you looked at her, the very subject making nearly burst with joy. You wanted to tell her, oh how you wanted to tell her, but you and Fred had promised to keep it a secret, even from Angelina and George.

“I can’t say just yet,” you replied. Angelina raised an eyebrow.

Not much later, Bill and Fleur arrived, baby Victoire in her daddy’s arms. You nearly jumped out of your seat with excitement. Bill took one look at your face and nearly hid Victoire behind his wife, who simply laughed. After another long round of greetings, Arthur finally called everyone to the table.

“Our family grows every year,” he said, his eyes beginning to swim with tears. “Each and every one of us has lived through the unimaginable.”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, knowing that everyone around you had fought in a war that you didn’t even know was going on. Once again, Fred reached out to grab your hand under the table without even looking at you.

“I am so proud to get to call you my family,” Arthur said, choking up even more. Molly reached up a shaking hand and placed it over his. He looked down at her and she smiled. You pictured yourself there one day, surrounded by an enormous family, full of joy and happiness and memories despite all the pain the world would inevitably throw your way. You looked over at Fred and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“We have an announcement,” you said suddenly, smiling as you stood. Angelina immediately blossomed into a grin, while Fred turned white. You looked around at all the expectant faces watching you.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. His lightning bolt scar had begun to fade in the last year and a half since the Dark Lord was defeated. His glasses were almost always broken, but Hermione had taught Ginny the spell to fix it.

Ron Weasley. No longer was he Harry’s best friend or the last of the Weasley boys. He had made a name for himself. Hunting down dark wizards to every corner of the world, the world was safer with him in it.

Hermione Granger, on her way to becoming the first, and youngest, female Minister of Magic. With all her studying and hard work and dedication, she never lost that childlike twinkle in her eye.

Ginny Weasley, chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. No one could beat her. With an iron grit and nerves of steel, no one could stare her down and make it out on the other side. Yet she was still the kindest person you knew.

Fleur Weasley, a kind and loving woman, despite all the pain she suffered.

Angelina Johnson, a wickedly talented witch and the best friend a girl could ask for.

Percy Weasley, a pain in the arse, but the constant voice of reason.

Bill Weasley, always find the best in every situation, even when things are the most dire.

George Weasley, who never had an end to all the jokes and smiles, even in the darkest of times.

Molly Weasley, who gave everything she had to her kids and kept on giving.

Arthur Weasley, who’s courage and loyalty to his family kept them all alive for this long.

Aubrey....well, you didn’t know her that well, but she had a kind smile and a wicked sense of fashion.

And Fred, your Freddie, who made you laugh even when you wanted to cry, who held your hair back as you violently vomited in the toilet, who would build forts with you in your tiny loft and remind you to water your plants and feed the cat, who was more than willing to give up his joke shop and travel the world with you if that was what you wanted. Your solid rock, your standing place, your hope when the world was nothing but bleak. Your everything.

You looked at each one of their faces and remembered how much you loved them and how grateful you were to have them in your life. And you couldn’t hold your secret in any longer.

“Fred and I are-”

The wall beside you exploded into a million pieces, sending you flying forward. You barely heard Fred scream your name over the sounds of the others shrieking and the ringing in your ears.

You hit the stone ground hard, the air squeezing painfully from your lungs. Your squeezed your eyes shut, praying for the high pitched squeal in your ears to fade. Once it had, all you were left with was screaming. Your eyes refused to open quickly. All you could do was blink. Dust and ash floated around your vision. Bursts of blue and green and red light flew across the room before you could even recognize it.

“Ang!” You heard a voice cry.

“Here!” Someone replied.

You stood as quickly as your trembling legs allowed you to, pulling yourself by the fireplace mantel. All around you, more spells were shot back and forth through the house. You pressed yourself as tightly against the wall as you could manage, hoping to not get hit by anything stray.

“Aubrey!” Percy shouted, grabbing hold of her wrist from between the legs of a fallen chair.

“Go!” Arthur shouted over the cackling of the intruders and the shattering of picture frames. “We’ll find you. Just go!”

With a hiss and a pop, Percy and Aubrey disappeared from your sight. You wished you could Apparate now. But you wouldn’t leave until you found Fred.

Taking in a deep breath as if diving under water, you ducked and rolled into the fireplace where you were hoping it would be a little more safe.

You searched through the chaos with your eyes, afraid to move from your spot, for any sign of your husband. Your heart soared as you thought you saw him, only to realize that it was George pulling Angelina into a tight hug before following in Percy’s footsteps.

You met Angelina’s gaze just before George Apparated them away, her eyes going wide and her lips just beginning to form the shape of your name. Your heart jumped into your throat.

“y/n!” You heard a familiar voice call.

“I’m here!” You weren’t sure how far your voice carried over the sound of mini explosions, or if it was even safe to give away your position at all, but anything was better right now than being alone.

Your heart pounded in your ears as you scanned the dining room for any sign of him, but the dust and the smoke was filling the room rather quickly and it was becoming difficult to see. You could hear someone screaming and for a moment you feared it was Victoire.

The screaming became too much and you covered your ears with your hands, only to discover that it had been you that was screaming, not anyone else. Your voice echoed through the fireplace.

Finally, through the haze Fred came barreling through. You let out a cry of joy, lurching forward at the sight of him, leaving the safety of your hiding place..

“Avada-”

You reached forward with all your might, seeing a smile on his face as he reached out to grab hold of your arm. As soon as his skin met yours, there was a shout from someone else, almost like a warning cry, and your stomach lurched, the familiar feeling of Apparating.

You squeezed your eyes tight, not wanting to watch the world spin out of control around you while you were taken to wherever it was the Fred wanted you to go. You thought of your trip to Spain, of the beautiful countryside where there was no one for miles. In the sleepless nights since you had returned and through the bouts of horrible morning sickness, that countryside was peaceful enough to calm you down.

So, when the spinning sensation stopped and you finally opened your eyes, you were surprised to find yourself standing on those same countryside. Fred quickly pulled his hand from yours as he landed. Before you could even question why he brought you both here, your stomach churned again, but this time, it wasn’t magic. Your baby heavily disagreed with your husband’s quick way of travelling.

After emptying your guts into the grass, you straightened and looked up at the blue sky.

“It’s still so beautiful here, Freddie,” you said, letting your eyes close as the gentle breeze blew through your hair. “But why bring us here? Why not somewhere-”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as you turned around to face him.

He lay on his back, arms out beside him as he stared up at the beautiful sky above him. Only, he wasn’t staring. His eyes weren’t seeing at all.

“Freddie?”

You walked over to him, your heart roaring to life, beating so wildly in your chest, you feared you might explode.

Dropping to the ground beside him, you fought back the water that was rapidly obscuring your vision.

“Freddie.” You reached out to take his hand, only to find him cold as stone. A horrified gasped came from your mouth. Nothing about Fred had ever been cold. He was light and life and everything warm under the sun. His soul burned like a thousand infernos, heating everything in his wake. His heart was a million suns beating in unison, to the same rhythm as yours. Nothing about Fred was ever cold.

Except, now his hands. Now the distant, glazed over look in his eyes. Now the ghost of his last smile etched onto his lips.

Leaning over him, you could have sworn you saw a flash of green reflected in those beautiful brown eyes of his and your mouth fell open in shock.

“Freddie!” You cried, suddenly realizing what exactly had happened. “Fred!”

You took his cold hand in yours, bringing it to your lips. You breathed against his knuckles, hoping to give him some of the warmth that you had left in you.

“Come on,” you whispered, letting his hand fall into your lap as you placed your own hands on his face. “Come on, breathe!”

Your lower jaw began to quiver as tears started to drip down your cheeks.

“You can’t leave me yet,” you whispered to him, curling your body over his. You tucked one arm under his neck, pulling him into your lap. His eyes still did not move and his ghostly smile never wavered. “Don’t leave us.”

But his body was still cold and growing colder with every passing second.

“Help.” Your voice broke, your words drowned out by your owns tears. “Somebody, please, help us.”

Even if you could get your voice above a whisper, there would be no one for miles. This was the place you had wanted to go, the place where you and Fred could be alone and safe from the wizards in the dark cloaks. You had brought the yourself here because Fred didn’t leave his house alive.

Leaning down and pressing your forehead to his chest, you let out a sob and then another one, your fingers curling around his Weasley jumper. The golden ‘G’ darkened from your tears until the entire thing was soaked through.

“I can’t do this alone,” you said, finally lifting your head to look at his face.

“You’re not alone,” whispered the wind. You gasped and sat up straighter, looking around for the voice. There was no one in sight. “I’m right here.”

“Freddie?” You asked, barely trusting the word that left your lips. The wind was silent. You looked back down at Fred, at Fred’s body, and tightened your jaw. You brushed away what remained of your tears.

“I’m getting us home,” you promised him, lifting your hand to shut his eyes. “Just you wait, I’m getting us home.”

~~~

You looked up at the Burrow. Once again, the windows were shattered, the door was broken to splinters, one wall had caved in. You could hear voices from inside, whispering, talking. A laugh rang out. Your heart soared in your chest.

It had been weeks since you saw them last, weeks that you had been carrying Fred’s body behind you. A kindly wizard you had met along the way froze him for you so he wouldn’t decay, which felt awfully morbid, but you were grateful. Your hair was a tangled mess, your face covered in dirt and sweat and sunburnt nearly beyond recognition.

But you had finally made it home.

You weren’t sure you would be able to drag Fred’s body the rest of the way up to the door, but you wouldn’t need to. Before you could take another step, Angelina stepped into view.

For a moment, she just stared at you and you simply stared back. Her eyes didn’t even move to the rolled up carpet where you had hidden Fred’s body behind you. She just stared. And then, as if a gate had suddenly been opened, she came hurtling toward you at full speed.

You let out a single laugh just before she collided with you, pulling you in for the tightest hug she could have given. You were crying again once you were in her arms.

“It’s okay,” she whispered against your hair. “You’re safe.”

Your legs gave out beneath you and she helped you to the ground. Everyone else inside had heard your cry and came filing out one by one until they were all standing around you. You were surprised to see even Charlie was there, the prodigal son returned home.

“Where’s-”

Ginny didn’t even need to finish your question. From the look on your face, they all knew.

“He-” You struggled to keep your words from shaking. Angelina squeezed your hand and helped you onto your feet. “I couldn’t leave him there.”

The words you spoke made Harry take a step backward, the first one to fully put things together. He looked at you and then he looked back at the rug you had been dragging and his face turned white as snow.

Angelina had to keep you upright, one arm wrapped around your waist and the other holding onto your arm.

“I tried,” you said, looking straight toward Molly, who still didn’t fully understand.

“Oh, god,” Ginny breathed and then let out a shuddered gasp as she finally puzzled things out. Harry took her hand and pulled her into a hug and, as soon as he did, she dissolved into tears. One by one, they each began to realize what had happened. You watched in horror as that family slowly began to fall apart. Molly shrieked, falling to her knees and Arthur following after her. Hermione immediately put her arms around Ron to stop him from walking toward the rug that held his brother. Bill stared in wide-eyed horror at his wife, who had turned her body so the baby in her arms wouldn’t be able to see the rug at your feet. Percy was still as stone.

And George, George stared at you and you stared back unable to see anything but your husband’s face.

“George, I’m-”

Before you could even try to apologize, he strode toward you and snatched you out of Angelina’s arms and into his, pulling you in for an even tighter hug. And like that, the two of you finally fell apart.

~~~

You couldn’t stand at his funeral. Your body was still so exhausted from the journey home and from trying to keep the baby inside you alive that your legs would simply no longer hold you upright.

You were glad they had you in a wheelchair. That way, they couldn’t see your knees shake.

Your eyes never dried the entire time. You thought you might have cried every last tear you had in your body the day you returned home, but you apparently had more inside of you.

Aside from your family (and Lee Jordan, who stood beside Angelina), there were so many people you did not recognize. An older woman with glasses and an emerald green dress. A rather large man with bushy hair and a long beard. A blond boy who stood off to the side, away from everyone else. Two boys, one shorter and one taller, holding hands as they both stifled tears.

You wondered how many lives Fred had touched, how many people he had made laugh, that you would never get the privilege of meeting.

Back at the Burrow later that day, you sat next to Molly and Arthur, each of you staring blankly at the floor. You twisted your rings around your fingers, but not out of worry. You slowly pulled them off before turning to Molly.

She looked at you, a stream of tears running from her eyes. With trembling hands, you handed the rings out to her.

“These belong to your family,” you said, chin shaking as you tried to fight back tears. Molly shook her head, eyes closing, but she was unable to say anything.

“Just because you are no longer married to our son, does not make you any less our daughter,” Arthur told you with the only hint of a smile that he could manage. You gasped in shuddered breaths and Molly reached out to pull you into a tight hug.

“I’m pregnant,” you sobbed as you clung to her jumper. She ran her fingernails over your back and you were pretty sure you could feel her smile.

“I know. Fred told me.”

You managed a laugh as you pulled away.

“If it’s a boy, we want to name him Gideon,” you said, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. Molly sucked in a shuddering breath. “Gideon Lee. And if it’s a girl, we want to name her Persephone, but, Percy, for short.”

Somewhere across the living room, Percy Weasley lifted his head. Aubrey was no where to be seen.

“You saved his life at the battle you fought,” you reminded him. Percy’s eyes swam with water. “He never forgot it. This is how we say thank you.”

Percy nodded his head slowly, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he dropped his head back into his hands.

~~~

You had a boy and a girl.

You weren’t prepared for twins, but it didn’t matter.

With so many of his kids moving out to start their own families, Molly prepared a room for you to stay with her and Arthur. Molly dotted on Gideon and Persephone, never wanting to put them down no matter how loudly they cried.

“My twins were the same,” she said, smiling at the memory. Her face never turned sad.

Some days you were perfectly fine. You could look at Persephone’s full head of bright orange hair and Gideon’s hazel eyes and see Fred and smile. And some days, you couldn’t even bare the thought of getting out of bed. But Molly and Arthur never left your side. Angelina and George were over all the time, to take care of you and the help with the kids. You couldn’t look at George for the first few weeks without breaking down completely. He understood.

Bill and Fleur brought Victoire to play with Gideon and Persephone and Bill even let you hold her sometimes. She really was going to grow up to be a daddy’s girl. The others never failed to visit either. Even Charlie would stop by occasionally as the two grew.

Your parents and even your wayward sister enjoyed spending time with them. You had never expected it, but the birth of your children had drawn you closer to your sister. After years of estrangement, the two of you were able to sit side by side and laugh together, as if not a day had gone by since you were ten and had no worries in the world.

You missed Fred’s warmth every single day of your life, but you found his joy in Persephone’s laughter and Gideon’s proficiency for setting things on fire. You remembered what the wind had told you that day, that you were not alone. You were never going to be alone again, and you were grateful for it.

You had spent many Christmases with the Weasleys and now you shared many Christmases as one of them.

~~~

In this life, you had lost Fred after the war. In your life before, you had lost him during it. It was almost as if the universe and all it’s splinters had decided that you and Fred were not to be. You lost every game you played together, but you were willing to lose them all, so long as you got to bask for a few minutes in his light.

~~~

tagging - @inaworldofwonder (aka the only person who liked the post I made about this story three days ago) @x-lulu (i’m not sure if you’re into harry potter, if not, im sorry) @bricksatanakinswindow (because you like harry potter and I like harry potter and you like angst and I like angst so here we are)

none of you need to feel obligated to read this but it’s been in my head since 8th grade and i just needed to get it out. thank you. love you all.

225 notes · View notes

whump-tr0pes · 4 years

Text

HB4-42/Whumptober day 29

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, and Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

Content warning: blood, bad guys controlling the economy, past torture, dehumanization

I could use another OC, right? *starts sobbing*

Gray picked up the cell phone on the seat next to them and flipped it open. The car jolted as they rolled through a pothole, bigger than it had been before spring arrived. Gray flipped open the phone and went to the last message they’d received.

Come to Crayton asap. Have news about a refugee. Keep this private. Call when you enter the town.

They selected the number and hit the button to dial it. They held the phone to their ear as it rang. The clear blue sky stretched above them as they drove through the farmland that bordered the town on all sides, the plots spread out enough so as not to crowd each other, but close enough that they were in sight of each other.

The people up here kept each other safe. They watched each other. They took care of each other.

The phone rang once. For the dozenth time since Gray had left the house this morning, they wondered, dimly, if this was a trap, of all things. Called to a stranger’s house in the middle of the north, the remnants of the Stormbeck territory burning several hundred miles to the south, to be caught in some sort of plot.

The phone rang a second time. Gray chuckled. Plots and conspiracies and secrets were all a little above their interest anymore. Caring for their family was its own full-time job.

Someone picked up in the middle of Gray’s chuckle. They cut themself off and cleared their throat. “Hello?” they said, trying to keep their voice even.

“Mx. Gray Uriah?” a nervous-sounding man’s voice said on the other end.

Gray swallowed. “This is they.”

“Oh.” A sigh of relief. “Good. Are you by yourself?”

Gray’s hand tightened on the wheel. “I am. What’s going on?”

“I, um…” A slow, shaking breath. “We should really talk about this in person. I need you to come straight to my house. 913 East Holter Lane. It’s off Cherry and ninth. There will be a garage open. Drive into it. I’ll lower the garage door, and we can talk.”

Gray laughed delicately. “No, thank you.”

There was a pause, then a crinkling, like the man was shifting the phone in his hands. “Wh-what?”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I am not about to drive into a stranger’s garage with no explanation. Especially for something so clandestine that I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone I was coming. Now.” Gray pulled onto Main, and shops rose on either side of them. “We don’t have to share details. But I do need to know what it is I’m getting myself into before you close that door. This is about a refugee?”

The man paused, and Gray could hear him breathing on the other line. “Yes,” he said, the relief faded, with fear replacing it.

“Alright. Did something happen? Is someone hurt?” In with a slow breath, out with a slow breath.

“N-no, I… It’s just… please, Mx. Uriah. You and your family are known for, um… d-doing the right thing. And… we need help with this.”

Gray look a left on ninth. It took them away from the row of shops, and into a neighborhood. Most of the houses were run down, but maintained. Ivy grew on the walls behind gated fences. Each house had a yard, overgrown with bushes, overhung by tall, gnarled trees. It was a street where families lived.

They wet their lips. “Hm. My family is also known for putting themselves in harm’s way for the ‘right thing.’ Is this something that comes with risk?”

“I…” A sigh. “I don’t know.”

Gray’s stomach clenched. “Ah. Thank you for your honesty. I’ll be there in five.”

“Oh, thank you. Th-thank you. Good. Okay. Five minutes.” The man’s voice faded. “Five minutes. Yeah. Get your stuff.” The man’s voice became normal volume again. “Thank you. Truly. 913 East Holter. We’re the light brown house. The garage door will be open.”

“Understood. Be there soon.” Gray snapped the phone shut and dropped it onto the seat.

They blew out a slow breath. They wished they’d called before they reached the city, wished they’d demanded to know what was going on before even getting in the car to make the trip. Of course there would be risk to their family. Gray tried to think of what exactly would be so important that the town’s mayor could not be informed. It was obvious that it was Daniel Schiester being kept in the dark about this. Dread prickled on the back of Gray’s neck as they wondered what, exactly, the price would be if this plan, whatever it was, was discovered.

They took a left on Cherry, and saw a street sign for Holter Lane immediately on the right, branching off into a cul-de-sac. Tall trees with wide, newly-leaved canopies cast shadows in the yards. None of the houses were visible from the street. One house, painted light brown brick, had its garage door open. As Gray drove into the driveway, they checked the address. 913.

As they pulled into the garage, they peered around, pushing down their rising nervousness. The walls inside the garage were bare. They turned the key in the ignition and shut off the car.

The door to the house opened, and a man peered out. He hit a button on the wall. The garage door began to close. Gray got out of their car, briefly wishing they’d brought Isaac or Vera with them.

Isaac is in Burmingham helping Gavin, and Vera—

It’s not their responsibility to protect me. They’ve given enough. No matter what, this was my choice.

Gray held out their hands to their sides. The man’s eyes darted between them, then back to their face. He stepped out fully into the garage in his bare feet. He shivered and wrapped one arm around himself. The other he thrust out to shake Gray’s hand.

“Mx. Uriah,” he said, his voice breathy with relief. “Thank you so much for coming.”

Gray tilted their head at the man. He seemed familiar, but Gray couldn’t place him. “You’re welcome,” they said, gently, as they clasped his hand. “Now, I hope, you can be more forthcoming?”

The garage door settled to a stop behind Gray. The garage was lit dimly by the single lightbulb above them. The man nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding quickly. “I’m, um, Mathias, by the way.”

“Good to meet you. Have we, ah… have we met?”

Mathias met their eyes and nodded again. “Y-yeah. You have. The first day you came into Crayton. I was on one of the teams that guided you in.”

Gray sucked in a breath. “That’s right,” they murmured. Mathias had been one of six people to stand by the team, heavily armed, while Daniel Schiester introduced himself and discovered Gavin among them.

Mathias had also been one of the only guards who didn’t take the opportunity to beat Gavin while he had the chance. Gray’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

“So there’s, um… a lot to explain.” Mathias glanced at the floor. “I’ve been, um…” He shrugged and rubbed his arm. “I… shit. You know Mr. Schiester helps process the refugees that come through Crayton.”

“Yes,” Gray said, nodding. “I’ve helped him several times. It’s very energy-intensive work.”

“Yeah, it is,” Mathias said distractedly. “Um. Well, I… I had one come through early this morning. Young kid. And I… well, maybe you should just meet him.” The man turned and called into the house. “Hey, Zach! Uh— Zachariah. Come on. They’re here.”

Gray watched as a young man stepped into the doorway. His head was bent, his warm brown skin streaked with mud and something Gray strongly suspected was blood. He clutched a filthy backpack over his shoulder like his life was contained inside. He kept his eyes down at the floor, trembling, as he shuffled out into the garage. His lip was split. The knuckles on his right hand were bloody.

A breath rushed out of Gray’s mouth. “Oh,” they whispered.

Zachariah lifted his gaze to Gray. He met their eyes for a moment before he shifted them back down again. “M-Mx. Uriah,” he said softly.

“Zachariah,” Gray answered. They held out their hand. “It’s good to meet you.”

Zachariah took Gray’s hand and shook it once. “Th-thank you.” He pulled back his hand and buried it in his pocket.

Gray looked sideways at Mathias. He chewed his lip. “I, um… found him during processing. You know that screening form we use.”

“I do,” Gray said gently.

“Well…” Mathias rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s, um… the kind of thing we screen for.”

Gray’s head snapped to look at Zachariah. “Why is that?” they said, tension tightening in their voice.

Mathias nodded at Zachariah. “Show ‘em,” he mumbled.

Zachariah threw a terrified glance at Gray. He reached for the sleeve of his t-shirt – the kid was out here in only a t-shirt – and rolled it up.

The Stormbeck crest was tattooed across the top of his arm.

Gray fell back a step, their eyes riveted on the stylized raven’s head, the vines surrounding it. Their gaze snapped to Mathias. “So he’s—”

“Just a kid,” Mathias said, meeting Gray’s eyes and taking a protective step in front of Zachariah. “And you need to listen to him.”

Gray wet their lips and nodded slowly. We’ve got our own ex-syndicate boy. “Alright,” they said, and their voice sounded more steady to them than they felt.

Mathias nudged Zachariah with his elbow. Zachariah shuffled his feet and stared at the floor. “Um…” He shivered, and goosebumps raised on his arms. “I… I was a, um, a-a guard. In Colleen Stormbeck’s house.”

A chill twisted in Gray’s stomach, but they stayed silent.

“I didn’t… I didn’t want to… to be there. But they said it would just be security. They said they’d pay me well, and they’d completely taken over the jobs in Fort Meyers… There was no way to get a job in Fort Meyers without them assigning you one. I needed… Mx. Uriah, please, I h-had to…”

“Were you there with my family?” Gray said through their teeth. “Did you ever hurt any of them?” Their right hand curled into a fist. Their knuckles cracked.

“No,” Zachariah whimpered. “I… I was on the unit that guarded them when they first came in. But I never… n-never hurt them. I transferred as soon as I could. I worked the other side of the house, at the front door. “I…” He whimpered again, tears shining in his eyes in the dim light in the garage. “I never wanted to hurt anyone. They said it was security…”

“How long were you there?” Gray said flatly.

“A m-month. I was hired a, a week or two before they showed up. And I left, um— the d-day she was killed.”

Gray’s eyes went wide. “And it took you… twenty-four days to make it north?” Their heart squeezed painfully in their chest.

“Ah… y-yes, Mx.,” Zachariah said. “It was… a h-hard road. I walked, um, a lot of the way.”

Gray pursed their lips and gestured at his arm. “Why did you get that tattoo? When?”

“Um…” Zachariah swallowed and looked down at the sleeve of his shirt. “They, um, s-strongly recommend we, uh, get them. I got it the day after I was hired. They say it, um, distinguishes us.”

“Like a brand,” Gray breathed.

Zachariah froze, his eyes wide. “What?”

“That’s like a brand. They’re convincing their battle fodder to put that mark on themselves.” Zachariah flinched at battle fodder. Gray’s face softened. “Apologies. I… um…” They blinked and folded their hands. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”

Zachariah sagged with relief. He looked at Mathias, and Mathias nodded at him. Then he turned to look at Gray again.

“What do you need from me?” Gray said, looking at Mathias. “What do you… what does this all mean?”

Mathias chewed his lip. “I’ve been on Mr. Schiester’s payroll for… a long time.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Long enough to know that, uh… when we come across people like, like him…” He nodded at Zachariah. “…kids who got caught up in the wrong jobs, people with syndicate associations who are just looking for freedom, those sorts… they get, um… rough treatment, through the placement process. And I just…” He glanced at Zachariah. “With his, ah, associations, and that…” He glanced at Zachariah’s arm. “…I knew he’d have it rougher than most. And, I mean… Look at him. He’s been through enough.”

Gray blew out a breath through their nose. Their eyes moved over Zachariah, taking in once again the blood crusted on him, his tattered clothes, the way he trembled under Gray’s gaze. They set their jaw.

“What do you need me to do?”

Mathias’s eyes slid shut as he sighed. “Just house him, just for a few weeks. I’ve been sending my…” Mathias giggled. “I’ve been calling them my own ‘rescues,’” he said, looking nearly delirious with relief. “I’ve been sending my rescues through a friend north of you. I’ll need to secure housing for him, but it’ll take some time. I just need to know he’s safe. I can’t keep him here.” Mathias glanced around his garage. “Too many eyes. Too risky.”

“I think I understand,” Gray said, and placed a gentle hand on Mathias’s shoulder. “And I think I can help.”

Zachariah’s eyes flicked up to Gray’s. “You can?” he breathed. He looked like he was about to fall over. “Thank… thank you.”

Mathias rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get him going, then,” he said quickly. “Zachariah, you should sit in the back. At least until you get out of town. Thank god you don’t have to go in the trunk.” Mathias laughed again, high-pitched and frantic, and Gray was beginning to wonder exactly how rough a treatment Zachariah would receive if he was found out before they left the city.

Or Mathias, for that matter.

“Mathias,” they said gently. Mathias immediately stopped laughing. His hands shook. “What happens to you if you’re found out?”

“Oh.” Mathias laughed. “Nothing. I’m just worried about the rescues. They deserve better than they get, and it’s not their fault people don’t stop long enough to hear their story.”

“I kn-know— knew someone like that,” Gray said, nodding. They held out their hand to Zachariah. “Here. Let’s get you into the back seat, then. There’s a lot of legroom. Lots of room for you to lay on the floor. And blankets.” Gray walked around the side of the car and pulled out a blanket. “Here.”

“Th-thank you, Mx.,” Zachariah sighed as he gratefully took the blanket. It was gray and patchy, but he clutched at it as if it was a lifeline. He dazedly stepped into the back of the car and slumped in a pile behind the passenger seat. He placed his backpack carefully in front of him. Gray gently closed the car door and walked around to the driver’s side.

“Thank you,” Mathias breathed. “I… I see a few of these come through every year. Shit circumstances. Every time. And I…” He rubbed his hands together. “They can’t help the world we live in. I just want to… help the ones that don’t have someone they can, um, trust up here. The mayor is a good man, but—”

“But some fall through the cracks,” Gray said gently, carefully watching the man’s eyes, his hands. “I know.”

“Yeah,” Mathias huffed. “Well… I’ll, um… let you go now. Thank you. I won’t… won’t make this a regular thing. I promise.”

Gray shrugged. “Where we can help, we will.”

Mathias nodded. He stepped back into the doorway to his house. He pressed a button on the wall, and the garage door creaked and began to open.

Gray settled into the car and tipped his head at Mathias. Mathias nodded.

“Zachariah?” Gray said, looking over their shoulder at the boy.

He was huddled behind the passenger seat, his head tipped back against the door, already fast asleep.

Continued here

@untilthepainstarts, @womping-grounds, @free-2bmee, @quirkykayleetam, @walkingchemicalfire, @inpainandsuffering, @redwingedwhump, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @whatwhumpcomments, @cursedscribbles, @whumpywhumper, @stxck-fxck, @omega-em-z-02, @whumps-the-word, @justwhumpitwhumpitgood, @justplainwhump, @moose-teeth, @slaintetowhump, @finder-of-rings, @inky-whump, @thatsthewhump, @orchidscript, @insanitywishes, @this-mightaswell-happen, @newandfiguringitout, @whumpkitty, @pretty-face-breaker, @cinnamonflavoredhugs, @inaridriscoll, @im-just-here-for-the-whump, @endless-whump, @grizzlie70, @oops-its-whump

#honor bound 4 #whumptober 2020 #no. 5 #on the run #no. 17 #dirty secret #no. 25 #I think I'll just collapse right here thanks #OC #fic #blood tw #economy control tw #past torture #dehumanization tw #Gray: mom friend #re-introducing:#Zachariah: a boy who needs a nap

54 notes · View notes

barbika1508 · 4 years

Text

Intentionally unintentional (Peter Pevensie x Reader / Fluff)

Word Count: 5,2k

Genre: Fluff, Romance

Pairing: Peter Pevensie x Reader

Warnings: None, there’s just fluff

Summary: Finding the High King is harder than it might seem at first, but it’s not unusual for Y/N to drag him out of trouble most often than not.

Authors Note: Omaru is the name of the grounds where Aslan’s camp was placed on in the first book and Movie. So, I simply used the name of it to name a Lord after it.

Here you go anon who requested fluff!!!! I hope you liked it :3

Unbelievable. Truly. Unbelievable.

‘’Lady Y/N.’’ the greeting is friendly, but I can only offer a nod of acknowledgement and a brief smile as I pass a gorgeous nymph and a talking bear that’s walking next to her. They are heading into the direction of the Apple orchard from where I’m marching from. I’m tempted to start running to rush this process faster, but the notion would notion would raise awareness and at this moment unwanted as I don’t want anyone to worry or panic unnecessarily just because I can’t offer smiles or words of reassurance in my haste.

My dress on occasion tangles itself almost joyfully around my legs, causing me to stumble and literally come to a stop by jumping here and there. This is why pants work and are practical, why I love pants. Dresses aren’t my forte but ever since I’ve been promoted, my knighthood elevated I had to make changes to my wardrobe which Lucy didn’t have any problems in helping out with. Accordingly, to unofficial but official rules of the court dresses are of preference for females. Usually I don’t mind following the rules but some rules occasional spark distastefulness in my mouth like right now. I seriously dislike the Royal court this instance.

Only in times like these it dawns on me how big Cair Paravel actually is. The many rooms, nocks and crannies’ it has and still unexplored and hidden rooms from what I’ve heard it just goes on and on, up down and yes all around. But uncovering mysteries is an agenda for another day, my current plans already going sideways which to be honest was to be expected it’s the disappointment that was not however - anger yes. It isn’t until my calves start to burn that I slow down, still tempted to run but instead I end up walking in big strides with a grim expression on which a lovely naiad points out once I cross a courtyard with a fountain in the middle. Her sisters greet me in giggles the comment roaring up a dose of laughter. I simply offer them a brief smile of acknowledgement before hurrying my step ahead shaking of the brief moment of embarrassment.

After what feels like a few kilometres of walk, I reach the High King’s study surprised to see the doors opened. Peeking inside the room there’s only a faun working over some scrolls and documents, moving and folding them, over the grand table that has been placed there to hold meetings with more people.

‘’Ah my lady.’’ The faun is quick to notice me, letting go of his work as he sidesteps and offers a bow. I return it back stepping inside eyes running over the scrolls looking for an indication of what sort of discussion may have happened in my absence. I end up turning to Mentius.

‘’Where’s the High King? He was supposed to be here??’’ at my question he averts his gaze.

‘’I’m afraid to reveal that in a certain sense he was abducted by a few lords.’’

My eyebrows raise up hands coming to rest over my hips, while I run my tongue over my left cheek ‘’Abducted?’’ I inquire narrowing my eyes at the already nervous looking faun, that fumbles with some scrolls on the table.

‘’Yes, they have guided him out of the study. I am not certain where their intentions lie or where they might have led him to. Or the matter of discussion.’’ He looks apologetic once he lifts his eyes up shyly.

I simply hum at first tapping my foot impatiently as I glance at the painted ceiling, the fresco portraying a story that Peter likes and which he chose. It’s a nice short story which supposedly happened near the beginning of Narnian’s creation and it includes a table of beavers and the King’s firstborn helping them out.

‘’Hm alright.’’ I straighten up and offer a wide smile ‘’I greatly thank you for your honesty Mr. Mentius. I’d suggest for you to run away while you can and take the rest of the day off. I bid you farewell.’’ With that and a fumbling goodbye from the nervous faun, I turn around and head outside my second destination being the throne room.

I have an inkling of an idea of what the lords want, and which ones have ambushed poor Peter. There have been words going around, made up rumours from certain noblemen of wanting to be gifted land on Galma, and perhaps even Avra. It irks me just the thought of it, the greediness that the men are starting to portray. Most of them being humans doesn’t ease my slowly growing nerves over them visiting us the last few days.

‘’Darling Y/N!’’ a voice calls out startling me. I trail off a few more steps head turning around spotting Lucy as she skips over to me enthusiastically, holding onto a richly weaved flower crown ‘’Why are you in such a hurry? Where is the fire?’’ she asks bubbly coming to a stop in front of me.

‘’I’m trying to find your older brother. He has a habit of slipping through my fingers, as of lately. Intentionally or not.’’ I complain sincerely which has her chuckling immediately her eyes crinkling as she gleefully nods.

‘’It’s mostly unintentional, and very rarely intentional.’’ She defends him swiftly ‘’What trouble has he gotten himself now into?’’

‘’In his defence he probably didn’t do anything, besides being nice.’’ I grumble crossing my arms while she tilts her head giving me a fond look.

‘’Poor thing.’’ She coos shaking her head. I spot a group of nymphs further ahead at the gardens, peeking around the corner of a gate and a column towards us, all murmuring between one another clearly up to something ‘’Being nice and polite is a given, but taking advantage of it…’’ she trails off looking conflicted, hands mindlessly stroking the flower petals.

I reach forward placing my right hand over hers brining her gaze up to me again ‘’That’s why I’m here. I’ll get him away no problem. It’s easier to blame me it’s what I’m here for.’’ I tease winking, and then pull her into a hug ‘’You on the other hand should go back to your friends. They are missing you.’’ As I lean back, I point backwards. Lucy follows my direction looking just in time as squeaks reach our ears and the girls disappear.

‘’Ah I see.’’ She says smirking widely and turns forward after a moment ‘’I wish you the best of luck in your quest. And if anyone dares to blame you for anything you find me and I’ll take care of it!’’ I’m surprised at the end at the slight change in her tone and the warning in her words. My astonishment gives her enough time to stand on her tip toes and place the flower crown onto my head.

‘’What are you…’’ she’s quick to shush me with a smile, fingers gentle and fleeting working my hair, to hold the flower crown steady atop my head ‘’This is unnecessary your majesty.’’

She instantly snorts at the title I use to address her and steps behind me, taking in her handywork while I simply smile at the slight weight over my head loving the sweet smell that the flowers are emitting ‘’it is very necessary. I keep saying and will keep saying it; you are meant to wear flower crowns.’’ She beams as she stands in front of me once more and takes me in, hand taking a hold of my own ‘’Now I give you my full blessing to do whatever you please with my brother.’’

This time around laughter raises up from my own chest at the secret and not so secret implication ‘’You are being ridiculous truly. And sneaky.’’ I add giving her a glare as she starts to walk backwards the murmurs and chatter present once more.

‘’Me, no. You’ve must have mistaken me for some else Lady Y/N.’’ she says playfully still backing away slowly, her words making me shake my head, hands flying up for the flower crown which remains unmoving. She’s a professional I swear.

‘’Uh huh. Have a nice day your majesty.’’ I call back as she turns around. She offers a last glance waving to me before he walks around the corner joining her ladies and friends, cheers and laughter rising. Such a nice sweet girl our Lucy is. Taking in a breath, I check to find the throne room empty some folks cleaning and dusting it. Not wanting to disturb them, I do curiously as on instinct make a detour to the gardens near the throne room. It’s a place where mostly people “run off to” whenever we have balls, or gatherings, celebrations ecc.

On a day to day basis, only people that take care of the gardens tend to roam around here. And on occasion I do love it myself to just walk around the layered balconies fully enjoying the magnificent view of the sea and castle no matter the weather. It is always breath-taking.

Greeting passing satyrs and dwarfs, along with a tiger and excited looking group of mice I make my way to the marble fence, lips turning into a wide smile once my eyes lay fully on the glistering calm sea that stretches ahead of me.

In the corner of my eye I spot movement. It captures my attention brining my eyes downwards, and finally praise Aslan I spot my target. Poor Peter is right in the middle of the half circle of 5 humans that all but surround him. I lean onto the wide fence wanting to get closer and hear what they are actually discussing. MY gaze lands on the High King that is mostly silent looking between the lords trying to clearly portray himself as if he’s interested in what they are saying. He looks uncomfortable. It makes me smirk knowing that he’s sort of suffering. It’s funny. (I don’t mean that in a malicious way)

Not wanting to waste any more time, I walk over to the steps and skip a bit recklessly over a few, landing on my feet successfully every time I reach flat ground. By the time I reach the 5th balcony which is the lowers one of this level, I compose myself into a lady whilst the lords quiet down after noticing my presence.

‘’Lady Y/N, how nice of you to have joined us.’’ Peter greets contrastingly cheerful, as the lords greet me somewhat stoically. In return I turn to the High King addressing him first and then spare the lords a greeting. The older men even though offer pleasantries and smiles, make it clear that the mood has been soured.

‘’I do apologize for my interruption lords, your majesty. It took me a while to find you. You simply disappeared I’ve been told.’’ I state unabashed putting on an expression of wonder to mock the men. I do make sure that I stand next to the High King, not missing the way he shifts in favour of standing even closer to me.

‘’Ah it is not, as if we were hiding my Lady.’’ One chuckles his undertone noticeably mocking. I play along smiling and nodding as they exchange looks.

‘’Yes, yes, I believe you my Lord. There must have been a miss-communication of sorts.’’ I reply glancing at Peter not missing the ‘Please help me’ look he gives along with an apologetic half smile that’s easy to read. Haaaaa he should feel guilty. ‘’Anyhow can I offer up my assistance given that I’m finally here? I must have missed the invitation for this meeting I do offer my sincere apologies.’’ Just to be extra and a bit petty I bow my head in apology offering the men an innocent expression.

Again, they exchange looks between one another, knowing that I’ve caught them ‘’The lords were discussing about benefits for nobility, and certain deserving Narnians.’’ Peter speaks up with a smirk on his lips quick to spill the tea so to speak. I don’t miss how a lord that’s comes from the great river and far up north who is known not to lie his eyes widening almost comically for a moment ‘’In war times as we all well know we award our people, for their bravery, heroism and even if they are simply in need. And given these peaceful and rich times, why shouldn’t we continue being generous. Times are good, and even in good times we could and should give out good will and rewards.’’

I immediately nod, not missing the way Peter’s eyes whilst he talks take me in, gaze lingering over my features and the flower crown.

‘’That sounds like a very good and very selfless idea from you my lords. I praise for your humbleness.’’ I cheer still playing along turning to the serious men ‘’Can I hear some of the suggested ideas please?’’

Again, nobody says anything, the men sending glances towards the High King as if he’s one of them, waiting for him to speak further. Peter on the other hand takes a look at them and ends up smirking as he turns to me, hands at his sides one resting over his left hip where his sword would be. He has a habit of mindlessly reaching for the hilt the action endearing.

‘’The initial idea from our noblemen, was to give out land on Galma for starters. But that’s just an idea at the moment being.’’

I keep silent and turn behind to glance across the sea towards where the island can be seen on clear days. I try keeping back the inkling of anger that spike in me and put on a smile as I face the men.

‘’And an idea it shall remain.’’ I state overly cheerfully perhaps ‘’May I advise that we organize festivals your majesty to consider? Friendly competitions that anyone can participate in, and stands to boost businesses for individuals? Of course, that’s another reason to travel and revisit Narnia and it’s many beauties.’’

At my suggestion Peter’s eyes sparkle, face lightening up ‘’That is a very well-rounded idea Lady Y/N!’’ he acclaims ‘’We should have called for you much earlier. What are your thoughts on this my lords?’’ he turns to the men that are quick to act, putting on big smiles.

‘’Ah wonderful.’’

‘’What a stupendous idea my lady.’’

‘’Very well thought out indeed.’’

If I had a penny for every time that someone acted fake…

‘’That is only meant for the common folk with due respect my lady. Our thoughts were going along the lines of men that have fought in battles and who have upheld peace in the recent years. Men that need time off, to free their minds from their troubles.’’ Ah there he is the rebellious lord of Omaru finally laying the cards on table. I bite back a cough, and snarky remark of him just mentioning men. As if women didn’t fight or contribute to Narnia.

I narrow my eyes at him crossing my arms but make sure I cup my right cheek making an effect of looking as if I’m thinking hard about his words, squaring up my shoulders.

‘’It is why festivals and contests are a place and occurrence to take their minds off. Maybe travels around our lands. We can start to talk about building a rehabilitation space of sorts somewhere near the woods preferably.’’ I reply ‘’Galma’s land isn’t ours to just give so freely my Lord. Nor to our esteemed noblemen and noblewomen, nor to the High King himself. Whoever is in possession of said lands we’d have to pay off fairly. Man, woman or the kingdom. Narnia isn’t here to be owned by us; whatever you are given must be earner with honesty and valour.’’ I politely and calmly explain not breaking eye contact with the said lord who is a man in his forties and has made a name for himself by building his town from grounds up after the war ‘’Besides my dear Lords, people look up to us. They look up to you, saviours of our beloved lands and hearts. We are only human that is true, and greed can be hard to resists that’s understandable. But at the end of the day gentlemen we have been put into the positions in which we stand for I’m sure good reasons. Maybe intentionally or unintentionally by Aslan’s will perhaps.’’

Check mate. Nobody pips a word, as they stare at me, some with blank expressions others with frustrations burning beneath the surface. My words were clear and hold a heaviness to them. Anyone that tries to contradict me especially after the last part of my sentence, would be to speak against Aslan himself. And yes, yes, I’ve played dirty just now bringing his name into this mess that the men before me have created. The 4 lords keep quiet but huddle closer next to one another, quietly starting to debate what has just transpired all the while Lord Omaru to my surprise doesn’t remove his gaze away from me. He offers a lopsided smirk instead steely blue eyes holding my own.

His gaze starts to make me feel uncomfortable giving me an inkling as if he’s having ideas of pushing me off the balcony. Thank Aslan, that Peter gets my attention shifting closer to me ‘’Well pointed out Lady Y/N. I do have to apologize for my tardiness…’’ he starts off almost making me roll my eyes – I don’t. I instead shake my head and grab for his forearm shutting him up, as I step backwards. He goes along willingly taking a step forward.

‘’My dear lords, please excuse us but we do have other urgent matters to attend to as it was scheduled. Please consult between yourselves an we can pick up this discussion in the following days. I wish you a good day.’’ Not having patience anymore, I completely ignore as they start to greet us in return half bowing down whilst I all but drag the High King away reaching the stairs in no time. For the first 2 levels I hitch up my dress and try to walk up composed and yet I end up letting go of the boy behind me and sprint up. I ignore the burn in my thighs and legs, panting loudly once we reach the top of the stairs and walk out of the men’s sight towards the building, the glass wall starting midway of the wall whilst we stand on the corner of it.

‘’Was that really needed?’’ Peter pants catching up to me a few steps behind. I lean over, placing my hands onto my knees to support myself as I try catching my breath, lungs only slightly burning at the strain ‘’That was quite intense wasn’t it?’’ he wonders out loud looking a bit better than I am feeling. Although it does seem like we’ve ran out of shape. Hm it’s a good initiative to start practicing sword fighting. Gathering myself enough to start moving again the first thing I do I legit punch him on the arm ‘’OUUUU!!’’ he whines grabbing a hold of his arm.

‘’Dummy!!’’ I exclaim glaring at him ‘’How hard is it to actually say no??!?!’’

He looks at me startled but breaks into a grin arms rising up. Within a step he’s right in my personal space and pulls me into his chest gleefully ‘’NO you jerk!’’ I protest immediately trying to push him away. Of course, I don’t success as his grip is secure not giving me any wiggle room. He boyishly laughs, clearly enjoying himself as I grumble ‘’You don’t get to laugh, you owe me big time mister!’’ I manage to lean back enough to look at him ‘’Big time!’’

His grin turns into half a pout as he can’t stop smiling ‘’I must relay to you my sincerest apologies my lady. I do apologize from the bottom of my heart…’’ he puts on this ridiculous and very mocking tone, using words that have me grinning in return and covering my mouth with my hand not to burst into laughter.

‘’Peter!!!!’’ I wine in protest pushing against his chest with both hands. He ends up breathing out once harshly at my push but laughs instead, hands not leaving me.

‘’I’m sorry my love.’’ He switches back to normal, pursing his lips in an attempt to kiss me. But unlike him I always keep an eye out on my surroundings; and this time can hear the lords first before seeing them or they us. Glancing around there’s a bush fittingly placed right behind us a step away.

‘’Nope!’’ I murmur and take a determined step back, bringing him with me from the tiled floor onto grass. He trips over my own two feet, and my sudden move has us crashing down like falling trees. Naturally as gravity would have it, he lands on me knocking all air from my lungs but at least we are out of sight.

‘’Y/N are you…’’ instead of worrying about myself as I heave for a moment, I raise both hands in panic to cover his mouth, breathing harsh through my nose.

‘’Shhhhh!’’ with the warning being expressed he remains confused as I turn my head to the side looking through the bush listening the how the men are bad mouthing me. Peter meanwhile readjusts his position shifting enough to slide next to my body, leaving an ache behind and maybe a bruise or two. For a moment I panic once more that the lords are going to pick the way ahead of us to enter the castle, which will give them the full view of us hiding. Luckily enough their voices linger as they sort of hang around not talking all that quietly.

‘’Who does she think she is?’’ I smirk at the obvious anger finding that the men are acting like little boys, as expected. Turning over to Peter who has lowered my hands down from his face, he’s glaring towards them with anger as well, getting red in the face ‘’Foolish little girl! I don’t care if she’s a war hero or not, she should be put in place…’’

I cup Peter’s cheeks before he can get up and raise hell so to speak. His blue eyes dart to me, frustration clear in his gorgeous blue orbs. I lean in knowing him well enough to assume that his next move is to jump up and that my action will distract him. My lips slot against his with familiarity bringing that fluffy and soft filling to wash over me.

The court doesn’t exactly know that we’ve been courting one another for some time now. They don’t necessarily officially know, or have been briefed because we haven’t made the announcement. But unofficially yeah, I think the whole castle, or probably whole of Narnia knows that we are in some shape or form liking one another.

Not risking it by making any sounds, I do boldly let my tongue run over his upper lip before pulling back teeth tugging onto his lower one. His eyebrows furrow as he stares at me with a darkened gaze, not changing it even when I let go of him. I offer a bright grin and innocent expression, gaze lowering between his plump lips and eyes, while listening to the men that finally decide to leave and most likely plot some conspiracy behind our backs.

‘’You little tease.’’ He murmurs silently just forcing me to kiss him, because of how handsome he is in this moment. I mean he’s always handsome, but right now the sun is hitting him perfectly through the leaves of the bush, dotting his skin, and highlighting his eyes whenever the leaves move.

I simply hum in reply, still pressing kisses to his face as he tries to give me an unimpressed expression. His lips are twitching which is giving him away ‘’Not at all your majesty. I was only trying to distract you from doing anything rash. I am just doing my job.’’ I even give him a wink which prompts him to shake his head at me. I end up giggling quietly and lie my head down as the position I’ve put myself into put a strain on my neck.

‘’Ah sure, rely all your hidden intentions and agendas onto your job. That for certain can be excused in court.’’ He grumbles half-heartedly sarcasm peeking through his words.

I gasp instead, hand hitting him gently over his right shoulder ‘’In court?’’ I try keeping my voice down as I stare at him flabbergasted at his statement ‘’Are you planning on putting me away my king?’’

‘’There’s a possibility I might be.’’ He confirms shifting. I watch as he raises over me, supporting himself on his elbows, face inches away from my own hands coming up to readjust the flower crown that has managed to stay put.

‘’For whatever reason, your grace? What heinous crime have I committed to have earned your disapproval?’’ I play along, hand flying to my forehead as I act as if I’m regretting my actions. Chuckles fill the air, as he dives down and is quick to nip at my bared neck, lips ghosting over my skin which earns him some breathless gasps.

‘’I’m afraid it’s the worst kind of crime, dear lady.’’ He whispers lips reaching my ear. His breath ghosts over my neck, making me giggle all the more besides the fact that hits me; we’re acting like teenagers hiding behind bushes. This is ridiculous.

‘’Oh goodness me. What can I do my king? Please I get of you how can I repent for my bad doings?’’ I go on staring at him in amusement once he raises his head up, eyes finding my own.

His eyebrow arches as he smirks ‘’For starters you can…’’

‘’They are gone your majesty.’’ A whisper reaches our ears. Both of us freeze in our spots, hearts hammering in our chest while eyes fleet around us. For a moment nothing changes until the bush starts to rustle and has, Peter rising up ‘’The lords are gone.’’ the same whisper is back, prompting me to follow after Peter who stands up dusting his front, as he looks around while I wait for his signal still sitting down looking overhead and past him. There’s no one in sigh.

‘’Ah yes, thank you for the warning Dumnus.’’ Peter is quick to thank whoever is on the lookout apparently, hands reaching for me helping me to rise onto my feet.

‘’You should hurry along over to the north side I’ve lured the others to dine just around the corner on the lower terrace.’’ the satyr is smirking amusedly once he comes into my sight.

Peter is preoccupied looking around making sure that nobody is watching this odd encounter while I offer a bring grin to the satyr ‘’How kind of you. Great thanks Dumnus, we won’t forget this!’’ I want to offer more but at the moment I find myself trying to push down laughter as my thoughts earlier resurface. We are literally acting like teenagers. Even Peter as he tugs me backwards has a hard time keeping himself serious and well royal.

‘’Yes, later.’’ He adds awkwardly tugging me along.

‘’Hurry your majesties.’’

Before I can burst into uncontrollable laughter Peter is breaking into a run hand holding my own. Grinning ear to ear I follow along, surpassing the throne room outside completely as the king picks a side entrance, checking the surrounding inside first before he pulls through with him. I’m ready to dart into the direction of the hallway on the right, coming up with a plan on avoiding everyone by taking the long route around, to reach the Apple orchard where I’ve arranged a picnic for us. Hopefully no one found or spot and ate the food or something.

Just as I open my mouth to urge him on, his mouth and well face somewhat crash into me on accident ‘’Ah fudge.’’ He hisses hands reaching for his mouth, while I reach for my nose staring at him incredulously at what just happened.

He reopens his eyes to look at me through a frown ‘’Well that was poorly planned on my part.’’ He points out, as I laugh not being able to hold myself back. I’m having the time of my life to be entirely honest. Reaching up I guide his hands away taking in the damage I might have unintentionally done to his handsome features.

‘’A tiny bit yeah.’’ I confirm licking over my lips, as I smile caressing his cheeks while his eyes take me in ‘’No wounds, no scratches.’’ I state ‘’Nothing to brag about from your newest misadventure.’’ He chuckles at that pulling me in like before into his embrace, hands warm as they encircle my waist.

‘’I always have something to brag about when it comes to you, my love.’’ The reply spurs butterflies to awaken in my stomach, and some sort of giddiness to overtake me forcing me to sport a blush over my cheeks.

‘’Awww, that is the sweetest thing, anyone has ever told me, Pete. Gosh I love you.’’ The confession at the end is sort of spontaneous and totally not planned. I was ready with another comeback it was on the tip of my tongue, when my brain and heart decided to take a turn and twist my words into a sincere confession.

His eyes widen but only slightly at my turn of words. Like before I raise on my tiptoes and kiss him one more, making sure that we remain unharmed.

This time around there are no restrictions holding us back. The kiss starts of hungry from the get go, as he leans down to accommodate me. He’s quick to switch moods, taking charge in the pace and the way he simply devours me, tongue teasingly now and then pocking my lips. But we run breathless running on an extra high of adrenaline from kissing in such a public place, as this corridor overlooks into the throne room.

Breaking apart our heavy breaths can be herd in the echoey corridor, but in the moment, we can simply grin at one another loving the proximity and what just happened.

‘’C’mon.’’ he’s the first one to speak, dropping his hands away, making sure he takes both of my hands into his. Cheekily he presses kisses to both tops of my hands, and then shifts sideways tilting his head towards the long hallway ‘’I’ve got a date I’m very late to. I’ve already promised redemption, my queen has waited long enough.’’

I follow him easily along, holding onto his hand gladly as his eyes haven’t left mine yet ‘’Hmm you shouldn’t keep your lady waiting for too long, my king indeed.’’

He grins widely and leans back for a quick peck ‘’My queen you mean.’’

I’m sure that the giggle that leaves me can be heard into the throne room. But as we run away, neither of us care about it, as his own chuckles join my own. Today is a very intentionally unintentional day.

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

#peter pevensie x reader #peter pevensie imagine #peter pevensie #chronicles of narnia #narnia #narnia fanfiction #narnia fluff

251 notes · View notes

officialdcshepard · 3 years

Text

The Marble Emperor

**DISCLAIMER: This short story was originally written back in 2014 for a college writing class.**

*May 28th, 1453*

Byzantine Emperor Constantine XI Dragaš Palaiologos knelt on the cold marble floor of the Hagia Sophia, the church at the center of Constantinople, with his head bowed and his eyes closed in prayer.

“To surrender the city to you is beyond my authority or anyone else's who lives in it, for all of us, after taking the mutual decision, shall die out of free will without sparing our lives,” he had growled as he threw the Turkish delegation out.

His father Manuel II, his mother Helena, and his older brother John VIII had prepared Constantine his entire life for the possibility that the Ottomans would one day try to destroy the Empire. (If they were here, they would know what to do, he thought solemnly.) Their stories of the centuries of Muslim atrocities against Christians horrified him as a child. And he suffered a bitter military loss when the Turks drove his armies from an attempted conquest of Athens back to Corinth in 1446. Therefore, from the moment he took the throne in 1449, he undertook to strengthen the city and spill their blood fighting for it. But now those very words of defiance came back to bite him like vipers that now hissed with the accusation, What empire is there left to destroy? What empire indeed? The Byzantines were the eastern, Greek speaking descendants of the Roman Empire, which once had uncontested dominion from Britain to Persia. After ten centuries of weathering attacks from barbarians, Muslims, and Christians alike, however, the Byzantines now only ruled a small portion of the southernmost part of Greece called the Despotate of the Morea (astride what used to be Sparta), a handful of Aegean islands, and the immediate environs of Constantinople.

And yet, Constantine reflected, he was not truly alone in this fight. Kneeling in prayer beside him was Giovanni Gustiniani. Constantine had joked to Giovanni during a rare break in the siege that he was the only good man to ever come out of Genoa. But it was true. The Italian had sailed to Constantinople’s aid with seven hundred Genoese mercenaries. But far more importantly, he quickly became Constantine’s protostrator (or second in command) and made sure the ragtag Byzantine, Genoese, and Venetian soldiers remained unified and could effectively defend the walls. Without his help, the city would not have held out for as long as it had so far.

Right now, though, Giovanni looked worried as he turned to Constantine. Constantine did his best to not show the fear that this look caused to spread through his whole body. If Giovanni was nervous, then surely something must be wrong. But Constantine dared not show his trepidation. He certainly could not afford to appear weak in front of the throng of thousands of civilian refugees who had been praying with them. They now took shelter in the center of this cathedral that remained strong for them and that housed the priests who fed them with meager stores of bread, even as paint from the mosaics peeled off and critical masonry in the walls started to show cracks and strain. It seemed to the Emperor that his subjects were also barely holding themselves together, especially recently.

On the night of May 22nd, when the Moon rose, it was partially eclipsed by the Earth's shadow and its light glowed red like blood. This already caused enough panic for Constantine and what remained of his government in a city that had been besieged for a month to have to deal with. To make things worse, rumors flew around that there was a prophecy that the city would fall after a blood moon. Then four days later, the entire city was blanketed by a large, thick, and choking cloud of black fog. When the fog lifted, there appeared around the dome of the Hagia Sophia a strange multicolored light, which some hoped came from the fires of foreign armies come to relieve the city. Most, however, despaired, wailing throughout the crumbling streets that the Holy Spirit had abandoned the capital to the heathens.

Under these circumstances, Constantine could not blame anyone for panicking. He almost envied that they were able to scream.

"Is there something that troubles you, my friend?" he asked calmly, placing a large, weary hand on the Italian captain's shoulder.

"I don't know quite how to say this, my lord..."

"Please. We have known each other long enough, Giovanni. It is Constantine."

"Alright- Constantine," Giovanni stammered quietly, hoping that he wasn't disturbing the Latin and Greek churchmen and the Imperial nobility who sat immediately behind him as the service continued. "I am afraid I must beg leave to attend to the walls. It appears that the Turks are concentrating their cannon fire on the Blachernae." These were the most weakened walls, and were situated in the northwest of the city.

“I will excuse you and ask for God's forgiveness on your behalf if He should be offended by this," Constantine nodded.

As Giovanni attempted to slink towards the exit without arousing the panic of the commoners or the offended huffs of the churchmen, Constantine wished that he could leave. He was, of course, a very devout Christian, and it was important that the Emperor remain implacably, solemnly beseeching of God's mercy at a time like this. But now he could very well feel the weight of the sword on his right hip and the shield leaning on his left arm, and he knew they would soon be needed.

*****

*Rumeli Hisari, Ottoman Fortress Just North of Constantinople*

"Are you sure that it will not break this time?" Sultan Mehmed shouted at Orban the Dacian, his Hungarian gunsmith. He did this not out of any anger towards the other man, but simply in order for his words to be heard over the constant gunfire.

"Yes, my lord," Orban bowed. "I have made several small but important improvements to the design since the last time we fired it."

"Excellent, my friend," Mehmed replied.

However, the Sultan made a careful mental note to keep an eye on Orban. He had initially offered to work for the Byzantines. It was only because his asking price was too high and because the Byzantines did not have the resources necessary for what he was asking to create them that he had changed sides, and that would pose a problem.

“When will it be ready?"

Orban's blond mustache trembled before he said, "I- I have the full team of sixty oxen and four hundred men rolling it into position in front of the fort even as we speak."

"Good," Mehmed smiled, something which Orban had rarely seen.

Orban then enthusiastically cried, "I will go down there and personally make sure that it is aimed and fired properly. Where would you like me to aim it?"

"See how the other cannons are concentrating their fire at the northwest corner?" Mehmed asked and then pointed.

Orban nodded and immediately rushed down and made preparations to fire upon the Blachernae. At whatever price his loyalty may have been bought to start with, with that gesture Mehmed was now confident that Orban would remain on his side.

When he came to the throne two years earlier after the death of his father, Sultan Murad II, no one would have ever thought that Mehmed, then only nineteen, would ever inspire any kind of loyalty or do anything great. Even Mehmed himself had not been confident in himself when he took the throne.

He had done it before, ruling for a short time when his father abdicated in 1444. But he was only twelve at the time. Frustrated when his teachers assumed he could not do anything competently, took power out from under him, and then nearly ran the entire nation into the ground, Mehmed had had to supplicate his father to return to the throne and resented being lectured by the old fool afterwards. Thereafter father and son bitterly resented each other.

Mehmed had not wanted to have to go through it all again, and almost cursed Allah for taking his father away and making him do this.

But as his father lay dying in 1451, he had summoned young Mehmed into his chambers and had him sit beside him on the bed and read from one of the hadiths, a report of the deeds and sayings of the Prophet Muhammad (Peace Be Upon Him). In it he said, "Verily you shall conquer Constantinople. What a wonderful leader will he be, and what a wonderful army will that army be!"

"I know that you can do what I could not, my son," Sultan Murad coughed, and then closed his eyes and drifted into Paradise.

His teacher Ak Şemseddin had drilled into him from the moment he could read that it was his Islamic duty to capture Constantinople. And now, as he wept for the loss of his father, Mehmed was reminded of that. He knew what his first act in office must be, and knew that the Christian and Muslim enemies that surrounded him would never take him seriously unless he did this. Therefore, from the moment he had taken the throne, Mehmed prepared his armies to crush Constantinople. In doing so, he would succeed where Muslim armies had failed since 678. In the process he would eliminate a small but annoying foe in the middle of his country, establish for it a natural capital, and turn his Sultanate into an heir to the glory of Rome herself.

Of course, since he was a reasonable man, he had first offered a way for Byzantine "Emperor" Constantine to step down without bloodshed. He didn’t expect Constantine would *agree*, but all this blood was now on the Greek.

"Fire!" the Sultan cried once Orban had positioned the cannon correctly. It was now midnight on the morning of May 29th, and the Sultan now prayed that this would mark the final assault that would deliver the city to himself, his people, and to Allah.

No sooner had the fuse been lit then the hiss and pop of the fire dancing on the edges of the rope that fed itself into the monstrous bronze beast echoed within its cavernous belly. To some who were on the ground, it was almost was as if this cannon, which was heavier than several ships put together, was an unholy djinn taking a deep inhalation before breathing out terrible fire upon its enemies. And when it belched its black smoke, wheels taller than two men standing on top of one another nearly buckled from the recoil as the ball sailed across the Golden Horn, the small inlet that formed the northern boundary of Constantinople.

Several soldiers immediately noticed another loud bang emerge from the metal dragon. But none of them remembered loading and firing it at all, which seemed odd. One went to take a closer look. By the time he heard another angry shout emerging from the cracks, however, an enraged fireball devoured him and spat out only ash in its wake. The frightened rabbits ran for their lives but it was already too late. Mehmed could not bear to watch the carnage below him. When the bloated weapon finally shuddered and died, he despaired to learn that was left of Orban had been incinerated in the blast and crushed by falling pieces of bronze as well.

Struggling to keep away tears so as not to panic those men who still lived and were dealing with the horror of seeing their mangled comrades, the Sultan's eyes followed the cannonball for a moment before he knelt on the fortress's walls and made this solemn prayer.

"Allah, if it be your will, bring Orban into Paradise and let his death not have been in vain. Bless our endeavor this night and deliver Constantinople unto us."

"What will you have me do, my lord?" the Commander of the Janissaries, the Empire's brave, elite soldiers, asked the Sultan.

"Assemble every man you have and prepare to attack!"

*****

"All of you, get away from the walls and take cover!" Giovanni cried. He was at the front of the line, waving with his sword and banging his shield to get the attention of those who were still manning the Blachernae guard posts at that moment.

Most saw his message and tried to escape by leaping away from the towers and onto piles of hay below. This did not work at all, but fortunately, when compared to those who were caught on the walls when the cannonball slammed into them, their deaths were swift and painless.

Giovanni squinted as his entire body and his suit of armor was coated in a thin layer of powdered limestone from the hole that had been punched through the city's defenses. And worse, mere moments seemed to pass before a horde of howling Turks streamed through the walls, seemingly endless. And not just any Turks.

Janissaries.

Brutal, merciless, and born only to kill and maim, these monstrous, gnarled mercenaries drove fear into the hearts of the defenders.

"Stand your ground!" Giovanni yelled. "For we will fight and die honorably and on our feet, as our Roman forefathers did before us!"

He did not get to say much more before a river of Turkish shields slammed against his own. The Italian leaned his shoulder into his shield to push back against them and stabbed his foes through whatever hole in their guard he could find, coating the cobblestones generously with their blood.

Just as Giovanni was about to say something further to rally the defenders to push the Turks back towards the breach in the wall, a crossbow bolt lodged itself in his throat and stifled the Emperor's friend forever. And as word of Giovanni's death spread around the ranks, the Byzantines and their foreign allies broke ranks and retreated now that the man who had single-handedly kept the Empire together was gone.

“Why are they retreating?" Emperor Constantine asked to himself with his hands folded behind his long purple robes, even though he already knew what the answer was.

"I do not know, my lord," one of the churchmen said.

"The Turks are pouring into the city like a river!" a man who used to be a merchant yelled. "We're doomed!"

"I just saw two priests disappear into the cathedral walls! God is punishing us up for our sins," a woman sobbed.

But then, even though Constantine was coming apart at the moment he knew the city was lost, the Emperor walked calmly through the teeming masses and said, "My friends, fellow Romans! Do not despair. For whatever happens this night, trust in our Lord and Savior, for he has said to us, 'Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven'."

With that, Constantine commanded the guards still inside to bolt the doors to the Hagia Sophia, quickly picked up his sword and shield, and ran through the city in full armor, fueled by adrenaline to meet with his men before they could completely retreat.

His robes were long and cumbersome and the trappings of what little of his Imperial office he had left now only served to slow him down. With that, he cried at the top of his lungs, "The city is fallen and I am still alive," tore them off so as to no longer distinguish himself from his soldiers, and charged into the fray with them. After that, no one saw Constantine again.

Some say even to this day that just at the moment of his death, an angel flew in and carried the beloved last Emperor of Rome away. Others say he left the battle, stood atop a platform overlooking the carnage, and wept before hanging himself.

From that moment on, he became the Marble Emperor, turned to stone and entombed underneath the city until he would awaken again in its hour of need. Simultaneously, legends grew that the two priests who disappeared into the walls of Hagia Sofia would reemerge when the city would be retaken by the soldiers of Christ.

*****

The great oak doors to the Hagia Sophia now leaned slackly against the rotting pillars of stone as the Sultan entered the passageway. It had only been three days since the Ottomans captured Constantinople and already his workers were busy painting over the mosaics of Mary with child with beautiful white Arabic lettering on top of a simple black background, as well as placing minarets at the tops of the towers. Within a month, his planners told him, the mosque would be renovated enough to allow for Friday prayers to be read.

Mehmed's soldiers had also been hard at work looting over the past three days, an enterprise that personally disgusted the young ruler. But this had to be allowed, if only for this limited amount of time, for soldiers on any side of a war these days were often a fickle bunch, prone to deserting if every little demand of theirs was not met. For instance, he had had to build Rumeli Hisari in the shape of the Arabic letters for Muhammad in order to keep morale up, and that had only lasted a week. (It hadn't hurt, however, that his name was styled the same way.)

The results of the three day looting period were almost too much for him to gaze upon. Elderly men who just days earlier had been praying for deliverance from the prophet Isa, who they called Jesus, were now stacked on wagons and preparing to be dumped into the Bosporus. Children were in shackles, about to be sold to slave markets as far as the Songhai in the heart of Africa. And women and young girls were weeping, their clothes in tatters.

He could do nothing about those whose freedom had already been lost, but now his voice boomed through the mosque,

"Henceforth, those who are still in hiding will not be harmed."

Hopefully, he thought, this would be the first step in beginning to rebuild the city to its former glory. Soon, he reasoned, it would become the glorious, shimmering golden crown of an Empire without end. It would welcome commerce from all over the world, shelter Muslim, Christian, and Jew, and become the greatest power the world had ever known. "The spider weaves the curtains in the palace of the Caesars and the owl calls the watches in the towers of Afrasiab," Mehmed had proclaimed when he first stepped into the city. Hopefully, that would not be the case for much longer.

#history #byzantine #ottoman #war #christianity #islam #writing #my writing #short story

8 notes · View notes

astraeagreengrass · 4 years

Text

The Queen's Husband [4/?]

When her reign is threatened, the Queen of Ergona must find a husband to secure her throne.

Word Count: 4.909

Warnings: There's smut on the second half - don't read if you're under 18! English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

A/N: Grab your dresses and your tiaras - we're going to a royal wedding! This is my first time writing smut and it took me such a long time to make it somewhat decent (if anyone has any tips on how to write better smut, please help a friend out). And although it's pretty tame and lame, keep away from the last part if you're under 18. As always, thank you to every one who's been following this story - it turned out to be so much more than I was expecting and I am forever grateful to anyone who takes some time off their day to let me know their thoughts ♡

Chapter four moodboard

Series masterlist

My masterlist

You and Captain Rogers were married on the first Sunday of October.

The bright summer months - mystical days when your relationship bloomed like flowers under warm sunlight - made way for fall. The air was growing colder and, early in the morning, you could see a white fog settling over Albeon, until the last remnants of the mid-year sun chased it away.

October’s arrival and the eminence of your wedding brought chills to your spine that had nothing to do with autumn. Everything was changing - your life, your kingdom, your heart. Outside the Keep’s walls, the streets were decorated with colorful flags, ribbons and balloons. Overnight, a group of street artists painted Main Street’s cobblestones with beautiful intricate chalk drawings of the most important moments of your reign. You’d never seen the capital - or Ergona, actually - in such high spirits.

To Lord Fury’s outrage, you ordered the Keep’s gates to be open on the wedding day. You simply turned your back on him as he berated about the dangers of letting the common folk in. Fury couldn’t change your mind - these people were your family. You may have growing affections for your groom, but you were walking down the aisle for them.

If they couldn’t see your sacrifices, may them at least know your love.

In the throne room, where the ceremony would take place, another chair sat on the dais. It was made of mahogany wood with gold accents, red velvet cushions and precious gems encrusted in it’s legs, armrests and back. The new throne was identical to the old one, albeit some five hundred years younger. It was a joint present from Lord Stark, the richest man in Ergona and your former guardian, and the Duke of Arvenia, Steve’s father: twin thrones to symbolize equal rulers, a first in your country’s history.

Steve himself said nothing when he first laid eyes on his throne. He kept a blank, neutral expression as his gaze quickly assessed the furniture, as if making mental inventory. He stiffly thanked Lord Stark and his father, before bowing to you and taking his leave, Sir Barnes hot on his heels.

Later that night, wrapped in the safe embrace of his arms, you asked him:

“Did you not like your throne?”

Steve sighed and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You were in your usual spot outside your chambers, three nights before the wedding and his coronation. Your moments alone were even more sacred now that you had found the courage to kiss him. It was physically painful to be apart from him during the day, counting down the seconds until you could shed the heavy cloak of duty and just be young and enamored. Steve’s courtship was bolder, more passionate. He’d kiss you back with such devotion it’d leave your head spinning.

“It’s not that” he replied. “I’m just afraid I can’t be what you need. And what Ergona needs.”

You were so worried overthinking the endless possibilities regarding your union that you never stopped to wonder how Steve was faring. He was quick to accept your proposal - more concerned about the legitimacy of your request than the weight of it. And sure, he was no ordinary man, but maybe the prospect of becoming king was taking its toll on him. You’d been trained for your role for eighteen years, while Steve barely had four months to prepare.

“Do you regret our engagement?”

“No!” he exclaimed. “Of course not! I would never. It’s just… Overwhelming, I guess.”

He bit his lip, as if the pain of teeth on skin could bring him the right words.

“I don’t want to say I was never scared while in battle, because I was. I’ve felt the fear of dying, but I embraced it. I embraced the possibility of not coming back from war, of perishing at the enemy’s hand. I supposed that what made me a good soldier - embracing your fears makes it look as if you don’t have them, even if you’re terrified. But what I’m feeling now… I can hardly understand it.”

“If I failed in battle, it would mean my death and that was it. But if I fail as a king, my mistake will live on and on in the lives of all of those in Ergona who will suffer it’s consequences. It’s terrifying.”

“How do you do it?” he begged. “Please help me be the king you and our country deserve.”

Steve Rogers was a good man. And you were falling desperately in love with him.

You saw him very little after that. You aunt Virginia, Duchess of Foghar, and your cousin Morgan arrived from the East, taking up most of your free time. Morgan insisted on sleeping with you, which prevented Steve from lingering at you door, but you didn’t have it in your to break the little girl’s heart. Instead, on your last evening as a maiden, the two of you built a pillow fort and cast shadows in the wall, spinning a fantastic tale of lovers and dragons and a king and queen who ruled Ergona.

Your bridal gown was a magnificent alabaster piece made of thick fabric, with long sleeves, elongated neck and a train. Mother-of-pearl buttons fastened it to your front and silver embroidery drew intricate patterns from hem to shoulders, which were covered by thick a fur shawl. It was a garment made for heavy winter, not autumn, but you insisted on it since it was your mother’s wedding dress. The only addition were the mother-of-pearl clasps, shaped like stars - a nod to Steve’s shield.

It was sweltering hot inside the antechamber where you waited. A set of double doors kept you from the throne room, your future husband and what appeared to be the entire kingdom. You were never one to be nervous with large crowds - you couldn’t - a mask of nonchalance couldn't hold stop Sir Samuel Wilson, Captain of the Queen’s Guard, who stood by the entryway, from noticing your fingers twitching.

“Are you having second thoughts, Your Grace?” he joked. “I can’t get you out of here, just say the word.”

You snickered. Captain Wilson was one the nicest, most genuine people you knew. Your first act as a queen was to knight him - your childhood best friend from Foghar, who followed you all the way to Albeon because “someone has to look after your royal ass.”

“You can’t help me this time, Sam” you sighed.

“Don’t be dramatic. Steve’s a good guy, Y/N” he reasoned. “You chose well.”

“It’s not him I’m worried about.”

Sam raised one eyebrow.

“I thought you shouldn’t lie when you’re wearing that” he pointed to the crown atop your head, a heavy adornment made of white gold and diamonds. “You have feelings for Steve, which makes you anxious because you hate it when you can't control things."

Before you could come up with a witty response to Sam's very accurate conjecture, Lord Stark arrived, your bouquet in hands - edelweiss for courage, baby’s breath for purity and myrtle for good luck and love in your marriage. Sam excused himself to give you and your uncle some privacy, as well as announce to the grand hall the bride’s upcoming entrance.

Lord Stark cleared his throat.

“You look beautiful, kid” he praised, brown eyes glistening with the tears he was trying to hold back. “Are you ready to do this?”

“Not if you cry” you cooed, gently swiping your thumb on his under eye. His skin was thinning, marked by some wrinkles that weren’t there when you first found yourself in this antechamber. Albeon had taken a heavy toll on your uncle, but not once had he complained.

“I can’t help it” Uncle Tony shrugged. “You’re my oldest daughter, it doesn’t matter what biology says. And I’m happy for you - I’m just crying because that’s what dads do, I suppose.”

Very carefully, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. It was hard to move your head around with the crown. It’s weight forced you to stand still and look ahead in perfectly regal posture. Which was how you walked down the Dragon’s Keep throne room, left arm linked to your uncle’s, as soon as the double doors opened.

On nights you couldn’t sleep you’d often find yourself here, in this wide room built by your ancestors to celebrate their victories and reinforce their rule. It was fairly simple for a throne room - Asgard’s throne room, for instance, was much more opulent - with few ornaments apart from the regular flags and traditional marble arches. It’s grandeur was in the sheer size of it and the glass dome that reflected sunlight in thousands of colors, all of which painted your gown as you made your way to Steve, who stood broad-shouldered at the foot of the dais.

He was wearing his military garb, composed of dark blue jacket and white breeches. The jacket was adorned with all the medals he'd received during his relatively short but immensely successful career. Sir Barnes was on his left as the best man, wearing red, watching with a satisfied, happy smirk as Uncle Tony placed your hand in Steve’s.

Presiding the ceremony was The Ancient One, a tall, bald woman of unknown age who was the leader of the Church of Ergona. The only occasion she left the sacred city of Kamar-Taj was to celebrate royal weddings and coronations in Albeon. Beside her were Master Wong, Master Mordo and Lord Strange, himself a master of the unseen arts too.

She married you first. Took your joined hands and laced them together in golden cloth, as you and Steve recited vows of love, trust and respect. It was fairly simple, not much different that it would’ve been if you were a commoner couple. After brief twenty minutes or so, The Ancient One declared you husband and wife.

There was no kiss - your first duty as a wife held precedence over it. From behind Steve, Lord Strange came with the crown and Master Wong with the State Sword.

Steve knelt before you, his gaze locked on yours. With clammy palms, you took the State Sword, gently placing it on his right shoulder.

“Do you solemnly promise to govern the people of the Kingdom of Ergona, according to its respective laws and customs?”

“I do.”

“Do you solemnly promise to be guided by justice and mercy in all of your tasks and doings, placing your people’s need before your own even in the darkest hours?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear to protect your people from their enemies, even if it means waging war?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear to be fair in your decisions and respectful in your actions, making no distinctions between citizens?”

“I do.”

The tip of the sword weighed like thousand of bricks on Steve’s shoulder, but nothing compared to the golden crown you placed on his head. It was burdensome, soul-crushing - and he'd never felt closer to you.

No one but him noticed the way your hands lingered on the sides of his face or your soft smile when you announced:

“Rise, Steven, King of Ergona.”

The throne room erupted in cheers.

After the feast, Natasha and Wanda prepared you for your wedding night. Your corset was loosened, your skirts removed, your jewelry stored away. Natasha delicately rubbed lavender scented oil on your pulse points while Wanda brushed your hair. A new nightgown was laid on the bed: made of the purest white linen, with lace trimmings and buttons down the front. The perfect look for a virgin queen on her nuptials.

The wedding feast had been a success. Guests from lands near and far enjoyed a decadent dinner of the likes your halls hadn’t seen in a long time, courtesy of Anthony Stark, the Duke of Foghar, to celebrate the nuptials of his beloved niece. Talented musicians entertained the guests, which included the Wakandan royal family and Steve’s cousins, the Princes of Asgard. You and the new King were lavished with the most incredible gifts - gems, tapestries and even horses. All the while, your hand clasped his tightly. His wedding band dug into your palm, but the sharp sting of it was reassuring.

Whatever happened from now on, you were not alone anymore.

There was a brief knock on the door before your aunt Virginia swiftly walked in.

“The King is on his way” she announced as she made her way to you. “Are you ready for this?”

Worry creased her eyebrows, hardening her beautiful face. Here was the woman who raised you as her own - when your mother perished and your father sent you away, Virginia Stark gave you all the love her heart could muster. While your uncle was your advisor and therefore had a duty to aid your rule, your aunt was the hand on your back, ready to offer you her comforts when the weight of the crown was too much.

She couldn’t help your carry it, but now, with the arrival of a man that could, she worried not for the Queen, but for the young woman at the verge of consummating her marriage.

“Please say something” Natasha pleaded as she tugged on your sleeve. She was wearing a beautiful ball gown of forest green which complimented her hair perfectly.

“This must happen” you answered as if you were speaking to your subjects and not the people who knew you best. “I’m sure he will be… Kind.”

Natasha snorted but before she could say anything another knock echoed in the room, louder and more persistent this time. You nodded at Wanda, who opened it, revealing Steve.

“Ladies. My Queen” he greeted at the threshold. From behind him you could see the silhouette of your uncle Tony.

None of the women moved until you commanded:

“Please leave us.”

Bowing to you and then to Steve, the women left the room. When Wanda closed the door behind the King, she sent you a reassuring smile.

You remained still in front of the huge four-poster bed, watching as your new husband slowly made his way inside your room. The windows were closed with pale pink velvet drapes matching the seating in the furniture. During the day they offered the most beautiful view of the gardens, but tonight no one but you and Steve would be witness to whatever took place.

The soft yellow glow of the candles cast shadows on his beautiful face. He’d always been incredibly handsome and yet you were amazed by how striking he looked now: clothes a little rumpled, lips wine stained and eyes blown wide and dark. A fading red line on his forehead from where his crown had been all now.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight” he said and you knew he meant it.

He was standing right in front of you now, although five feet apart. The distance between you felt as big as the distance between the Earth and the Moon, nothing but gravitational pull holding you still.

“I’m not scared” your voice declared, chin held high.

Steve laughed, so softly it felt like a breeze rustling the petals of the rose courtyard.

“I don’t think anything could scare you” he smiled. “But I’d hate for you to regret this.”

Steve loved you. He truly did loved you.

You’d believed his words when he said them. Knowing him to be truthful and honest, you believed his declaration, even if the meaning of it was incomprehensible for you then. You’d know the love of family and the love of friends, but never the sweet, selfless love of a lover, and you honestly never thought you would. But then Steve came like a hurricane, unabashedly storming into your life. Your feelings - neat organized boxes you kept in a imaginary shelf - were scrambled and confused, drowning you in a cerulean sea of bewilderment.

You trusted your body: the aguish you felt when he was away, the incessant fluttering in your stomach when he was near. The heat that took over your veins and crumbled your defenses.

You felt his care in your skin. You saw it, in the green shades of his blue eyes. It was there, visible for only you in candlelight. When morning came maybe you wouldn’t see it again and you’d wonder if it was even real or just your young mind playing tricks. But tonight maybe, maybe, you could let him love you properly.

“Then I guess you should make me not regret it.”

His steps towards you were slow and measured. His boots made little sound on the wooden floor, but the wait was so agonizing you swore they thumped to the rhythm of your heartbeat. When he finally reached you, chest to chest and feet to feet, Steve took your chin in his hands, tilting your head so your eyes could meet.

The move was just like the first time, but the kiss was anything but. Steve’s lips were familiar now, safe territory where you could get lost in for hours. Your tongue had traced its shape and your teeth had pulled on it’s skin. You learned that a kiss was so much more than a press of mouths. There was a lot that could be soundlessly said: “I need you”, “Thank you for being here”, “I’m scared”, “I adore you”.

Your husband’s hands were on your hips, holding and squeezing with fervor. You threw you head back when he started kissing your neck, lips and beard trailing fire on the column of your throat. You barely held your gasp when he squeezed your bum.

“No,” he gruffed. “Let me hear you.”

Tentative fingers tangled in Steve’s hair, their grip tightening as his hands wandered further. Kissing him was the most divine delirium. The otherwise soft fabric of your nightdress now felt scratchy as it shielded your nudity. Even the rich velvet of his waistcoat couldn’t compare to the stroke of his skin.

You were panting heavily when Steve touched your foreheads, eyes glazed and lips plumped. You thought you’d gotten pretty good at reading him these past months - how the hues on his irises hinted at a thousand words he sometimes wouldn't say. He was a quiet one, your husband. He saved his voice for when it was necessary, not just to join the superfluous stream of words you sometimes were victim to.

“Are you sure?” he asked, hoarse and breathless and tantalizing.

You answered unbuttoning the first button on his waistcoat, then the second and third. He didn’t stop it when you pushed it off his broad shoulders and to the floor and then moved on to his tunic. Steve’s torso was a masterpiece of solid muscles under tanned skin. Some faded scars littered the expanse of it, souvenirs from battles past, but you thought they worked on reminding you he was real.

Carefully, you placed a kiss in the center on his left shoulder blade. His skin was warm and tasted salty, but you liked it. Under your palm, Steve’s heart raced.

“Y/N?” he whispered.

“Yes?”

“Can I remove your nightdress?”

You nodded, cheeks pressed to his chest so you could ground yourself in his heartbeat. Steve pecked you softly before kneeling.

“You have me on my knees, my Queen” he professed. “I will cherish you and love you until the end of my days.”

You shivered when he gently took your left foot in his hands, laying a kiss to your ankle. Slowly, his hands and lips moved upwards, trailing your calf, knee and thigh. Out of all of Natasha’s explanations about eroticism, she never mentioned the delirious feeling of a man’s beard touching skin - but then again, you were very fond of Steve’s beard.

When he reached your hip, the nightdress was sitting sideways in your body, covering everything but your leg. A hand went to Steve’s shoulder to steady yourself as he bit your hip bone. Everything was hot, as if the whole room was aflame. Blue eyes locked with yours before he lifted the rest of the fabric, rising as he revealed your body.

It was a strange sensation, sharing your nudity with someone. Of course you’d been nude in Wanda’s presence as she bathed you, or your aunt’s, or even as doctor’s, but it never felt so vulnerable. You wanted your body to be appreciated and desired - for Steve to bask in it the same way your were basking in his, but you couldn't help the shame and insecurity.

He saw the change in your demeanor, how your shoulders tensed and your arms moved to cover your middle section. Steve was hard as a rock, his erection straining his trousers in a terribly uncomfortable way. It wasn't his first time, but no past experience could compare to the reality of finally being with you, his beloved, whom he loved from afar for so long.

He hugged you, just like you did that night when he confessed his fears of ascending to the throne, and you relaxed. Your chest against his was heavenly, and your heartbeats harmonized as if all they ever needed was to touch each other through the skin.

“You’re so beautiful” he whispered. “I’m so happy. Thank you for marrying me.”

“Shouldn’t I be thanking you?” you joked.

He laughed and it was irresistible, so you kissed him again.

Cautiously, his fingers caressed your spine, sensually gazing over your bum and reached the back of your thigh. Sometime during the night - while you were fervently kissing him or trying not to faint, perhaps - you failed to notice how your intimacy was progressively getting wetter. Steve’s touch startled you, making you jump in his arms. He immediately removed his hand and apologized.

“I’m sorry, is this too much? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“No, no, no” you stuttered. “It was just sudden. But it felt… Good.”

Gods, what a shame. If only there was a guide on how to lose your virginity without making a complete mess of yourself!

“Should we lay down?” Steve suggested, an amused smirk on the corner of his mouth.

“Please.”

You swiftly sat on the bed, pulling on some furs to cover your modesty. Steve stood, hands on his waist as he watched his bride try to hide her inexperience. He wasn’t surprised - you were taught any kind of imperfection was a sign of weakness. Over the years, you learned of hundreds of different ways to hide your inabilities until you eventually overcame them. It was the way of your world. He had hoped to break down these barriers during your courtship, but time wasn’t on his side. It would be his lifelong mission to cherish you and your imperfections, no matter how big they may seem to you.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to disappoint you, I’ll try to…”

“Take off my trousers” he interrupted your rambling.

“What?”

“Take off my trousers, Y/N.”

Attentively, as if fondling a bird, your hands moved to the front of his breeches. He look regal, almost imperial, even with chest bare of and hair mussed - and you, his disconcerted queen who could barely undo the fastings. It was comical, really, how you gawked at his cock when it sprung free. There was no way that would fit inside you.

“Now, could you please lay down?” Steve asked softly. It was a bit odd to guide you - he was used to you holding the power and making the decisions, not the other way around. Yet his manhood twitched at the sight of you obeying him and his heart soared knowing you trusted him enough to follow his lead.

You lowered your head on the pillows, body stiff as a board stretched on the rest of the bed. Steve laid on his elbows by your side and gravity made the front strands of his hair hang by his forehead - your angel on Earth.

“Will you let me touch you?” he murmured. “I promise I’ll stop if you don’t like it.”

You nodded, hypnotized by him, naked in your bed. Steve pecked your lips, your chin, your jaw and moved to your neck. Your feet started dragging the comforter on their own accord as he showered your throat with tiny bites and teasing licks, as if you were a delicacy he was just dying to taste. Your breath hitched when he reached you collarbone and sternum. His right hand took one breast as he would a petal, caressing it with the pad of his thumb.

You lost it when he took a nipple in his mouth, the soft skin peddling as he licked it. Steve decided he’d fight a thousand wars just to hear your moan like that.

His member was pressed to your stomach and you tentatively reached for it. It felt like iron and velvet at the same time. Your husband hissed at your touch, pulling your nipple from his mouth as he groaned your name.

“Did that hurt?” you asked.

“In the best possible way” he was so disheveled and it was glorious. Before you could let go of his cock, Steve wrapped his hand around yours and his member, his wrist tugging them up and down the hardness.

His sounds urged you on as he resumed his assault on your chest. He grunted particularly teasingly when the hand that was on not caressing him tugged his blonde strands.

Gingerly, his fingers found the apex of your thighs again. Slowly he dragged them across your labia, as if memorizing your intimacy with his digits. His thumb found your clit and he rubbed figure eights on it, making your body go lax on the mattress.

“Steve…” you whined, and he drunk from your desperate sounds.

It didn’t take long for you to come with two of his fingers inside you. You felt so full and so good and so intoxicated by his smell and presence. It was an out of body experience - reaching higher and higher until you just soared, Steve as your guide. As for him, he had the smuggest smile on his face as he watched you fall apart.

Your vision was blurry as he hovered over you, the picture of perfection, and kissed you again. Involuntarily, as if they knew that’s what they should do, your legs opened to him, and his hips locked to yours.

“May I?” he whispered right as you felt the tip of his cock on your entrance.

“Yes.”

It hurt like hell. As slow and gentle as Steve was, you couldn’t help the tears leaking from the corner of your eyes and the colorful expletives you yelled at him.

You both breathed in relief when he was fully sheathed in. His shoulders were red and dotted with half-moon marks from your nails and the muscles on his arms and back were tensed from sheer pleasure. It left a bad taste in his mouth - fucking you shouldn’t feel as divine as it did when you couldn’t feel it. But God almighty, the way your cunt squeezed him…

Slowly, he started moving, taking the salt of your tears with his lips and turning them into delight. Gradually, your whimpers turned to moans as you lost yourself to this new, euphoric feeling. Your right leg, the one he so fervently adored just moments prior, was hooked around his hips. A bead of sweat made its way down his forehead and you wanted to lick it and taste it, take it from him the way he was taking from you.

But it felt so much more than that. He was taking just as much as he was giving - your hands clasped together in the mattress was an anchor, a portal channeling your souls. His became yours and yours became his.

Steve came exclaiming your name, his semen leaking from your body to the mattress. It was a strange victory, to have him sweating and struggling to breathe, but you rejoiced in it anyway. Despite the ache between in your legs, you longed to do it again.

Your husband rolled over, collapsing next to you on the bed. He took your palm, still entwined with his, and kissed it. Dozens of kisses had been shared tonight, but mayhaps that was the most meaningful.

“Are you well?” he asked. “Are you in pain?”

“I’m fine” you assured him, and you were. The discomfort would fade, but this newfound happiness would stay. Not from sex, but from sharing. He was in your blood now - your husband, King and partner.

You tugged his forearm when he rose.

“Where are you going?”

“To get you a warm cloth” he explained.

“Stay” you pleaded. “Just a little bit.”

Steve pulled you to his embrace, limbs tangling and hearts meeting under the canopy.

“I love you, Y/N” he said. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Your mouth opened on instinct, but your throat was raw. You wanted him to know that you knew and you believed. You wanted him to be sure that you'd meet him there, even if your steps were slow and sometimes unsure. The need to assure him that you were not on the same page yet, but yours was turning was vital - however unnecessary. Before you could utter anything, his thumb was on your lips, shushing you.

“I know you can’t say it back yet, but it’s fine. We have time.”

On the first Sunday of October, Captain Rogers became the Queen’s husband - and Steve became the keeper of your heart.

#steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #king!steve #king!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #king!steve rogers x you #king!steve rogers x reader #king!steve x reader #marvel au #steve rogers au #corneliabarnes #my writing

206 notes · View notes

yungimmortals · 3 years

Text

moving day | joel & jade

date: august 17th, 2021 summary: yeah that’ll be one vegetarian everything but the kitchen sink (“and yes that includes pineapple, thank you”) pizza

Jade dropped her overfull suitcase on the ground unceremoniously. He’d move it to the bed in a bit, since he planned on living out of it for the next three weeks, but for now she was interested in exploring the cabin that looked like nobody bothered to clean since it was last lived in. With pillows, blankets, and cushions strewn about into some sort of half-collapsed fort, it was at least cozy, despite the need for a bit of a revamp (and definitely a dusting).

The twins had been directed here by Chiron, who seemed less than excited about their arrival. He was probably informed of their stunt by the messenger gods that kept track of them, and the fact that they’d gotten him a PARTY PONIES: OHIO AQUATIC DIVISION shirt didn’t seem to lighten his mood very much. Whatever, Jade was still wearing his. Still, the centaur was nice, and polite, and let them know that this was the cabin that they’d be staying in, and if the twins wanted to find their siblings, most of them lived together in town. That’s right, siblings. Of course Jade was excited at the prospect, but part of her was nervous to meet them. Was one sibling not enough? What if they thought he was weird or didn’t want to interact with him? Whatever. She pushed the thoughts from her brain as she took a seat on her suitcase and let out a huff. “I can’t believe we went all the way to West Virginia and didn’t even see Mothman. We’re going back, since we’re closer than before.” He picked up a pillow to hold to his chest. “I want him to lay eggs in me like I’m a caterpillar and he’s a wasp.”

Ducking out from under a sheet that was tacked up between a wall and the corner of a long-unused bunk, Joel let out a low whistle. "Look how cool this place is, buddy." He reached up to scratch the chin of the bearded dragon perched on his shoulder. Where Jade had brought his stuff in before exploring, Joel had practically bolted into the cabin, ditching his suitcase in favor of exploring the place he'd be calling home for the foreseeable future.

He came to a stop in front of a wall of photos in the corner. Or what had been a wall of photos. The paint was discolored in places, sun-bleached from being covered for so long, he guessed. Here and there, a few stubborn pieces of tape still stuck to the wall. There were only a few photographs left and the sun had done a number on them too. "Jay, come check this out," Joel called, gingerly removing a photo from the wall as his twin entered the cabin.

When he didn't immediately come over to see the very cool thing he wanted to show him, he wandered out of the half-collapsed fort and back into the cabin's main area— just in time to hear Jade's Mothman discourse. "Oh, eugh. Gross. You would." Joel nudged her shoulder with a laugh. "I'm totally down to go back, just...give me two weeks before I have to get back in a car. My legs thank you in advance. They be achy. Oh, hey, look at this." Remembering the photograph in his hand, Joel let it flutter down to Jade's lap. "Think these were the other kids Chiron was talking about? Sure is a lot of 'em. They can't all be...right? Right?"

Jade grinned up at Joel as he bumped into him. He’d been hoping for a bit of a shudder, but he'd said far worse to him, so it was no surprise that Joel wasn't too off-put. "Yeah, I'm good not having to drive a couple hundred miles to get a bed and a shower." He stretched his legs out in front of him, grabbed the photograph that Joel had given him, and stood, inspecting the picture as he folded over, stretching out his back. "Hmm. You're wondering how much our father, who art on Olympus, got around?" Jade straightened up and twisted his neck to the side so that he could crack it, then reached up to scratch under Toothless's chin.

"I don't know. You think they're all here?" Jade held up the picture so that the two of them could inspect it together. "Maybe some moved away? And..." She pointed at two of the faded faces. "Are those the freaking clones? No way I'm related to a clone." He cracked a smile and then pointed at Joel. "Unless twins is a cover up. Who's the original? I call it."

"A shower!" Joel crowed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He lifted the collar of his shirt and took a sniff— yeah he was definitely (over)due for one. "Remind me to do that after we get settled. But heck, we're so close to the moth, the man, the legend. That'll be an easy trip when we feel up to it again. Maybe next time Toothless will pull his weight on the trip, eh?" When Jade cracked his neck, Joel made a face at the sound, as if he hadn't done the same exact thing the moment he'd extricated himself from their car. "He's a god, obviously, he fucks. Weren't the Greeks all about hedonism? Oh snap, that is them!" This was directed at the photo in Jade's hand, faded faces smiling up at him from the no-longer glossy picture. His smile mirrored that of his twin. "I'm the original, you broke the mold. Too cool for us all."

Jade barked a “ha!” at Joel’s description of Mothman, her eyes bright as she looked up at him. “Yeah, and then the Romans created stoicism to balance them out. All killjoys. Definitely do not fuck.” She pointed at Joel and bared her teeth in a grin so wide it was practically a grimace, her eyes crinkling up. “Of course you’d say that. I say I’m the original, you just improved the structure. Better posture, more muscle mass, but you sacrificed the most important part.” She stuck her tongue out. “My excellent personality.”

She stretched her arms behind her head as she yawned. “What do you say? We scope out the sibs before we sink our teeth in? Find out what they’re like?”

"Definitely not," he agreed with a laugh. "Hey, these muscles were hard work. Chopping wood really bulks you up. That and carrying Mrs. Wainwright's great dane for a mile when he gives up halfway through our walks but I have to get him back to her house somehow." Joel stuck his tongue out at her in return. "I could never hold a candle to your winning personality."

Switching his attention to the photograph again, he shrugged one shoulder. "Might be a good idea. I dunno, I'm up for it if you are. Although, I've already got the best sibling right here." He slung an arm around Jade's shoulder and gave her a squeeze. Truthfully, he was excited to meet more potential siblings if there were any to be found. But at the same time, he had Jade. And the two of them had only ever really needed each other. Judging by the state of the cabin, he assumed any of their other relatives lived in town, if they'd stuck around at all. "Think they're all weirdos?"

“I never said they weren’t,” Jade replied breezily. “But that heart... maybe I am the clone. I would’ve left the dog to find his own way home. What can be programmed more easily, empathy for Scoob or a cool ass personality? Robots can be cool...” He trailed off as he considered each of the different options, as if he were actually wondering which of the two of them was a clone.

“Well, duh, same.” Jade laughed and reached around Joel so that he could pinch his side. He were nervous, but the prospect of something new was so tantalizing it made him ignore the fear of rejection. He snorted. “If they’re related to us, I’d put money on it. Plus, you know, clones and jerks without shadows? Sounds like the right kind of weird.” He ground his teeth together as he grinned once more.

Joel jostled Jade, laughing. "Now, c'mon. You couldn't leave ol' Scooby behind. He would've howled all sad as you walked away. Robots are cool. You a robot?" He made a surprised sound at being pinched, swatting Jade's hand away. "Truuuue. Y'know, it was the shadow that got me. What were the odds, honestly. I thought we were the only freaks like that." He snapped some finger guns at his twin. At the same time, his stomach growled loudly. "Unpack then food? Food then unpack? I wanna head into town to explore. How expensive do you think it is around here? I've got—" From his pocket, Joel produced a piece of lint, a very crumpled five dollar bill, and the drachmas they'd been gifted. "I've got enough. You hungry?"

Jade snorted and rolled her eyes, a crooked smile clear on her face. "And I would've turned my music up." She shook her head, as stiffly as she could managed and blinked at two different times with her eyes. "No. I am. Hu-man." She smiled and shook her head. "Nah, I knew there were others out there, I believed." When her stomach growled in response, she laughed. "I'm liking option two. We can check out what food they have out in town? Two birds?" She raised her eyebrows at Joel.

"That's some chameleon-type shit," he said matter-of-factly, then flicked a coin from his hand at Jade, trusting them to catch it. His flannel was already tossed over the corner of a bunk and Joel snagged it. Pulling it on over his PARTY PONIES tee, he surveyed the cabin once more. His expression turned wistful. This would be home for them. This strange town filled with more strange things in one place than they had ever seen before. Joel was desperate to get out and explore. He nodded at her. "Yeah, that sounds solid. Two birds, one drachma. And maybe an extra large pizza."

#m: joel #joel&jade #joel&jade 004 #chatzy #moving day

1 note · View note

gold-and-rubies · 3 years

Text

I’m Not an Angel, Baby - Chapter 8

As of right now we are completely caught up with this fic. Benny POV.

Benny leaned against the railing that circled around the floor where the gamblers sat playing their games. He had his back to them, his mind buzzing. Earlier that day someone had been let into the Lucky 38, had left, and had reportedly entered again with their friends. No one had ever been allowed in the Lucky 38. Not even him when he was Mr. House’s so called prodigy.

His thoughts were interrupted by someone clearing their throat behind him. He turned to find the source of the noise, and his eyes landed on one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. She was lithe and on the taller side. Her long, black hair was perfectly curled like the pre-war photos. Her lips were painted ruby red. Her bright blue eyes were darkened. Black glasses sat on her nose at a sultry angle. She was drop dead gorgeous, even despite the ugly scar above her right eyebrow. There was something familiar about her, though, and it was throwing him off.

“What? You don’t recognize me?” the mystery woman purred.

That was when it hit him. She was that damn courier he had shot in Goodsprings, and judging by how clean she was and the quality of her clothes, she was also the one who had been let into the Lucky 38.

“What in the Goddamn…” he muttered in surprise. He blinked dumbly at her a few times before he composed himself. He cleared his throat, “Let’s keep this in the groove, hey. Smooth moves. Smooth like little babies. Hello. The broad they let into the Lucky 38 was you? Well, shit.”

She took a step forward, and leaned on the railing of the stairs, “I’m getting better, though, not completely. Because I couldn’t recall your name. Unless, when you shot me, you ran off so fast that I didn’t get it.”

Did… did she just flirt with me? he thought, What the fuck?

He narrowed his eyes at her, “You making a pass at me sister? Because, I am out of your league.”

That was not completely true. When it came to looks they were on pretty equal ground in his eyes. Her flirtatiousness was making him deeply uncomfortable, which in turn made him more uncomfortable as he was not the sort to turn down a pretty lady.

She seemed to lean in closer, and her voice sounded too innocent for the words that came out, “What? Is it wrong to want a guy who’d shoot me in the head?”

He hated how much of an effect she was having on him, but he could not just turn her away. He had a reputation to uphold. The last thing he needed was the other Chairmen making fun of him behind his back.

“Did those bullets scramble your egg? Or have you always been a naughty broad?” he managed to retort.

“What can I say? Girls like bad boys, and you… you’ve been downright awful,” she laughed. She took a step onto the first stair. She had definitely leaned in closer, trying to get into his personal space.

Benny started to panic internally. He knew that whatever she was trying to do was wrong. He was not that bad, but it was working, and if it were not for their history he would have gone along without hesitation.

He tried to insult her again in hopes it would get her to back off, “You’re one sick pussycat, baby. There’s quins and then there’s… I don’t even know what to call you.”

“I’m saying I dig you, despite it all. What do you say?”

His discomfort with the situation finally broke through, “I hear ‘dig’ from you babe, and all I can think of is a shovel. How can this be? This ain’t forgiveness, it’s something… wrong.”

She leaned in close, “I’m a courier, remember? Don’t you want me to handle your package?”

How that line had managed to work on him, he would never tell, but it did. He had a feeling he was going to regret what he said next, but he did anyway.

He sighed, “All right, honey baby. This is all kinds of wrong, but to my suite it is. Thirteenth floor. Don’t… don’t keep me waiting.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said as she followed him.

He led her to the elevators. He had to shove his hands into his pockets, so she could not see him fidgeting. He was not just uncomfortable, but he was also… nervous. Something about her made him deeply nervous.

A woman in a pink dress with short brown hair got onto the elevator with them. He could have sworn he saw the Courier wink at her. He ignored it, blaming his overactive mind.

They stepped off of the elevator, as did the other woman, but she wandered down to the other end of the hallway.

He could feel the Courier right behind him as he unlocked his door. They didn’t make it very far into the room as she cornered him up against the wall near the door.

“Eager, are we?” he joked leaning forward to kiss her. It was easier to stave his nerves now that he thought things were going somewhere.

“Not so fast,” her voice was completely different as she pushed him back towards the wall, “I want to ask some questions first.”

He looked at her face. Seduction had given way to seriousness. He cursed himself. He should have seen this coming. At least she was not gunning for revenge, not at this point at least.

“First?” he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

She did not look amused, “Some people think information is a commodity.” “Why did you shoot me?”

“I didn’t want there to be any loose strings, but apparently that didn’t work.”

“No shit,” she said flatly, “You need to work on your aim. Why did you hire the Khans?”

That question confused him, “Why do you care?”

No reaction.

“Fine. Don’t like doing the literal dirty work myself. Why dig a grave when you can hire someone else to do it for you? And I didn’t know how much trouble you’d be.”

She nodded before asking her next question, “What the hell is this chip, and why is it so important?”

He snorted, “Oh come on, Doll. You talked to House didn’t you? He didn’t tell you what it is?”

That was when it hit him. She was not exacting her revenge, not because she just wanted a chat, no, House had put her up to this. She was here for the chip. He needed to leave with it as soon as he could.

“All you need to know is that it’s a piece of very powerful tech.”

“Do you actually know what it does?” She placed her hands on his hips causing him to swallow hard. She knew exactly what she was doing, and he hated himself because it was working. That is until he realized her hands weren’t traveling over his body to feel him up. Instead they were headed for his pockets.

He started to panic. He would not let House get the chip back, so he did the first thing he thought of, which was to punch her in the face. She stumbled backwards, falling to the floor. He stepped over her quickly, and ran to his bedroom. He slammed the door shut behind him to create some space. He then ran to the closet door, and did the same. He ignored Yes Man as he ran past. The robot didn’t need to know where he was going.

He ran through the hall to the secret elevator. He heard her heels clicking against the tile floor. She was a lot faster than he had realized. He barely managed to step into the secret elevator, and lock the door behind him before she caught up to him. He heard her banging on the door as he leaned against one of the walls.

He fished the platinum chip out of his jacket pocket. He ran his thumb over as his mind raced. If House sent her, which he believed, then he was going to leave New Vegas. He needed to get to the Fort. Even if he did not have a plan to get past the Legion.

#fallout #fanfiction #fanfic #fallout new vegas #new vegas #fnv #fallout nv #bridget o'donoghue #benny gecko #courier six

5 notes · View notes

enchantedxrose · 4 years

Photo

The Monster of West End: Chapter Five (follow the link to read on AO3)

A retelling of the fairy tale set in the early Victorian Era.

Viola Weston is desperate to pay off her family's debts. Stubborn and self-reliant, she would rather look for work than seek an advantageous marriage. She is utterly unprepared for her eccentric new employer's beastly appearance--but quickly charmed by his warm heart and cheerful disposition.

Albert Carlyle is lonely: cursed from birth with a monstrous form, but coldly tolerated by society for his wealth. People are afraid of him, no matter how hard he tries to make himself agreeable. He has resigned himself to a quiet life collecting butterflies and ignoring judgmental whispers--until Viola upends his comfortable, complacent existence.

Can Viola set aside her pride long enough to accept his help? Can Albert find the courage to make his affections known? Or will the cruelties of the world tear their budding relationship apart?

The next morning, with a bank-note from Mr. Carlyle clutched in her fist, Viola prepared to run her errand. She chewed on her lip as she tied the ribbons of her bonnet, torn about whether to take a cab. On a bright spring day, a brisk walk to the shops would have been pleasant, but on a wintry morning with the biting wind on her face—especially on her return journey, when she would be laden with packages—it was a daunting thought.

Mr. Carlyle paused in his progress up the stairs. “Are you going out, Miss Weston?”

The practical voice in her head hissed, He is your employer, it’s perfectly reasonable for him to pay your travel expenses. Just ask! Meanwhile, the fragile and proud part of her rankled at the thought of having to ask for a few pence.

She nonetheless kept her tone light and even. “I was going to visit a few shops on Yaxley Street for a few odds and ends.”

His face brightened. “I’m actually headed in that direction myself today; I’ll drop you off.”

“That’s very kind of you, sir, but you don’t have to—”

He waved a hand dismissively. “No sense in hiring a carriage when my curricle is going to the same destination,” he said with a shrug.

Viola was grateful he framed it this way: he was being sensible, rather than kind. It was only practical. That quelled much of her discomfort, and she managed a genuine smile.

“Thank you, Mr. Carlyle. I suppose you have a point there.”

He pulled on a heavy winter overcoat, but no hat—she supposed it would be an awkward fit between his antlers—and he still wore no shoes. His wide splayed toes probably gave him good traction in the snow, like snowshoes, but did he not get cold? She shook herself, breaking off her stare. It was rather impolite, not to mention improper, to be pondering her employer’s curious physiology.

Her eyes widened at the sight of the sleek, lightweight curricle that awaited them. It was drawn by two handsome white horses. She had never envisioned traveling in such an eye-catching vehicle.

Mr. Carlyle misread her hesitation. “Do you suppose you ought to have a chaperone? It’s an open carriage, but perhaps it’s still a bit improper…”

Viola snorted. “Sir, I’m not a lady. I am your servant. You needn’t worry about my reputation.”

The rules of behavior for fine ladies did not apply to working women of her class, she knew that much. But a small part of her was touched by his consideration, all the same.

He offered a hand—a paw?—Viola wasn’t sure what to call it—to help her into the carriage, but she studiously ignored him as she climbed in unaided. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his face fall a fraction.

Color crept into her cheeks as he settled into the seat beside her. He flicked the reigns and the horses lurched forward. The two avoided each other’s eyes, pretending to be fascinated by the narrow brick houses slowly rolling by their windows.

Viola’s heart shriveled with regret. What must he be thinking of me now? He was only trying to be a gentleman, and I rejected the gesture. From his point of view, it had surely appeared she was disgusted or afraid to touch him. How could she explain her own stubborn distaste for accepting any kind of help? She scrambled for a way to salvage the situation.

Eventually she chanced a glance at her employer. Mr. Carlyle smiled at her, but it did not reach his eyes. He had curled his free hand into a fist over his knee, hiding the sharp claws in the folds of his coat.

She tried to apologize by starting conversation.

“So, Mr. Carlyle, did you—did you grow up here in the city?” Her voice cracked in her attempt to sound airy and unconcerned.

“No, as a matter of fact, I was raised in a village to the southeast. I’ve only lived in London for three years now.”

She thought of the wildflower motifs on the furnishings in his home, and wondered if perhaps he was homesick for the countryside.

The customary inquiries about his family stuck in her throat. Could she ask him that? She was certainly curious about his origins. Were his parents…like him? But she didn’t want to cause him even more discomfort than she already had. What if his past was a painful subject?

“Miss Weston,” he said gently, not taking his eyes off the road, “anything you would normally ask a new acquaintance, you may ask of me. You have been honest with me about your own history—it would be only fair of me to return your honesty in kind.”

She exhaled a gust in relief. “I just didn’t want to be impertinent.”

“That sounds a bit out of character for you,” he observed.

She shot an indignant glare up at him—even when they were seated, he towered far above her—but the twitch of his lips told her that he spoke in jest. The tension between them broke as they began to chuckle.

“Very well, sir, I shall proceed to be impertinent,” Viola said, smirking, “since apparently that’s what you expect from me. Are your parents still living? Do you have family nearby?”

“I never knew them,” he replied evenly. “I was a foundling on the vicarage doorstep, so my blood relations are quite a mystery to me.” He held up his free hand to stop her from interjecting. “And please don’t be sorry. The vicar and his curate took me in and raised me as their own. They are upright and goodhearted men. I could not have asked for better guardians, truly.”

Viola absorbed this for a moment, struggling for a response that didn’t sound pitying. “The son of clergymen…I would not have guessed that.”

“I think John—the vicar—had hopes that I would follow in his footsteps and take orders,” Mr. Carlyle said. “But somehow, I don’t think I could inspire much confidence in a congregation. Public speaking is not my forte.”

“Now that doesn’t surprise me,” Viola said dryly.

They arrived at their destination much quicker than Viola anticipated. She hopped out of the carriage, eager to warm herself by walking around. The snow drifted lazily onto their shoulders, meandering in the air before coming to rest in clumps on her shawl. She buried her hands more deeply into her sleeves.

She had wondered what it would be like to walk alongside him in public. To her dismay, it seemed some of her concerns were justified.

A woman laden with baskets of fruit widened her eyes and crossed to the opposite side of the road to avoid passing by them. Several children pointed and stared, open-mouthed, until their mothers ushered them away with nervous haste. A lamp-lighter froze halfway up his ladder as they approached, not seeming to notice he was off-balance until he toppled sideways.

Viola glanced sidelong at her employer. Ought she to say something? Or would it be best to pretend not to notice the stares they received? He kept his gaze determinedly fixed forward, features arranged in a pleasantly neutral expression.

But one of his paws, she noticed, was worrying a loose thread on his coat sleeve.

“What shop did you wish to visit first?” he asked her, in a tone that was almost theatrical in its lightness. “The haberdasher’s? Or perhaps the curiosity shop on the corner?”

The shop window to her right caught her eye—a china-shop displaying painted porcelain sugar bowls and teapots. She was particularly transfixed by the blue willow pattern, so like the plates her mother had once displayed in their china cabinet. A lump rose in her throat. She remembered how those dishes had mysteriously disappeared, one by one, from their cupboard—she had not understood until years later that her mother had been pawning them as their circumstances grew more desperate. How it must have galled her mother, to sell her beloved comforts for a pittance.

Viola had once dreamed of buying them back someday, to bring a smile back to her mother’s grave countenance. Now it was far too late for that. And they were only plates, after all.

Mr. Carlyle’s voice broke into her reverie as if from a great distance. “Would you like to look around in there first?”

She laughed. “I do not need any dishware at present.”

“There’s no harm in looking. It can be amusing to simply look at pretty things.”

“Well…just for a moment, perhaps. Just to get out of the cold.”

He made no move to follow her to the door.

“I think I shall wait here, Miss Weston,” he said with a sheepish smile. “I do not trust myself in a small shop full of breakable items…I suppose you have heard the phrase ‘a bull in a china shop.’”

“Will you not be cold out here, sir?”

He waved aside her concern. “My winter coat keeps me quite comfortable, I assure you.”

It took her a moment to realize he meant his shaggy fur, not his woolen overcoat. She wondered if he even needed to wear winter garments at all, or if it was merely a gesture of propriety. Yet another audacious question to add to the long list building up in her mind.

Despite her misgivings, she did enjoy quietly wandering the shop and looking at the ceramic curios on every shelf. The shopkeeper must have correctly surmised that she could afford to buy nothing here—her plain work dress spoke volumes—so she was left to her own devices. When she exited the shop, Mr. Carlyle was gazing longingly into the next window, which displayed a variety of men’s hats.

“I’ve always wanted a top hat for evenings,” he told her with a wistful shrug, “but nothing will fit quite right with these.” He gestured impatiently to his antlers.

“It’s a pity I know nothing of hat-making. Perhaps you will need to hire one of those next, sir.”

He chuckled as they moved on.

It was at the haberdasher’s that Viola obtained what she had come for—a pair of long, sharp scissors suitable for cutting heavier fabrics—but she was reluctant to end their outing. Mr. Carlyle’s company was pleasant, and far from overbearing. She felt so far from her usual troubles and anxieties, as if a physical burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

She might have invented excuses to continue window-shopping for another hour—had she not seen him.

Over the course of the morning, the streets had become more crowded. Shoppers bustled to and fro with their packages. Children in shabby clothes darted ahead of pedestrians to sweep the mud and snow from their path in exchange for a ha’penny. Gigs and hackney coaches rattled by. But through the chaos, on the opposite corner, Viola glimpsed a familiar figure.

A chill run through her bones.

No—she could very well be mistaken—surely it wasn’t him. The face had disappeared into the crowd so quickly that she could not be sure. Yet she could identify that receding hairline, those greedy, glittering eyes anywhere.

Even if it was Mr. Beecham—what was terribly extraordinary about running into an acquaintance in a popular shopping district, purely by chance? It did not mean he was following her. Perhaps he had not even noticed her!

And yet, she swore she had glimpsed a flicker of recognition mirrored in his eyes.

It was childish to avoid Mr. Beecham thus. He was not a villain out of a penny dreadful, with preternatural powers. He was just an unpleasant man who had ruined her family. Yet he had an uncanny ability to make Viola feel powerless, feel like resisting his plans was a futile struggle.

The only thing that gave her courage to face him was that he was contained: she sought out his counting-house under her own power, and his presence did not bleed further into other aspects of her life. The thought of confronting him with Mr. Carlyle at her side, the idea that he could taint this new chapter of her life simply by inserting himself into it, made her queasy.

“Mr. Carlyle,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady, “would you mind terribly if we turned back towards home?”

“Of course. Is everything alright?”

She forced a smile. “Oh, yes. I’m just rather tired, that is all.”

“If you’d like to wait here, I can have the carriage brought ‘round.” There was a faint note of concern in his tone.

The notion of being left alone on a street-corner sent an irrational shiver of panic through her. “No need, sir, I can walk with you. Although, if—if it is not an imposition, could I avail myself of your arm?”

He blinked. “Yes, of course,” he said, recovering from his surprise and offering his elbow to her. As she linked her arm through his, she noticed a lightness in his step.

I hope I’ve redeemed myself for my earlier rejection of his civility, she thought.

She glanced backwards at the teeming street, but there was no sign of Mr. Beecham. She released a sigh of relief and tightened her grip on Mr. Carlyle’s arm.

#my fiction #beauty and the beast #monster of west end #yes! another update! look at me being productive!

17 notes · View notes

halorocks1214 · 4 years

Text

art comes in many forms

whattup, its ya boi, snatching another #irrelief from @gumnut-logic‘s challenge because i literally cant write anything else it seems. @eirabach‘s prompts graced my dash and i was quite fond of “Virgil + Eos + art“ so this is for chu <3

Summary: Virgil wasn’t expecting to give EOS a lesson in human behavior. That’s usually John’s forte, though, he wouldn’t put it past the ginger to sic her on him for this one, the prick.

Virgil was not immune to someone watching him create his works of art.

If he was to be honest with himself, he actually preferred someone in the background as he did so. It gave him a sense of grounding, and it spoke to that inner part that wanted to impress the nearest human like a child would their parent. Look! Look at what I made guys!

Though, he never thought about how he would react to a literal robot being the one to watch him.

Does she even have the same standards as a human?

“Virgil... may I ask a question?”

Oh boy, “Sure?”

She cleared her nonexistent throat (which John definitely taught her that, Virgil betted his new set of brushes on it), “Why do you humans make... art?”

Huh, that wasn’t what he was expecting. It was a fair question, though, since there were a million reasons why humans gravitated toward art as a hobby, and if EOS only looked at examples people haphazardly gave on the internet she probably got overwhelmed.

Setting down his brush, Virgil placed his now-free hand on his hip, “Well, I know I personally, at least, make art as a form of stress relief. Sort of like how Gordon swims laps and John calculates problems over and over again. It gets our minds off the bad things in life that won’t leave us alone.”

The A.I. blinked her lens in contemplation, “Hmm.”

Virgil shrugged as he started painting again. If what she asked was a fair question, then that was a fair response, both from him and her. He gave his answer, and there was nothing else either of them really needed to add to it.

What she said next was also technically a fair response, even if it nearly made him snap his brush in half from shock alone.

“Can you show me how to make art?”

John, I’m going to kill you when you come down next time, just an FYI, “Um, sure, there are some digital art programs I can get John to download for you.”

That got a unique reaction out of the A.I., “There’s more than one kind?”

This was going to be a long conversation.

But a part of him was looking forward to it.

He was still going to chuck the first hard thing he could get his hands on the next time he saw his astronaut brother, however.

---

That rescue sucked ass.

Of course, they did their best and they probably prevented a lot of unnecessary deaths in the long run, but it was one of those rescues where it made them think did they really help at all? Are they actually needed when there’s practically nothing they can do?

Limping into his room, Virgil was stretching his arms over his head when he felt a shiver travel down his spine.

With his arms still in that position, Virgil slowly turned around like a cartoon scene with wide eyes to spy a familiar camera in the corner of his room.

Hopefully, she didn’t pick up on the way he nearly jumped three feet out of his pajama pants.

If she did, John taught her enough manners to not bring it up, “Welcome back. I was hoping to show you something before you went to sleep.”

Breathing heavier than he would have liked, Virgil gulped down his shock, “Oh? What would you like to show me?”

She looked around the room with her singular eye, reminding Virgil of how Gordon or Alan got when they were doing something that made them nervous, which Virgil never expected her to be of all things. Nervous. Anxious.

Eventually, she bit the bullet, “Since John did not need me as much for that last rescue, I was able to play around with that app you showed me the day before.”

Blinking once, Virgil was starting to get at what she wanted, “You wanna show me a picture you made, is that it?”

She flashed yellow for a moment, “... Yes, I would like to. If I am allowed.”

Jeez, she sounded like a kicked puppy sometimes, “Alright, then show me.”

It was another few moments of nothing before a hologram blinked into view. Once his eyes got over the brightness, Virgil looked more closely at the piece of art he was being presented.

It was, ah... it was something.

It was definitely human, that at least Virgil could tell. The lines weren’t clean at all, and while Virgil may not dabble in the digital circles of art society, he knew when someone forgot to delete a layer. Or maybe two. The eyes were noticeably two different sizes, with no whites in them at all, only filled with a weird aqua color with two black dots in the middle. Also, for some reason, this person was growing curved carrots on the top of their head--

Oh. Oh.

Rubbing his hand over his chin with a grin, Virgil gave his final opinion, “Well... your shading could use some work,” a blink of red, “But you got his face shape down okay. A little more practice and I could see you making some real masterpieces.”

She must not have been expecting that because, after a few more moments, her voice was uncharacteristically quiet, “... Really?”

How old was she programmed to be again? “Yeah, EOS, I can see you being a really good artist.”

The A.I.’s lens adjusted as she accepted the answer, “Thank you, Virgil. That really means a lot,” Virgil let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding before abruptly choking on it due to her next words, “I was hoping it was good. I wanted to give it to him as a gift.”

Wait-- “Ah, maybe not that, though.”

EOS froze, “Why not?”

Shit, “Well, I’m just saying, maybe we can work on something that is more, er, ‘refined’? John isn’t a vain person, so maybe we should give him a portrait of, like, stars or something, I don’t know.”

This A.I. really liked silence for some reason, which was probably why she liked following it up by abrupt words even more, “We?”

Whoops.

Well, there was no going back now, “Yeah, like I said, I may not work with digital, like, at all, but I do know art. I’m not saying they’re interchangeable interfaces, but maybe I can give you some points on how to create a piece while you simultaneously look up how to use the different types of brushes in that app?”

Virgil wasn't even aware of the fact that his voice was ever so slightly getting higher and higher pitched as he reached the end of his sentence. Apparently, neither did EOS, “Hmm, well, if anyone knows what John would be looking for, it would be you. Interchangeable interfaces, I thought I was talking to him for a second you know.

Wa-how, okay. She really was John’s creation holy fuck. Christ.

And yet, he found himself chuckling despite it, “Yeah, well, it’s not our fault TIME Magazine keeps getting our names switched around.”

Then she laughed. It was very small and short but it was genuine laughter and Virgil wondered if his helmet actually and truly absorbed everything that blow to the head he got earlier gave him.

Rubbing the back of his neck coyly, he finally meandered over to the bed and flopped down on top of it very gracefully, as in, not gracefully at all. He barely registered EOS speaking once more, “Thank you again, Virgil, for being willing to do this for me.”

The last thing Virgil could do was give a measly thumbs up before that familiar gentle blackness fully consumed him.

EOS could only watch the black-haired Tracy with one last thought. Huh, the internet was right. Artists are weird.

“Goodnight, Virgil.”

She was met by plentiful snores. Goodnight, EOS.

#irrelief2020 #irrelief #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #virgil tracy #eos #my post #my fic #soz if this is garbage my brain is a little mushy lately

33 notes · View notes

obviouslyelementary · 4 years

Text

About They/Them (About Us) - Daforge

I do not tend to post my DaForge fanfics on tumblr but since this one hit close to home, I decided to post it here so anyone can see.

Tags: Non-Binary Geordi LaForge; Binary Data; talk about gender; gender identity; genderqueer.

Warnings: none, this is soft.

Words: 2k

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

The alarm rang, signalizing that someone was outside his quarters. Data looked up from his painting, turning his head to face the doorway, tilting his head as he wondered who would be visiting him at such late hours.

"Come in."

Placing his brush and pallet down, he turned his whole body to the door, tilting his head once he saw Geordi coming inside. Geordi was always one to sleep late, or sometimes not sleep at all, but considering the hard work he had put on in the last few days, Data was slightly confused as to why his boyfriend was in his quarters instead of sleeping as he should.

"Can we talk?" he asked, and Data nodded, nodding to the table and sitting down. Geordi did the same, sitting across from Data and looking down at his hands, seeming quite uncomfortable for some reason. Knowing that to be a sign of comfort and affection, Data laid his hands over the table with the palms up, so Geordi could reach out and take them. And he did, squeezing Data's hands gently.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked, in a tone that could be considered worry. Geordi gave him a shy smile and shook his head, before sighing lightly and squeezing Data's hands again. That was a sign that he was nervous, but not yet sad or happy.

"No... not exactly" Geordi whispered, and sighed again. He had been sighing quite a lot, a human sign of anxiety and uncertainty. Data squeezed his hands back to show security, but it only caused Geordi to sigh again. "Sorry I'm very... nervous about this."

"Take your time" Data assured, watching Geordi and all his nuances. It was not usual, to see the engineer so out of his element, so Data made sure to study and observe all his reactions, how his brows furrowed, how he bit his lip without realizing, all the small twitches and flicks on his muscles. He was quite the sight, and also a very fun human to study.

Eventually, courage seemed to flourish in the engineer, and Geordi looked up at Data, his visor meeting with the android's eyes.

"Okay... remember when we visited the J'naii? Five months ago?" he asked, and Data nodded in agreement. "So, since then I've been thinking... quite a lot."

"About what?" Data inquired, trying to make this as comfortable for Geordi as possible. He was still perfecting his ability to calm humans down, it did not seem to be his forte, but he was trying his best. Geordi sighed once again, and shook his head, his head lowering down once more towards their hands.

"Well... about gender" he said, and Data tilted his head. Many theories rose in his mind, but he remained quiet to give Geordi space to formulate his next phrase. "I mean... about a society with no gender... genderless... sexless... sounds almost... crazy to me. I believe it sounds crazy to everyone in this ship."

"They were quite different, yes, but I believe a lack of gender identity is not the strangest characteristic we have found in different species" Data said, and Geordi chuckled lightly, in a nervous but also quite relaxed manner. His posture seemed to change, turning more relaxed, and Data made a personal note to try and make Geordi laugh more often.

"Yeah I mean you have a point" Geordi said, and sighed (again), squeezing Data's hand one more time. "But... never before I have been faced with... so many questions about myself before."

"Did our encounter with the J'naii made you question your approach to your gender?" Data asked, tilting his head and blinking as he accessed all the files available to him connected to human gender. Geordi would not know he was making that search, but perhaps it could answer some of Geordi's questionings. After a nod from the engineer, Data gave one of his own. "I believe most of the ship's personal was left with inquiries about gender identity after that encounter. It did seem to make most of the crew highly uncomfortable, although those feelings did not last for over two weeks."

"Yeah well mine has been lasting up until now. Not that I have talked to anyone about it" Geordi whispered, and seemed to become even more uncomfortable and unsure than he was previously. With a deep breath and another squeeze of Data's hands, he lifted his head again and looked at Data's face. "Data... what do you know about earth's twenty first century... non-binary term?"

"Non-binary. A person that does not adhere to binary gender conformities. A generalist expression to encompass all genders that do not align directly with male or female, or that align to both at a similar time. Examples are agender, genderfluid, gender-neutral, demigender, genderqueer, bigender, multigender-"

"Okay Data thanks" Geordi said, looking away, and when Data focused on him again, his face indicated a higher heat than the rest of his body. "Yeah... that's what I saw too. Apparently the idea of lack of gender has been used by us before... but abandoned for some reason."

"From what I can gather, the usage of non-binary terms was abandoned soon after space exploration began, to avoid confusion among other species" Data said, tilting his head. "Although it does seem to be an extremely narrow and unnecessary change, considering that many other species were found to have more than two genders during the Federation voyages."

"It's like racism Data. People just didn't like differences" Geordi mumbled, looking away and sighing. "Well... yeah. Turns out we once were open to the idea of many genders and that thought just... drifted off into space."

"However, I believe there are still non-binary people in Federation space" Data said, and Geordi looked at him again. "Even if it was abandoned by scholars, there are still pronouns and gender identities being used over at colonies and even Earth itself. So perhaps it is still not fully lost."

Geordi nodded slowly at that, looking around Data's room, squeezing his hands every now and then, seeming both tense and relaxed. After a long time in silence, he turned back to Data, and looked at him, pressing his lips together.

"Data... I think I'm non-binary" he said, as if it was crime confession. Data blinked slowly and tilted his head before he nodded.

"Very well."

Since Data did not know what else to say, they were in silence for quite some time before Geordi let out a nervous, restrained chuckle, shaking his head.

"God what else did I expect" he whispered, and sighed, pulling his hands away. In an act of instinct, something Data was not aware he had, the android held Geordi's hands tighter to keep him in place, and the engineer looked to him surprised.

"Forgive me. You believe you are non-binary. Go on" he said, and Geordi frowned.

"I don't think... there is anything to go on about."

"Of course there is. Tell me what you wish to tell me. How did you come to that conclusion? How will that change our relationship? Should I call you by a different pronoun?"

"Ooookay Data calm down" Geordi laughed and sat down more comfortably again, to Data's own relief (although technically he should not have felt nervous when Geordi moved). After fixing himself on his chair, Geordi hummed and looked at him. "I think... I might be non-binary, because of how much I related to the J'naii, in a way. I mean I know I still have the body of a man... and all that stuff, and I don't want to change it, but gender... the male gender... it's not really my thing you know?"

"I do not know, however I would like you to continue" Data said, honestly, and Geordi chuckled.

"Yeah okay. Honestly I just felt different my whole life... Not in a sense that I didn't wish to do what men did but... just... I don't know how to explain I just feel different. Like I'm not... a man. Nor a woman for that matter. I'm just... not."

"I believe that by the way you are describing your feelings towards gender, that you would meet a closer approach to the agender identity. A lack of connection with gender all together. Am I correct?"

"Yeah I guess so" Geordi said, and chuckled lightly. "It's... hard for me too, I never had to think about this until the J'naii... but like it feels so... clear. You know? Like it has always been inside of me, I just didn't see it."

"I, in fact, do not know" Data said and Geordi ended up giggling.

"Oh no? How do you know you're male Data?"

Data caught himself surprised by that question. He knew he was male, as he always felt comfortable with that approach, but how did he know? He had never questioned it before.

"Perhaps... it was the way I was programmed" Data suggested, in theory of course. "I was built with male sexual organs, and with a male anatomy. I was programmed by a male, and during my conversations with most of the crew I realized that I certainly act closer to a male than a female, even if sometimes I can act more feminine due to my looser approach to gender normality. I believe that doctor Soong programmed me to his image, the image of a male human, and therefore I have the characteristics of a male human, making myself a male."

"Would you care if people referred to you as madam Data? Or she?" Geordi asked, and Data furrowed his eyebrows.

"I would not emotionally care, however I would know they are wrong and correct them. Like I do whenever someone refers to me as an it."

"Yeah... so I guess you understand a little bit about gender too" Geordi chuckled, and squeezed his hand gently. Data looked at Geordi again, and nodded.

"Perhaps I do. More than I previously thought" he said, and leaned slightly over the table. "Geordi, from my researches, humans from the twenty first century that considered themselves agender usually used the pronouns they them to refer to themselves. It is considered a gender neutral pronoun, although there are also neopronouns that could be used in this case. Would you like me to refer to you, from now on, as they them?"

Geordi blinked slowly, clearly in a surprised manner to an unexpected event, and after a few seconds of consideration, he gave Data an unsure nod.

"Yes... I think I would like that" Geordi whispered, blinking slowly. "I mean we could try... I could be overthinking all of this. But I would like to try... as long as you don't tell anyone yet. Okay? Let's try among ourselves first."

"Sounds reasonable. Should I also refer to you as my partner, instead of my boyfriend, in all circumstances?" Data asked. He usually referred to Geordi as his partner anyway, but sometimes people required knowing Geordi's gender. Not that Data ever saw that as an important part of the relationship.

"I would like that" Geordi said with a new smile on their face, and Data squeezed their hand gently. "Thank you Data... I mean this could all be for nothing but..."

"It is a part of human experience to explore and discover more about themselves during their lifetime. If you realize this is not what you wished, I will go back. However if it makes you comfortable, I will do it. And I am glad you told me" Data said, and Geordi smiled wider, standing up and walking over to Data, shamelessly sitting on his lap and wrapping their arms around his neck.

"Thank you. I love you" they whispered, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Data's lips. Of course Data would never say it back, because he could not feel, but he responded to the kiss and held Geordi's waist to maintain them from slipping away, considering their lack of attention at their current position.

It truly did not matter to Data, if Geordi was male, female, or non-binary. All that mattered was the human experience, and how well they fit together, as friends and as partners.

The rest were just... human intricacies.

#my fanfic #geordi laforge #data #data tng #daforge #daforge fanfic #daforge fic #genderqueer #non binary #nonbinary #non binary character #non binary geordi laforge #star trek tng #about me #soft #sweet #no angst

8 notes · View notes

dansiere · 4 years

Text

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme.

fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm. tagged by: @breselin, & @citialiin; thank you for the tag! I was planning on stealing it. tagging: @rosiqe, @noirtux, @goldgliitters, @ndeavor, @reminiscentsky, @battleshell, @ettards & whoever else wants to do this. Just steal it & tag me. -- go wild.

My muse is: canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless / complicated [loosely affiliated mainly due to the fandom’s size. I am quite open to crossovers of any kind, really even if it takes me a while to open up.]

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO. [she is one of the deuteragonists; has been around since the pilot & while she has been sidelined during the epilogue, she was usually at least around with her story arc / actions having a huge impact on the overall story as such.]

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK. [I guess so? Then again, that’s an objective statement so I am just? Assuming? I personally find her general aesthetics to be quite amazing; she is a dance battler, graceful & elegant; a ballerina with a classical theme that runs through her design & attitude like a red threat. I have a weak spot for stuff like that.]

Is your character considered strong in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK. [surprisingly, Pearl is considered to be the strongest non-fusion Crystal Gem according to the show (until Lapis Lazuli comes around). -- I assume prowess wise Pearl is high up next to Garnet & Rose whenever she can actually get her crap together due to having fought countless battles &, most importantly, survived the war in which she fought & shattered opponents thrice her size.]

Are they underrated? YES / NO / IDK. [partially yes, partially no. She is controversial for sure but just as popular. At some point, the show delved deeper into her issues & actually had her mess up quite severely; the fandom’s reaction was so harsh that the showrunners had to interfere by “apologizing for making her human”. Pearl has always been a target for extreme criticism; some of it justified, some just straight down ridiculous. -- It’s easy to forget what kind of complexity a character can offer when her resolution arc happens literally ten episodes before the show ends.]

Were they relevant for the main story? YES / NO.

Were they relevant for the main character? YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG. [Pearl becomes Steven’s guardian / mentor after the death of his mother Rose Quartz & can later be considered his stand-in mother alongside Garnet. It is safe to say that her actions have influenced Steven the most, both negatively & positively.]

Are they widely known in their world? YES / NO. [she earned herself the title ‘The Renegade’ during the war for being the first (& arguably only) pearl that broke out of her conditioning; she used to be a wanted criminal / traitor to her own kind for 5000 + years until her record was cleared upon the beginning of Era 3 (aka official end of the Gem War). She is still being referred to as ‘The Renegade’ now & then; while she used to be proud of the title she has grown to resent it a lot these days.]

How’s their reputation? GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL. [it depends on who you ask; Homeworld Soldiers? Well, they despise her; she is a defective Gem & a war criminal. She stands for all that is wrong with the rebellion; I mean a pearl who refuses to serve & calls herself an individual? a warrior? THE SCANDAL!! Some soldiers are afraid of her, call her ‘Rose Quartz’ terrifying renegade’, even. However, in her ranks aka the rebellion, she is being seen as a silent heroine. A celebrated war hero, Rose Quartz’s right hand & sole confidante (some even whisper that there is more between them).]

How strictly do you follow canon? — uh... well. Not really but... kinda? Steven Universe’s canon is messy & occasionally QUITE inconsistent. -- while it gives you vague details, some lore can best be compared to a gaping void. Thus my reason for partial divergence isn’t lack of good character writing (because Pearl is very, very complex even on screen), but rather inconvenient lore holes & SU’s habit of leaving important facts uncommented, “unshown” or just stuck between the lines. While I don’t mind deep analysis, some of those “buried facts” fly other people’s heads which leads to terrible, terrible fanon takes. -- in order to distance myself from that, I usually take canon & expand it with my own headcanons & metas based on lore / show analysis. I often alter / cut what does not fit my narrative BUT I always root my stuff in actual canon occurrences.

Sometimes, I just straight down change certain things that canon messed up in my pov. For example, in order to make it explicitly clear that she fell in love & rebelled on her own volition (even if it has been confirmed like ten times by now), my Pearl is around 1500 years older than the original & (in)directly served White Diamond before being handed to Pink (not the only reason for that change but well I will elude on it eventually). She was a default pearl with no customization & usually spent most of her time with organizing matters in the palace until Pink accidentally broke her customized pearl; Pearl was then 'poofed’ & handed over; she possessed a more sensible personality & a strict rule protocol that was supposed to help her “raise” Pink Diamond into the ranks of a ruler. Most other changes are rather minor but very important or essential to my portrayal (for example whenever “A Single Pale Rose” is concerned: Pearl suggesting the “sealing of the secret”, her not wearing the dress from the beginning, her not calling Pink “my diamond”, her arguing with Pink long before the fake-shattering took place, etc etc.); the epilogue series is another can of worms I will get to eventually but lemme just say I didn’t really like the way Pearl behaved / the plot-bound ooc-ness she sometimes yielded to & other stuff.

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals. — well, she is a lesbian space rock from a strange universe; whose body is basically a manifestation of light? She is probably the most passionate being you will ever meet. -- if you are looking for a speedrun through human history, she is your gal. If you need someone to beat up some bullies, she will gladly come & smack sense into people; if you want to learn everything about Gemkind, sit down & listen because she won’t stop talking any time soon.

By definition, Pearl is a good person; the extreme loyal kind, absolutely & helplessly dedicated to a cause. She wears most of her emotions on her sleeve, comes off as genuinely caring, protective & trustworthy. She is empathetic & observant, she will always be there for you in one way or another. She is smart, loves to read & indulges in the higher arts such as (romantic) poetry, singing, painting, music (violin, piano, bass) & dance (predominately classic ballet / waltz but she has grown rather fond of jazz lately). Her knowledge about Earth & all that lays beyond is vast & if you ever want to see whatever is out there, she is the type to take you on a space tour with no questions asked. She fences, has learned to wield a lance, can engineer very well, has a very peculiar but... sorta adorable kind of humour that can either be hella obnoxious or super funny. There is no in-between. Pearl loves science, baking, housekeeping, ice-& roller-skating & is more than willing to take people along whenever she visits the rink. If you ask her for advice, she will gladly give it; if you need help, she will be the first to raise her hand. Pearl is orderly, has a strong sense of justice & a fierce, dedicated kind of resolve.

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?). — Pearl. Is. A. Mess. No questions asked. She is an introverted, nervous, neurotic, grief-- & trauma riddled mess who loves to pretend & rationalize things to death. Her self-esteem is abysmal, she is extremely jealous, obsessive & possessive [to the point where she straight up murdered men just because they dared to be around her girlfriend]. Her mind is a compartmentalized mess of repressed memories & heavy, untreated cptsd woven into it; Pearl lives too much inside her head & gets overwhelmed by her emotions far too easily; she feels too much all at once & lets her temper get the best of her.

She is self-centred, does not seem to understand that words & reckless actions hurt people, believes that only she deserves to grieve Rose & willingly destroyed relationships just to soak in her own misery; self-destruction is her forte & she will indulge in it no matter the consequences. She is often high-strung, judgemental, always has to be right, overachieves & overdoes whenever a chance is given. -- she can be petty, arrogant & desperate for validation. -- Needless to say, Pearl is the kind of person that pretends to be fine for years but once she cracks she reveals that she is anything but. -- she cannot move on, hates men, & just is a lot to deal with. Getting in touch with her means you run the risk to get dragged into her mess, whenever you want it or not.

What inspired you to rp your muse? — first & foremost, my love for complex, purpose-driven female characters. I am a sucker for the “introvert, plagued lady” type & once parts of Pearl’s past were revealed during Season 1 I was sold. Pearl seemed relatable to me, extremely human & raw in her behaviour. While I love most of the SU cast equally, Pearl just wouldn’t let me go. Her aesthetic is amazing, her past intriguing. -- her connection to ballet & classical music, her elegant & graceful design just spoke to me.

What keeps your inspiration going? — music. music. oh, and music. Poetry, long walks (I am not kidding), analysis, meta & hc writing, discussions with writing partners or my rl partner @rosiqe.

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice? YES / NO / I SINCERELY HOPE I DO? [ despite my emo peculiar take on the character, I do hope that people hear her voice whenever they read my replies. ]

Do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO / SORT OF? [ I wish I could post more but I am very, very slow & a perfectionist at heart. -- I try to compensate for my lack of actual hcs by rambling in my tags. Most part of the time said ramblings include personal headcanons or analyses of specific scenes that include personal takes on pivotal situations; while I gather & write them down eventually, it can take me a long time to get stuff done. -- it is easier for me to jus blabber on & on in the tags. ]

Do you sometimes write drabbles? YES / NO [ all my ask replies are drabbles, ngl. ]

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day? YES / NO

Are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO / SORT OF? [... a sore topic. While I love my headcanons & have gotten quite proud of my writing over time, I constantly doubt myself regarding the “ic”-ness of my responses. I like to believe that I am doing rather well, but I am not confident, no. ]

Are you confident in your writing? YES / NO. [ it took me a long time to develop my style; while I always struggle to believe in my portrayal I am quite confident in my writing as such. I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea but in general? I am proud of it. ]

Are you a sensitive person? YES / NO. / SORTA.

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal? — Well, yes. As long as it is the constructive kind. I love receiving feedback, may it be negative or positive. I will most likely try to discuss criticism with you; aka if you (i.e) tell me that Pearl shouldn’t have (C)PTSD, I will deliver canon proof & state my reasoning for my decision to implement it in my canon, etc. What I will not do is tolerate character hate or unreasonable hate towards my writing. Be assured that I will never headcanon something that has no solid footing in canon.

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character? — ABSOLUTELY. Send me random hc / meta asks, I beg you.

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why? — sure. As stated above, I will probably discuss stuff with you. The chance of me dropping a headcanon however are rather low.

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it? — Hm... it depends on what they don’t like. If it’s my writing, well, why are you following me to begin with?? If it is my take on things... well again, why are you following me? I stated in my rules what you should expect & that I will not water down specific aspects of a complex character. Disliking my portrayal is fine since I know that my kind of writing / analysis isn’t necessarily everyone’s tea but... again, why would you keep following me?

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it? — um. Not... well? While I will never excuse my muse’s actions, I dislike groundless bashing. In regard to Pearl... well. As stated above, I expected backlash the second I created this blog. Pearl is one of those characters the fandom either loves or hates; her canon relationship to Rose was branded toxic by a ton of people, people call her uncaring, salty, insane & straight up manic, she seemingly has no redeeming qualities, she is a bitch, too perfect (LOL) or arrogant & apparently has no character? I love it when people say stuff like that because... did we watch the same show? Is there a version of SU I don’t know? Please tell me, I wanna see it for myself! Some hot takes in this fandom are atrocious & make me want to commit a crime.

-- but I digress. I have spent too much time in her tag in 2014 + & I have seen quite the fights over the most ridiculous things; Pearl, in particular, got quite the flack for stuff that eventually got resolved in season 5 [which, again, was way too late but well]. In the end, clowns will be clowns, no matter what you do. I just don’t get why you would follow someone if you hate their character to begin with.

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors? — yes, but please don’t be rude about it. I am German, English is my second language. I am currently learning Swedish / improving my Swedish so mistakes can always happen. Additionally, I am someone who posts her replies in the middle of the night & while I proofread a lot & most likely fix posts after I posted ‘em, some mistakes can still slip through.

Do you think you are easy going as a mun? — ... I like to believe I am but I know that I am overly passionate & I can come off as too strong or too fierce sometimes. I can be too much, I can be too excentric (I’m a Scorpio, Karen); I have strong opinions in regard to my characters & I will not hold them back. I criticise shows mercilessly & I will plough through canon as much as I please. Stans & I usually don’t get along. HOWEVER, I am a meme. I love lame jokes, I am awkward, & sometimes very, very insecure. In the end, I just wanna talk about my favourite characters & develop sth wonderful. I keysmash unironically, I use old memes unironically. I mean I have been writing for ten + years & I am about to smooth sail post the 24 age border aka I will turn 25 soon which renders me old according to tumblr standards. I am just here to have fun before the staff comes to lock my account down due to my status as an rp-senior. -- yeah... that is the kind of stupid ass humor I mean. I digress but... please, I am an awkward, rambling mess, just hit me up via dms & you will see what I mean.

#[[ this took me way too long honestly but I finally did it. If you find some spelling or grammar errors keep 'em. I got tired #njfuwefhe but yeah if you need some blog data?? This is prob your best bet ]]#ooc. 𝗮 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗱 𝘀𝗻𝗮𝗶𝗹 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗱.

10 notes · View notes