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delfiore · 10 months

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—A SUMMER’S TALE.

pairing: vada cavell x reader

synopsis: the summer before college, vada joins mia's family on vacation in france and falls in love with the scenery, and a charismatic lifeguard.

word count: 9.6k

warnings: talk of the shooting

a/n: it's summer so you know my cmbyn flare ups are happening. i’ve been writing this for a few weeks now and i’m super pumped it’s done. pls let me now what you like, what you don’t like about this! i’d really appreciate some feedback!! and i’m sorry if i can’t reply to you if you comment on this as this acc is a secondary blog

The villa had one feature that stood out in particular—a hallway that ran through the base of the house, connecting the kitchen to the open grass area in the back. Even the tiniest gust of wind could collect into a large breeze to combat the sticky heat of the day.

Vada closed her eyes and lifted her arms by her side as she felt the breeze glide through her. She could smell an earthy, hay-like smell of flowers that had been bathing in sunlight wafting in from the garden behind the villa. It didn’t take much to notice; summer in southern France was in full swing.

I could live here, she thought. Four weeks of this? Away from the repetitive scenery of the American suburbs, away from expectations. Only a few minutes since she’s gotten off the car and seen the yellow walls and red bricks of the Mediterranean villa, and she’s been buzzing ever since. She’s never actually left the country before, and the long flight over was jarring, to say the least. But the beauty of what she saw as soon as she landed made up for it.

Mia had instructed her to come along upstairs to put her things away; Vada would be occupying the guest room next to hers. She swore her friendship with Mia Reed started because they both went through a traumatic thing together, but it was moments like these when she was grateful for the perks.

“I could use a nap,” Mia said, rubbing her face.

It was nearly nine in the morning when the girls finished unpacking. Mia’s parents had given them the morning to get settled and get used to the jet lag.

“I’m not too tired,” Vada said, “maybe I’ll go into town for the morning.”

“You sure you don’t need me to come with you?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fun. It’s about time I put my four years of high school French to the test.”

The road into town winded downhill, and she was grateful she used one of the bikes the Reeds had available at their villa, as she would have dreaded the trek back up, had she gone on foot. She mapped out exactly the way into the town square and was determined to check everything out before returning for lunch. Thank god for Google Maps.

She had also bought a paper map of the town in a nearby kiosk and, after nearly two hours of exploring, mapped out a general layout of notable places in town. There was a fountain in the middle of the square in front of a church that Vada would use as a reference for everything; from the Fountain facing the church going left would be the town hall and that little kiosk, going right would be the local post office and the way back to the villa, opposite the church facing ahead lead down a slanted cobblestone alley full of restaurants and gift shops, as well as the way to the beach.

It must have been in the high 80s (30s Celsius) that day, so Vada decided to reward herself with some ice cream in the town square before she headed back. It was so hot that when sitting on a bench in the shades, she still had to try and keep the ice cream from melting all over her lap.

“Lillian’s ice cream is nice, but it melts quickly. You should try Karim’s down the street.”

Vada looked up at the voice in surprise, as it was English that was being spoken to her.

“Oh, totally!” She replied quickly. “How did you know I speak English?”

“I haven’t seen you around here.”

“But I could have also known French, right?”

“Touché, but I also recognize a compatriot when I see one.”

You wore an oversized white button-up that barely skirted past your black shorts, and your flip-flops indicated that you might have had a better idea of what the weather was going to be like as opposed to her in her high-neck basketball shoes. Peaking out from between the hem of your shirt was a necklace in the shape of a hummingbird, dangling and reflected in the sun.

“That obvious, huh?”

“Maybe a little." You grinned and shook your head from side to side. "Only tourists go to Lillian for ice cream.”

“So you’re not one, I assume.”

“I wouldn’t say so, no. My family has been coming here every summer ever since I was eight. These people are probably sick of me by now.” You chuckled.

This is your time, Vada, be smooth. “Lucky for you, you’ll have someone new to entertain.” She grinned and pointed at herself.

. . . Adequate.

The melodic laugh that escaped you gave her a new-found confidence, and she decided that it was to be her new favorite sound.

“Alright, since you seem to know the area so well,” Vada said. “What’s fun to do around here?”

Conversation flowed so easily between the two of you, she had almost forgotten that she only met you 15 minutes ago. Granted, you were also easy on the eye, and Vada would always remember the way the water from the fountain reflected in waves across your skin.

At one point she had started talking about the time her family got stranded in the middle of nowhere on a road trip to Phoenix. Vada felt like she was talking too much, but the way you laughed along with her story made her feel like it wasn’t for naught.

The bell tower of the church rang throughout the square. Vada widened her eyes and checked her phone, it was noon.

"Shit, I have to get back. My host family's gonna wonder where I am." She stood up quickly and collected her bike. The height of the seat and her haste caused her to stumble, and she would have fallen if not for you grabbing her by the arm and holding her up.

"Oh, okay. I’m sure there’s a story about a daytime Cinderella somewhere.”

She looked up and you were smirking. "Vada," she said. Maybe she shouldn’t have told you, Cinderella was fine, you didn’t know each other.

She could barely make out your attempt at her name on your lips before you nodded.

“Y/N.” You held your hand out for her to take. There was that touch that changed the course of her summer, the one touch that set into motion a journey toward a certain feeling that Vada had never felt before.

"Bye, Y/N!" She called behind her before rounding the corner, past the post office, and back to the Reed villa.

Mia had been waiting by the front door and breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted Vada cycling uphill.

"Where the hell have you been? We thought you'd been kidnapped!"

"Wait, could you get kidnapped here?" Vada’s face dropped at the thought, even though she was positively out of breath.

"You could get kidnapped anywhere, V."

"Well, I got lost." She hopped off her bike and set it by the entrance. "My phone died so I couldn't use Maps."

Her friend rolled her eyes and led her inside where a hearty lunch awaited. It was mid-June and apricots were in season for dessert.

It wasn't until late afternoon the next day that Vada regained the energy to go outside again. The jet lag had finally caught on, and she spent the morning asleep until noon. Mia had suggested going to the beach, which was great because she could see how things were, and either get into the water or take another nap.

Mia—being Mia—wore her bathing suit and a thin cardigan as her attire, while Vada decided on wearing an oversized tee and shorts over her bathing suit.

"Don't freak out. I've invited some friends. Just kids from the area," said Mia, once they arrived at the beach.

Vada stayed back, as Mia was greeted by several people similar in age to her, speaking in French at a pace her high school education couldn’t help her understand.

“This is Vada, she’s a friend from home.”

A curly-headed boy stood up from his lounge chair and sauntered over to give Mia a kiss on each cheek, then looked over to Vada and did the same. “Corentin, but please call me Coco,” he said and took both their bags. Vada didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on Mia’s form a bit longer than normal.

“Come, Vada! Mia, where have you been hiding this one? I’m Marlène. This is Sasha.” The brunette pulled her by the hand and gestured to the boy sitting next to her. He was slender with blonde hair part in the middle. “We’re about to go into the water if you want to join.”

“Where’s Noémie?” asked Mia.

“Déjà à l’eau. No doubt to show off to the lifeguard.” Sasha snickered, nodding his head towards the water. He took another drag from his cigarette and rested his arm back against Marlène’s chair.

“Speaking of the lifeguard . . .” Vada followed Marlène’s gaze towards . . . you.

Her mouth hung open as she watched you, in red shorts and a white T-shirt, a whistle hanging from your neck. You pulled your sunglasses up to your head and gave Mia la bise.

Of course, she thought. She had hoped to see you again, but only when there was no one else around, and that you’d catch her by surprise when she was alone once more. She’d only met you, but she wished that she could have you all alone, not like a secret, but like a prized possession.

“And just how many people have died while you’re on watch?” Mia teased.

“Zero, but very soon,” you pointed at her, “one.”

When you turned to Vada, her breath hitched. “Hi,” you greeted with that warm smile again. Even in your work attire, she spotted that necklace next to your whistle.

“Y/N, this is—”

“Vada, the daytime Cinderella. We met yesterday in the square.” You replied. “Did I forget to mention I work here?”

Vada was grinning like an idiot, her cheeks tinted pink at the nickname. “Yup, you did.”

“Y/N!” Over jogged a gorgeous girl, even Vada had to admit. Her black bathing suit hugged her curves perfectly, and though her hair was completely wet, the water droplets clinging to her olive skin made her glow. “T'as prévu aller en boîte ce week-end, ou bien? J'ai chopé l'info qu'y a un nouveau DJ en ville, et il envoie du pâté!”

She was clinging onto your arm, and speaking way too fast for Vada to understand, but she picked up on some keywords: ce week-end, and nouveau DJ.

When she finally noticed Vada there, her excitement subsided, but she walked over anyway to greet her, like an afterthought. “Salut. I’m Noémie.”

“Hi. Vada.”

Just as quickly as you arrived, Noémie had led you away, talking your ear off about something that Vada didn’t have the heart to eavesdrop on. Her eyes followed your form, picking up on the way you kept your arms by your side even when Noémie was practically hanging off of you. In a sporadic moment, Vada thought she saw you looking back over her shoulder at the friend group, and maybe toward her.

“Your phone died, huh?” Mia poked her elbow into her side with a teasing grin.

“Shut up,” Vada murmured. “What’s the deal with them anyway?”

“They were together last summer,” Sasha replied, then turned to the others. “Plan cul, how do you say?”

“A fling, but Noémie seems more attached than Y/N ever did,” said Coco.

“No doubt Y/N has already found a new paramour for the summer,” Marlène commented.

“It’s summertime. Anything’s possible.”

As much as she hated it, you plagued her mind, much more than she cared to admit. She didn’t want to think about what your initial conversation meant to you (if it did at all), or what the lack of words in your second meeting meant. She didn’t want to think about Noémie either, how she seemed so confident to get your attention, and an up-and-down look from her made Vada want to crawl into a hole.

She remembered the handshake. The speed at which she rode away wasn’t entirely to get home in time before Mia’s parents called the police, but to get away from the butterflies that burst in her stomach that moment her hand firmly shook yours. She’d seen how you greeted your friends, but to her, she offered a handshake. Though the gesture itself was completely platonic and can be passed off as a farewell between two strangers, she felt a sense of exclusivity, that American camaraderie you shared with her in a foreign land. Common courtesy as a mode of intimacy. Revisiting it now, Vada recognized it as a sign of attraction and an apprehension to the speed at which it enveloped her.

She would see you around town in your work uniform after your shift, sometimes you’d be talking to people, sometimes you were the buyer yourself. No matter the person though—from the tourists asking for directions to the old owner of the bookstore by the fountain, they always loved you and talked to you like you were their best friend. She’d see you from afar, wanting to talk to you, but then get anxious the moment you spotted her a give her a friendly wave.

Then there were times when you would come by the Reed villa. Philip and Andre always received you like you were an esteemed guest, gifting you fruits from the trees in the backyard. She loved to see how you acted around different people, and to the Reeds who had known you for years, you were awful shy.

“Invite your parents over. We should all have dinner sometime!”

“Oh, my parents aren’t here this summer. My dad’s busy with a conference in Singapore, but they’ll drop by at the end of July.”

Even the times you were invited to stay for supper, it was clear you knew how to hold a conversation over the dinner table. She wondered if you were studying to be a politician because you seemed to charm everyone and had the best manners. Mia would not-so-subtly yield the spot next to you for Vada, and secretly, she was glad to be sitting next to you.

For the first time in her life, she felt a force holding her back, preventing her from reaching out. Maybe it was because she had only known you for a couple of weeks but felt like you’d always been there, like a puzzle finally piecing together.

And every time, right before you left, after you had said goodbye to the Reeds, you’d find her somehow. “Bye,” would be all you said with an adoring smile, but Vada would be thinking about it until the next day.

She and Mia met up with the group again one night, this time at a nearby open-air disco. When she arrived, she could spot Sasha and Marlène already twirling each other around on the dance floor, she was laughing as he spun her around, cigarette between his lips. She felt a pang of envy, imagining that it was your arms around her waist instead as you spun her around without a care in the world, in front of everyone. Let them see. Let them see that you’re mine and I’m yours. If she were being honest, she only agreed to come just so she could see you again. She found you sitting at a table with Coco and Noémie, chatting away.

“Hi.” Her attention was focused on you. She couldn’t be more sober, and she wished she had taken a few puffs before coming.

As if having read her mind, Coco pulled out a couple of joints, lighting one and taking a puff himself before passing it to Noémie.

“You partake?” You shouted over the loud music.

“Oh, she partakes.” Mia nodded enthusiastically. “The first time she did weed she smoked most of my joint. Then proceeded to blabber on nonstop for two hours.”

You let out a laugh. “I like this one!”

She hated, despised even, the overwhelming feeling of wanting to be near you, to impress you, to feel special in your eyes as you were in hers. It was human nature; everyone liked feeling special, but somehow getting validation from you would make her ten times happier. She sat two seats away from you—next to Mia and Noémie—and once in a while, she would try and dart her eyes over to look at you ever so subtly. On a couple of occasions, her heart would jump when she noticed you were already looking back.

A few minutes later, Vada started to feel the effect of the weed, and Mia must have too because she pulled her toward the dance floor. Looking back, she saw you talking to Noémie. You didn’t look too happy and neither did she, having her arms crossed in front of her chest. Then, she walked outside and you followed her impatiently. When you returned, a polite smile was on your face when you noticed her looking for you.

“Are you okay?” She shouted, the weed had made her feel bold.

“Yeah! Everything’s fine.” You shouted back.

It might have been the weed or it was something that’s already been there, but Vada couldn’t take her eyes off of you. She took you by the hand, and there was that same spark of electricity again. You let her guide you, your hands never leaving hers as you moved with her.

It was about a quarter to midnight when everyone decided to split because frankly, everyone was too tired to continue. Vada said goodbye to Sasha and Marlène, the latter of whom gave her a big hug and repeatedly expressed her delight that Vada had decided to join them. Coco, already sober, offered to drive Mia home, but his ride was a scooter.

“Sorry, les gars,” Coco smiled sheepishly and asked Mia if she was ready, to which the girl only nodded.

“I’ll walk you home.” You said quietly, surprisingly timid. “Promise me you won’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight?”

She huffed through her nose and gave you a shove, but she was grinning. It was just the two of you now. Her pride was on the line, and so was her heart.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Your voice cut through the stillness of the night. Before that, the only sounds were that of your shoes brushing against the ground and the soft sighs of the ocean.

“Is everything okay with Noémie?”

You averted your eyes, your hand coming up to play with the hummingbird on your neck.

Maybe she shouldn’t have. “Shit, did I overstep?”

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s just Noë being Noë, she was out of line.” Your walls were up. “We were always close, she was the first friend I made here. And last summer we slept together.”

“Oh.” Her steps faltered.

“I stopped it before it could progress into anything beyond that, though. I’m just not ready.”

Vada nodded slowly. Loud and clear. Maybe that was the signal she needed, the insecure part of her thought it was that, but when she was with you, all she wanted to do was listen to the other part.

“I slept with Mia once, sophomore year.”

You looked over at her, seemingly surprised. “Mia? Huh. Never would have thought.”

“It was just that, though.” She flashed you a smile.

Vada felt that surge of closeness between you, your arm swinging beside her as you walked. The obsession with finding anything to relate to you prompted her to say it, like Hey, I’m like you, I know how you feel. Maybe it wasn’t the best thing to tell you, she might have screwed up.

You mirrored her smile, but something about it told her that your heart wasn’t entirely in it. Tell me what you’re thinking, Y/N. She wanted to get inside your head and know everything you were thinking, to go all the way with that closeness. Even as friends, one has to start from somewhere.

It was radio silence from you for the next few days. Vada came up with all the excuses as to what it could have been, and when she grew tired and angry at herself for thinking so much about you, she tried to distract herself by doing other things. She helped Philip collect figs from the trees in the backyard; she looked up the fortress nearby you told her about the day you met and biked all the way over there, even though it was a half an hour's ride each way; she finally took out the book she packed with her and began reading it whilst sunbathing. It was starting to feel like a summer that she should be enjoying.

Her mom called and was happy to hear that her daughter was going outside and doing fun things. “The people are nice,” Vada would say, “I met some of Mia’s friends.” And in true Mom fashion, her mom would quickly squeeze in a “Don’t do drugs and use protection” to which she ended the call and almost threw her phone across the room.

She would also call Nick every other day. I met someone, she said one day after having finally gathered the courage to vocalize her crush. Girl, I know. Mia had told him. When? Literally the second day. She said you were so obvious.

It was as if the weather knew too. It started raining all day when she decided to go to the beach one day, souring her mood entirely. She would sit by the entrance in the backyard watching the rain, and sure enough, she was thinking about what you were doing on the opposite end of town.

“It’s unlike you to be so hung up on someone,” Mia told her when they were hanging out in Mia’s room.

“I’m not hung up on someone,” her words trailed at the end, mindlessly flipping through the magazine in front of her.

“So am I just crazy for thinking that you want to pounce on Y/N every three seconds?”

“Okay, but what about you and Coco? He follows you around everywhere like a lost puppy.”

“Coco’s just shy,” her friend blushed. “And stop changing the subject.”

“There’s nothing between us, at least not yet.”

“So you do want something to happen.”

“Shut up! Mia!” She hid her face behind her hands and writhed on Mia’s bed in embarrassment. “I’m not talking to you about this anymore.”

“Alright, alright,” Mia held her hands up as her laughter subsided.

“Look, I just want to—” Vada took a moment. “I want to test the waters, okay? Y/N is special, and I don’t want to ruin anything.”

Mia nodded, understanding. “I just don’t want you to be misled. I mean, you’ve seen how it was with Noémie.”

“I know.” Vada smiled softly. “I know what I’m getting into. Zero expectations.”

She wanted to believe what she told Mia too, but then when she saw texts from you the next day, there was no hiding that a connection was what she so tirelessly wanted, and needed.

hey it’s y/n Sent 3:23pm

mia gave me your number, i hope you don’t mind Sent 3:23pm

call me when you see this? Sent 3:24pm

Damn you, Mia, but also, thank you.

She didn’t work up enough courage to call you until later that night. Of course, it could have been something dire, but then you would have called her first, right? I am such a wimp.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” she rubbed her hands against her shorts. “it’s Vada. You wanted me to call you?”

“Yeah. I was gonna just text you, but I don’t know . . .” You hesitated for a moment. “Anyway, you ever been to Antibes?”

“No, why?”

“Well, I’m going there on Friday for my apprenticeship, and I was wondering if you wanted to come with? I’m just giving some manuscripts to my mentor, and then leaving them with him for a few hours to review, so we can make a fun day out of it. It’s a one-hour drive, so I don’t plan on staying overnight.”

“Friday you said?” Vada took a deep breath to still her racing heart. “I don’t think I got anything better to do that day.”

“Great!” You said. “I’ll pick you up at 9am?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Cool, see you then!”

There was something frightening about when things go exactly how you wanted them. It was inch-perfect, the puzzle pieces just slotted in place as if they were always fated to be. You were the first to reach out; she thought it would be easier that way, she’d just have to take your hand and come along. But there was a certain apprehension that Vada had as if she was walking straight into the lion’s den like a deer blinded by hunger. What if she loses her heart? She was aware of the dangers of heartbreak, of course—she was no fool—but the thought of giving her heart to you, then watching you walk away with it like an unwanted gift was too devastating.

Mia was practically bouncing off the walls when Vada told her about the phone call, saying that in all seven years of knowing you, she had never been special enough to receive a call. She didn’t exactly say the latter part, but she all but implied it.

On Friday morning, Vada woke up earlier than usual, made herself some breakfast, and was already waiting at the door with a backpack by 8:45. No later than 9:05, you arrived with a Volkswagen Golf, sunglasses on, and a bright smile.

“Music?” You offered, turning on Bluetooth. “Also, if you need a pee break, please tell me. Bladders can be untimely.”

“Noted,” Vada giggled.

The car ride was mostly silent, aside from the music you let her pick and the fun facts you enlightened her with about some of the landmarks you drive past.

“That one I believe was built in the later 1600s and owned by a minor Provence viscount. It was also in a strategic location for the military until it was abandoned after the French Revolution. Also, the viscount built the castle for his second wife, but she died shortly after giving birth to their child.”

“That’s a little sad,” said Vada.

“She was also 14 when she died and he was in his 50s.”

Vada grimaced. “Maybe death was a sweet relief.”

“Yeah. It was more common back in the day than you think.”

“How do you know all this?” She brought her legs up against her chest.

“I like history. I like to learn about the areas I’m in, and in the time that I’ve been here, I’ve had a lot of opportunities to learn.”

She watched your side profile for a moment. “You mentioned some manuscripts. What is it for?”

“Is this an interview now?” You laughed and glanced over at her, and she looked down with a blush. “It’s for my bachelor’s thesis. Technically I don’t start writing until next year, but I like to practice whenever I can. This one that I’m giving to my mentor is a collection of essays.”

“Can I read them?” You looked over for a moment, then reached behind you to grab a file of paper and handed it to her.

Vada settled back and opened the first pages, and read in silence. She could feel you spare short glances at her from time to time, nervously watching for her reaction, but she was so engrossed in your writing it almost didn’t matter that you were sitting next to her. This might have been what it feels like to peer into someone’s soul, to see the traces of fresh blood as they lay their heart onto paper.

It was a beautiful sunny day, the waters shone a deep turquoise, and the French Riviera looked glorious as ever. And yet, she could only get lost in your words.

“This is beautiful,” Vada breathed, setting the papers down on her lap. “You’re amazing.”

You looked ahead at the road, eyes covered by shades, but your large grin was unmissable.

You parked the car on the side of the street in front of several apartment buildings. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.” Vada only nodded and watched you cross the street with the manuscripts in your hand. She liked how it felt between you two, and she would gladly accompany you on every trip until you were sick of her.

Mere minutes later, you returned. “I hope you’re ready for the best adventure of your life.”

Only, she knew it would be.

You first led her to the market in the vieille ville, where you bought some fruits and snacks for the way. Vada also got to witness firsthand your bargaining skills, asking for a price and then pretending to walk away until the vendor becomes desperate enough to settle. “I used to be really bad at this, but then I watched my mom do it, and now I kind of just do. These vendors hike up their prices for tourists like crazy.” You walked away proudly with a bag of food.

As the both of you walked through the picturesque alleys and streets, you proceeded to tell her more about the city and its history. She listened carefully, hanging onto every word that left your lips. You told her about how Antibes was first named Antipolis and part of Ancient Greece before it was built by the Romans in the time of Julius Caesar; how in the Middle Ages the city fell under the fiefdom of the Grimaldi family, the main branch of which is now royalty of Monaco.

“Sorry, you gotta stop me before I go on a tangent,” you chuckled, scratching the back of your neck. “I’ve been talking for ages.”

“No, I like it.” She said quickly. “I like listening to you talk. It’s no surprise many artists were so taken with this place.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise.

“Hemingway, Picasso, and Monet all had a fascination with this city.” She had to look that up, but you didn’t need to know that.

“That’s right,” you nodded. “In fact, I’ll show you the spot where Monet painted one of his paintings later.”

After lunch, you both walked along the city walls that looked out to the beach.

“I’m just saying, Ratatouille piqued a lot of interest in the dish, and it wasn’t a coincidence. I mean, I’ve never tried it but I’d love to, just because it looked so good in the movie.” Vada said.

“You’ve never had ratatouille?!” You exclaimed loudly making Vada laugh. “Man, it’s a staple here in southern France! I’ll have to make you some because that is just criminal.”

“Okay, Chef Remy. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Actually, I’ll make a whole batch for you and the Reeds too. They always give me fruits from their backyard,” you said. “How did you meet Mia anyway?”

At the question, Vada’s smile collapsed into a frown. “Um . . .” You watched her, a confused look on your face. “I’ve always known who she was. I mean, it’s Mia, you know? But one day we met officially in the bathroom at school.”

“Oh,” you voiced. You must be confused as to why that was so hard to squeeze out, but the latter part, the part she kept hidden, she had been trying to squeeze out for two years.

“We were in the bathroom while there was a shooting going on.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but you only ended up watching her. Then, a moment later, “I didn’t mean to . . .”

“No, it’s fine.” Vada shook her head. “You didn’t know.”

“I’m so sorry. You don’t have to tell me anything else if you don’t want to.” Your eyes softened and you looked like you had kicked a puppy.

“I know,” she said, taking a breath.

“I see it on the news all the time, but I can’t imagine what it’s like to be there,” you said quietly. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

Vada hated having to talk about it. If she could have it her way, she would bury it deep down so it never sees the light of day again. Still, she has to talk about it to her friends, her family, her therapist sometimes. She hated talking about it because she’d have to see the way people’s faces contort uncomfortably as they scramble to find consoling words to say. They don’t make her feel any better, and she never liked people seeing that broken side of her reflected back at them.

But when she looked at you right now, there wasn’t a trace of ego in the way that you look back at her. Deep down, she had always wanted to lay it on you, to give you a piece of her, not because she had to, but because she wanted to.

Because she wanted you to see it.

Vada found your hand by your side, soft and comforting. She kept her eyes on them; her hand and your hand, intertwined together. You embraced it and rubbed the back of her hand with your thumb before kissing it. A kiss of friendship, a kiss of love, a kiss of two young people in a city far from home together who had only just met. A kiss that said I see you, I hear you, you’ve got me around your corner.

“You wanna go grab some dinner?” She asked.

Dinner turned into even more talk. Towards late afternoon, you said you wanted to catch the sunset before going to the spot you claimed Monet painted the city. It was a quick drive, but you pumped your fists in the air when you got out of the car and were happy with how the sun rolled over the city just right.

“Come on, you’re gonna miss it!” You jogged towards the edge of the water, beaming like a little kid. It had become natural between the two of you to share skin-ship.

Behind the trees, there it was. Across the blue water, Antibes basked in the last few rays of sunlight in stoic tranquility, just as Monet had seen it. Perhaps she was in one of Monet’s paintings, frozen in time, stuck with you.

She found your hand again, your left this time, and once again your gaze followed, but this time, you trailed your gaze to her eyes. God help me, she thought.

There were so many things Vada wanted to blurt out, and she was close to it. Holding back was never her strong suit, but once she got a good look at the depth of your eyes, she felt that they were better appreciated in silence. Words don’t do anything but snitch on you anyway.

She didn’t need to, because the moment she turned to look at you, she felt you grab her face gently and lay the softest kiss on her lips.

The sun continued to glare, yet Antibes stared on.

Did Monet ever paint lovers?

Liar.

Vada felt like she’d make a mistake for giving in to it. She saw her younger self in the square that day, by the fountain, eating ice cream. She saw you talking to her, and she wanted to scream and tell herself to stop, to save herself the heartache. No one else was to blame, not even you, only her.

Antibes was a week ago, and she hasn’t really spoken to you ever since. She replayed the kiss over and over in her head, trying to pinpoint exactly the moment when you decided that keeping your distance would be the best course of action.

But then she remembered the way you acted alone with her was much different than how you were with the others around. She saw the way your eyes linger on her when you thought she was admiring the sea. She noticed the way you smiled bashfully when she brought up how good your essays were in front of your mentor. She remembered how you never let go of her hand when she grabbed it while you watched the sunset.

Marlène and Sasha had been a big help in getting her out of her slump. Mia was there to cuddle with her the first couple of nights after Vada told her everything, but rendezvous with Coco had kept her busy. But Marlène and Sasha were cool, and probably one of the healthiest couples she’s ever seen at the age of 20. She felt like their adoptive child hanging out with them, especially when Sasha would greet her by endearingly calling her Petit Vada.

“And have you talked to her?” Marlène asked, leaning over the lounge chair. She and Vada had been sunbathing and swimming at the Reed villa that afternoon.

“No.” Vada sighed. “It’s just—I just don’t get it! Why does she have to be so mysterious all the time? Like one moment we would be fine, and the next she’s somewhere else, someone else entirely.”

“That’s Y/N,” Marlène chuckled and took a sip from her margarita. “You know, when I and Sash first got together, he wasn’t as talkative as he is now. In fact, I was the one to ask him out. Sometimes you just have to suck it up and tell them.”

“That’s so easy to say,” Vada muttered, and put her face in her hands.

“That’s the kind of attitude you should save for when you go back to your other life, your American life. Are you going to university this fall? Summer’s halfway over, you know? Are you going to mull over it and let it pass by you?”

“Yes.” Vada’s voice was muffled through her hands.

“Carpe diem, mon chère.” Marlène shrugged. “It’s cheesy but it’s true.”

Andre being the ever BBQ dad that he was, decided to host a get-together with some friends that night, and encouraged Mia to invite hers. Everyone that Vada met at the beach showed up, including Noémie, except for you.

“She said she was busy,” Noémie waved it off. Vada pursed her lips. The fact that you talked to Noémie first stirred uneasy envy in the pit of her stomach.

She didn’t have the stomach to sit outside and spoil everyone’s fun with her sour face (most of all she didn’t want to give Noémie that satisfaction), so she made a plate for herself and ate in the living room.

“Hey, kiddo,” she looked up and saw Philip walk past her toward the kitchen. “Not feeling the party?”

Vada made a face to indicate a yes, but she didn’t want to explain further. “Just not really in the mood, sorry.”

“It’s okay. You can’t stop Andre from barbecuing when he has the urge or he’d literally combust.”

She nodded and smiled. “We don’t want that.”

“We’re serving fruits now. Want me to get you some?” He pointed at her empty plate.

“Yes, please. Thanks.” She hesitated for a beat. “Hey, Philip?”

The man turned around.

“How did you know that you wanted to marry Andre?”

Philip contemplated for a second, then walked over to the couch where she sat, leaning against it. “I didn’t wake up one day and choose to propose to him, Vada. It’s just one of those things when you start to notice that gnawing feeling in your chest. And you’d have to ask yourself, ‘Would I be fine going the rest of my life without them?’”

Vada nodded slowly and smiled as the man went back to the kitchen. She opened her phone and went to your messages. The last text from you was from a week ago. She began typing.

can we talk? Sent 8:47pm

A mere five minutes later, you responded.

of course Sent 8:47pm

meet me at the fountain at 10? Sent 8:48pm

see u there Sent 8:48pm

Vada found you walking back and forth by the Fountain, one hand in deep your pants pocket, the other holding a cigarette between your thumb and index, and puffing it as if it would give you a lifeline. She got off her bike and set it by the railing of the Fountain where you stood.

“You smoke?”

“Not usually,” you attempted to smile, shaking your arms as if to shake off an invisible burden. You were anxious, it was clear.

Vada didn’t know what to say next, so she leaned against the railing of the Fountain, rolling a pebble back and forth underneath her shoe.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you earlier. I was busy.”

She nodded half-heartedly, not looking up. She wished you’d come up with a better excuse than that.

“Are you angry with me?”

“Angry’s a strong word, Y/N.”

Another puff. “Are you discontent with me?”

She should have prepared herself for the nit-picky bullshit from a writer. “I don’t have a valid reason to be upset with you, not really. Unless I’ve been reading this wrong.”

“You haven’t.” You answered quickly and met her eyes. “I promise. It wasn’t very mature of me. In fact, I think I acted like a total idiot. I’m really sorry.”

“Do you regret kissing me?”

“No, not at all. And you have to believe me.” You sighed exasperatedly, and she almost felt bad because you looked so anxious.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Vada stepped towards you, facing you head-on. “You’re asking me whether I’m upset with you, but I don’t even know what you’re thinking most of the time. And then you disappear as though I did something wrong! How fair is that?”

You nodded and took another drag from your cigarette. Then, you dropped the butt on the floor and stomped on it. “I’m thinking that I really want to kiss you right now.”

Vada scoffed. “I don’t believe you.”

You stood up from your spot against the railing, your face now inches from hers. “It’s true.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah, it is.”

She felt the exact moment her body became as light as a feather as your lips pressed against hers. Her hands clenched by her side, and come up to hold onto your shoulders, because she was afraid her legs might give out under her. You angled your face and deepened the kiss, and Vada sighed into your mouth. This is what the poets all wrote about, the inevitability of giving in to what you’ve wanted for so long. She’s caged in you in between her body and the Fountain, kissing you and touching you as though her life depended on it.

You moved to lower your kisses to her neck, but she leaned back and saw a dark look in your eyes.

The sound of a street musician playing the saxophone in the distance somewhere echoed through the square. Wordlessly, Vada took your hand.

She followed you by bike towards your house, which was towards the end of the street closer to the beach. You returned to speaking only one or two words to her, telling her to put her bike by the door next to yours, to take her shoes off before coming in, and whether she wanted some water.

“Nice place.” It was another thing that she never thought to ask you about, nor did you tell her. But it wasn’t a surprise that your family was loaded too, considering the vacation home in an area like this.

“Thanks. It’s my parents’, though.”

“What do they do again?”

“Well, my mom does interior design and my dad is a football agent.”

“Football agent? Who does he represent?”

“Mostly American players in Europe; Christian Pulisic, Luca de la Torre, Gio Reyna. I remember my dad bringing me along to dinner with Sergio Agüero once because he considered a move to LAFC. That was pretty cool.” You stood against the wall in the hallway, next to the staircase, kicking your feet aimlessly. The small talk was to cover up for something else.

You fell into a deep silence. Vada took a step forward under the yellow light of the hallway and took your hand, stroking it gently.

“Can I kiss you?” She asked quietly.

You and she both knew you were way past just kissing. This was new territory, and there would be no going back after this.

You nodded, and she surged forwards to kiss you slowly. This time, it felt different. You kissed her without the chastity and fear of being looked in on but without the hunger of overcoming lust. It was a perfect blend of passion and appreciation, a marriage of everything felt within the past few weeks.

You lead her upstairs, towards your room. Once inside, your lips were still glued to hers as you let her walk backward, though your eagerness made her trip on your feet and fall onto the mattress.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. ‘M sorry.” The two of you burst into a fit of giggles as you tried to make it up to her with a shower of kisses.

As her giggles quickly turned into pleasant sighs, she decided to surrender herself to you, to her deepest desires ever since the day she arrived. You had charmed her from the moment she laid eyes on you. But now to feel your hands on her in all the right places took her to new heights of pleasure that she’s never experienced before. How beautiful it was to be herself, to be here in this moment, and to cherish and be cherished by you. But most of all, to hear you whisper her name and profanities in the most sinful and vulnerable ways, so unlike your polished and composed self in front of other people.

Vada, Vada, Vada . . .

She awoke in the morning, the sun piercing through the horizontal slits of the shut windows. There was sweat sticking to her skin, but she didn’t want to get up and shower, not when you were still soundly asleep, arm loosely wrapped around her torso. It was then that she realized that you both were still very naked, but she reveled in the skin-to-skin contact like it was giving her strength and vitality. The golden hummingbird sat on your chest, rising and falling with each of your breaths.

Vada caught the moment your eyes fluttered open and focused on her. Then a smile.

“What time is it?” You asked.

Vada leaned over to check the clock on the wall. “7:41.”

You grumbled. “My shift starts at 8:30.”

“You better chop-chop then.”

“I don’t wanna go.”

“Then don’t.” Vada placed her chin on your upper chest. “Stay here with me, and we can recreate last night.”

You chuckled and kissed her once. “That sounds really tempting.”

And yet, you moved to get up, but she held you back. “Five more minutes.”

“Only five?” You smirked.

“You don’t think I can do it in five?”

You grinned like a Cheshire cat and settled back.

Vada had to let you go eventually, you let her stay at yours and do as she pleased. She suddenly remembered that she never texted Mia back about staying out overnight, and sure enough, flipped her phone over to a few missed calls and text messages. After texting her back and reassuring her that she was okay, she got up and went to take a shower.

You came back around four and, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, it felt like forever until you walked through the doors again. And the moment you did, she pounced on you like a lion.

“I’m so sweaty,” you laughed but soon became lost in the sensation of her lips against yours.

You made love again that afternoon. Vada could almost picture the routine that she and you so easily fell into, how the puzzle pieces fit together so seamlessly. It almost felt like she had cheated somehow to feel this way, that it truly felt as magical and wonderful as it was laying in your arms, both of you stark naked. You had showered and smelled much like lavender. Your eyes were closed but you weren’t asleep, as she watched your chest rise and fall steadily. Sometimes you would murmur something and she would talk to you quietly, knowing you were tired from a day’s work at the beach.

“I knew I liked you from the first day, at the Fountain,” you said.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?!” Vada looked up and hit your chest playfully.

“I didn’t want to come on too strong and scare you away!”

“Jesus Christ,” she sat up and put her face in her palms. “Y/N, I wanted you so badly. Like, I could not go a day without thinking about you. It was actually becoming unhealthy how much I did.”

“Oh? I’m flattered.” You smirked and rubbed her knee. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because . . . After Antibes, I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way.”

Your face dropped slightly. “I was scared to get close to someone. I think I caught myself then after we kissed. It was scary how much I wanted your company.”

Vada could understand. You’ve only known each other for three weeks. What were you to each other? Maybe it didn’t matter, there was something comforting about just existing as two souls being present with each other. She realized that the fear she’d harbored about losing her heart was all in vain; you never took it for yourself, you’d only pressed your hand against her chest and encouraged it to keep beating—to keep being hers—while you’d hoped that she would do the same to you.

“If you could go back to that day at the Fountain, and do it differently, would you?” Vada asked.

You thought for a second, then shook your head. “No. I always want to remember you this way.”

Vada swallowed thickly and avoided your eyes. “We’re leaving next week.”

A silence hung in the air, unspoken words stuck in her throat. Tell me to stay. Tell me you’ll come back with me. Tell me you’ll never love anyone else. Tell me you’d forget about me so as to soothe the pain.

“Then let’s make it count,” you brushed a hair from her eyes. “We’re not the first, and we won’t be the last to love each other.”

She dreaded the flight back home, having to pretend leaving you wouldn’t be as hard in front of Mia and her parents, and about 300 strangers. She’d miss biking everywhere and the beach and Lillian’s ice cream (she had grown to like it over Karim’s). She’d remember Antibes and Monet’s spot. She’d remember your face and how you seemed to appear in every memory of this trip.

Vada felt you brushing your finger under her eye and realized that it was wet. Then you brought her into your arms and held her tight as she hid from the world in your neck. You cooed and somehow it made Vada feel worse and started crying harder, clinging to your skin desperately.

She’d find space for the grief she was going to feel in her heart somewhere because she knew she’d rather live with the pain than be without you again.

The last week started on a Wednesday. Vada did the usual things she did the last few weeks—go to the beach, bike to town, hang out with the group; she wanted to soak into that last semblance of her summer routine before she had to leave, and everything would be different. She hadn’t given college much thought either. Deciding to move halfway across the country for it was the least stressful part of the whole process, as she was going in undecided. Mia was happy though, because they would only be a few hours apart by train.

Until then, Vada was too afraid to ask you about what would happen after the summer ended. If she asked, it would mean that it was close and it was real. You’d go back to school in Paris and start on your thesis, and everything would go back to the way it was.

Everything would go back to the way it was. As if nothing happened.

She had lived four weeks with you, how was she ever going to go the rest of her life without you?

She met up with you after dinner one night at the beach. The tides had come in much closer and were pulling on her heartstrings mercilessly. In and out, in and out . . . You were as quiet as the night, your eyes gazed towards the distance somewhere, looking pensive.

Still, she was afraid to ask.

“I lied,” you finally spoke. “I wished I had told you sooner how much I liked you.”

Vada remained silent and nodded. “We’ll call.”

“It won’t be the same.”

She knew too that it would never be the same the moment she leaves France. She realized that though she was afraid to ask, time was not on her side, and she didn’t have the luxury to be afraid anymore.

“Will you stay over tonight?” Vada asked, and you looked so happy that she did.

Once you stumbled through the door, you leaned in to kiss her instantly. Between wanting to kiss you back and suppressing moans, she told you to be quiet as you followed her upstairs, hand in hand. You failed, however, actually, both of you did, as your giggles trailed up the stairs and through the hallway. Vada would be lucky if only Mia heard you.

The day she left for the airport, you came over to say goodbye. You greeted the Reeds first, giving Philip and Andre big hugs, then turned to Mia to hug as well and kiss her on the forehead.

Vada waited in the backyard. She felt almost pathetic and needy for wanting you to come out here quicker. It won’t be the same.

“Andre gave me this to keep for my parents.”You held up a bottle of wine by the neck. “1983, nice.”

Your smile died down when you noticed her silence. “You got everything?”

She nodded. Wordlessly, she stepped forwards to wrap her arms around your frame. She thought she’d cry, but it was as if her brain was already actively shutting down trying to block out this memory to save her the future heartbreak.

You pressed her tightly against your chest and swayed her back and forth. Upon releasing her, you set down the bottle of wine next to your feet and took off your necklace.

“I want you to have this.” You opened her palm and neatly placed the jewelry inside. “That way, you won’t forget.”

How could you ever think that I would forget when I’m afraid I’ll never be able to let go of this summer?

“I wish we had more time,” Vada said.

“Bye, Cinderella.” Your eyes were glossy now.

The car door was wide open, waiting to take her away from you. For a split second, she considered dropping everything to stay.

She leaned in to kiss you once, deep and hard, “Bye, Y/N.” Then she walked away, the hummingbird clenched in her fist.

You followed her and watched her get in the car. You watched her close it with force and you watched her refuse to make eye contact with you, but you saw the way her lips trembled. You watched the car take her away from you and grazed the spot on your chest where the hummingbird was missing.

It was mid-July, the hottest day of the year, and yet, the ocean waves—blue as it gets—continued to crash against the shore, on and on and on.

#vada cavell x reader #vada cavell imagines #vada cavell imagine #vada cavell x you #vada cavell #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x reader

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whitedarkmoonflower · 7 months

Note

hello

Can I request a sihtric x reader fic where she doesn’t know how to braid, so sihtric teaches her. and when she’s good enough he lets her braid his hair for battle saying it would bring him luck(?)

this is the main idea but you can change & do whatever you like with it! Thank you!

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: I think I have never written a fic so quickly as this one. It just touched a string within me. Thank you so much for this absolutely lovely request! I hope you'll enjoy it!

Warnings: fluff, tons of fluff and such a tiny bit of angst, that it doesn't really count

Word Count: 4,5K

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek

If you want to be added to the tag list - write to me.

The first light of dawn painted the horizon in delicate hues of pink and orange, casting a soft reflection on the tranquil river below. The water flowed very calm in this part of the river, the gentle lapping of the current seamlessly melding with the melodies of the first birds, praising the awakening of a new day.

As Sihtric walked, he felt a sense of peace enveloping him. The riverside always had this calming effect, a place where he could gather his thoughts before the day's chaos ensued. Especially now, with Coocham buzzing with warriors gearing up for battle.

Soon, he reached a secluded bend in the river, framed by tall reeds from the side of the river, while nearby a sprawling willow provided shade, shielding this corner from both the sun's gaze and curious onlookers. The air here was cooler, tinged with the refreshing scent of wet soil and the distant fragrance of blooming wildflowers.

Rounding the bend, Sihtric halted, an unexpected sight meeting his eyes – amidst the curtain of reeds and morning's embrace, you were dressing after what appeared to be a refreshing river bath. Droplets of water still clung to your naked arms, glistening in the faint sunlight. You reached for your leather jerkin, slipping it over your undergarment and breeches, then tugged on your boots and fastened your sword. Your damp hair, darker than its usual shade, clung to your neck, small streamlets running down your back.

Even from where he stood, Sihtric could see the focus in your stance, reminding him instantly of how you looked in the heat of training. He smirked remembering the unexpected twist his first sparring session with you had taken.

It had been a mystery to him why Uhtred had taken you in as a warrior. A woman – a small and delicate creature, looking like you would break into two from wielding that long and heavy blade of yours. The way you danced around the hay dolls in the sparring grounds, as if playing some intricate game, made Sihtric just wrinkle his nose and rolle his eyes, even as Finan approvingly chuckled with his tongue, hinting at a different perspective.

Until that one day.

—-----------------------------------------------

It was a late afternoon and the training grounds resonated with the rhythmic clang of metal clashing and the shuffling of feet on dry ground. Sihtric, along with Finan and Osfert, stood slightly off, their gazes fixed once again on you as you flowed through a series of maneuvers with your blade.

"She's got a knack for this," Finan observed, admiration evident in his voice. "See her footwork? Swift and sharp."

Osferth nodded, adding, "She's trained well. That much is clear."

"Since when have you turned into an expert in sword skill?” Sihtric scoffed, “Besides training and actual battle are worlds apart. Dancing around here is one thing, but facing seasoned warriors? Doubt she'd last a minute."

Finan shot him a sidelong glance. "Don't be so quick to dismiss, Sihtric. She might surprise you."

"She might be good," Sihtric conceded, his tone laced with sarcasm, "for training sessions with stray dolls. They don’t fight back. Let's be real; when swords clash in earnest, it's a different game."

Osferth countered, "You're not giving her enough credit. It's evident she has the heart of a warrior."

Sihtric's lips curled into a smirk, "Heart won't stand a chance against seasoned Dane fighters."

Finan, growing frustrated, retorted, "Like you, you mean? There's something else that bothers you about her, and it's not her skills. Spit it out."

“In the shield wall, every man counts. I want my flanks secured by real warriors, not this dancing doll.” Sihtric sneered with disdain.

Sihtric turned to look at you just to realise that you had approached the trio, having caught the tail end of their conversation. Blade resting on your shoulder, you met Sihtric's gaze squarely. "Shall we see? Care for a spar, Sihtric?"

The challenge hung in the air, and the attention of everybody on the grounds was suddenly focused on both of you.

"Perhaps we should use sticks, not steel. Wouldn't want to mar that pretty face of yours," Sihtric jested.

Your retort was swift, "Scared I might leave a mark?" With a confident stride, you took your stance, eyes locked onto Sihtric, awaiting his move.

Amid the expectant gazes of his friends and other warriors now coming closer, Sihtric drew his blade and slowly stepped into the training ground, every muscle radiating the confidence of years of experience and countless battles.

Without hesitation, Sihtric made the first move, lunging forward with a powerful strike, expecting to overwhelm you and end the bout swiftly. To his astonishment, he was met with empty air as you sidestepped evading him gracefully. His initial smugness was replaced with a furrowed brow.

The dance continued, with Sihtric trying to leverage his strength, but you remained elusive. Like a leaf caught in a whirl of wind, you ducked, swirled, and danced around him, evading each of his strikes. Each of your movements, precise and fluid, confounded him, taunting him with feints, luring him in with the promise of an opening in your defences, only to change direction at the last moment, leaving him off-balance. Each time, the crowd's gasps and murmurs grew louder, Sihtric's frustration evidently increased.

The defining moment came when you feigned a low strike, prompting Sihtric to lower his defence. In a split second, you changed your trajectory, using his momentum against him. He stumbled, caught off guard, and with a deft move, you closed in, swirling around, striking his blade hand and burying your shoulder in his stomach. Sihtric could only gasp watching his blade flying out of his grasp, himself landing roughly on the dusty ground.

A wave of cheers washed over the grounds. Standing tall, you extended a hand to a visibly dazed Sihtric, sitting in the dirt.

Finan's smirk was hard to miss as he chuckled, "Told you so. You just wouldn't listen."

The next morning as you arrived at the training grounds, Sihtric was already there, engrossed in sharpening his sword. Every stroke showed his focus, so much so that he didn't seem to notice you approaching. You hesitated for a moment before turning away to begin your own regimen, keenly aware of Sihtric's discreet glances in your direction as you practiced.

Finan approached, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Waiting for someone, Sihtric?"

Sihtric shot him an annoyed look. "Just making sure my blade is sharp."

Osferth, joining them, chuckled. "He's been 'making sure' that for the past hour, you can use that blade for shaving!"

Sihtric sighed, "Alright, alright. I was thinking of...you know...asking her to spar. But..."

"But you're too chicken to ask?" Finan teased.

"It's not that. It's just... What if she feels I'm challenging her? Or worse, trying to show off?" Sihtric shifted uneasily.

"Why don't you just be direct?" Osferth suggested. "Ask her if she'd like to train with you. Simple."

Before Sihtric could reply, you approached, having noticed the trio's discussion. "Something interesting you're talking about?"

Finan, never one to miss an opportunity, smirked, "Sihtric here was just about to ask you something."

Sihtric shot Finan a glare but took a deep breath, "I was...uh...wondering if you'd be interested in...you know, sparring with me? No challenges, just...training."

You looked at him, a playful smile forming on your lips, "Took you long enough to ask. Let's see what you've got."

And so it began. Soon your sparring sessions became a regularity, a steady part of each day.

Despite Sihtric's prowess and experience, he found himself continuously challenged by your fluidity and swiftness. Every parry, every counter-attack showcased your undeniable skill and he dug deep into his experience and strength to avoid repeating his previous mistake.

And while the warrior in him thrived in the challenge, the man in him was captivated by you in a way he had not expected.

The effortless elegance of your movements, the way your hair swayed synchronously with your strikes, glinting in the sunlight, were hypnotic. Your lean body, a perfect fusion of strength and grace, resembled an alerted wild creature, ever vigilant and prepared.

The way your cheeks turned rosy from exertion, the never fading spark in your eyes, full of determination, yet always bright with mischief and joy, your contagious laughter – all this and a thousand other small subtle things captured Sihtric's heart and endeared you to him.

Your wit, as sharp as your blade, was an allure in its own right. The fire with which you defended your views and opinions only deepened Sihtric's respect for you. And the way you never missed a chance to playfully tease those around you placed you at the same level as Finan. In between rounds, even out of breath and exhausted, you would always find a strength to throw a joke, your laughter infectious, lighting up the surroundings. Sihtric often found himself anticipating these moments more than the actual sparring.

Sihtric clearly recalled that one day, after a particularly intense round with both of you breathless and drenched in sweat, his eyes had scanned your form, an unfamiliar sensation washing over him. Unbeknownst to him, he had found himself admiring you – undeniably a skilled and formidable warrior, but also a woman, such a beautiful woman, radiating passion, intelligence, and resilience. In that instant, a warmth spread through his chest, an undeniable pull that made his heartbeat quicken.

—--------------------------------------------------

Lost in his memories, Sihtric failed to see a stray branch on the ground. It snapped sharply under Sihtric’s foot, its sound carrying in the stillness of dawn. Startled, your eyes met his visibly sheepish expression.

There was a lingering pause, stretching a bit too long. With a mischievous smirk, you finally broke it. "Do the riverside reeds make for good hiding spots, Sihtric? Or are you merely lost?"

Taken aback, Sihtric stumbled over his words. "I... I didn't mean to intrude. I was just—"

"Sightseeing?" you teased, arching an eyebrow playfully.

He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. "Honestly, I didn't expect anyone to be here. My apologies."

You chuckled, clearly enjoying the rare opportunity to see the usually composed Dane flustered. "Next time, maybe announce your presence with a song or dance. At least then I can join in the fun."

He laughed, the tension easing a bit. "Noted. I'll work on my riverside entrance."

You flashed him a grin. "See to it. And perhaps, I'll give you a show worth watching."

The mortified look, appearing on Sihtric’s face, made you laugh.

“Since you’re here, maybe you can help?” you asked, showing him a small blade in your hand.

Sihtric’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Help you? How?”

"These," you tug at your locks, "get in the way and that can be an unnecessary distraction during a battle. It might look less disastrous if you’d help cut them."

Sihtric looked surprised, “It’s just hair. Why not simply braid them?"

Your eyes darted away, "Never learned that skill. Gisela, Hild, and others always do it for me. But they won't be accompanying us. I'm left with few options."

Sihtric chuckled. "So, the master of swords is defeated by braiding?"

You shrugged with your shoulders. "We all have our weaknesses."

Sihtric's gaze lingered on you, his heart's tempo subtly quickening. "Well, lucky for you, I've been braiding my hair for years. If you'd trust me, I could assist."

Amusement glinted in your eyes. "Sihtric, the fierce warrior, a hairdresser? That's an unexpected turn."

Feigning affront, he winked, "Hey, a man can have many talents!"

Nodding, you handed him a comb. "Then, let's give it a whirl."

"Come," Sihtric gestured, spreading his cloak by a willow's expansive root.

How attentive, you mused, not with surprise, but merely acknowledging what you already knew. That’s how he was. Beneath the rough and reserved exterior of the stern warrior you had long discovered the tender inner core of an exceptionally warmhearted man – always loyal, ever attentive and a deeply caring friend.

With an amused smile on your face you settled down onto the cloak, with Sihtric positioning himself behind you, his legs framing you supportively. The touch of his fingers, as he began combing and later skillfully weaving your hair, sent a frisson down your spine. And you let yourself drift away in memories as you listened to him humming a soft tune.

—-------------------------------------------------

You loved the sparring sessions with Sihtric, which became routine soon after your first encounter. Every time you squared off against him on the training ground, a thrill surged through you. It wasn't just the sparring, but the challenge he presented. He was a formidable opponent, hardened in countless battles. Every stance, every move, every counter spoke of his experience.

Your initial easy victory against him was a sweet memory, but the more you trained with him, the more you realised that it had been quite a stroke of luck. Sihtric had underestimated you, causing him to be less vigilant and overly hasty. Now, with every session, it became clearer that keeping up with him demanded all of your skill and focus.

Sihtric's unique combat rhythm was unpredictable. His strength was palpable, not just in his powerful strikes but also in his unwavering stance, making it challenging to catch him off guard as you had during your initial spar. Every session was a blend of instruction, challenge, and exhilaration, all of which you embraced wholeheartedly.

One particular day remained etched in your memory. After an intense bout, with both of you drenched in sweat and panting for breath, you leaned against a tree to recover. Your gaze naturally drifted to Sihtric. He was bent over, hands on his knees, his chest heaving, catching his breath, every muscle defined beneath his sweat-soaked tunic. While you had always respected his martial prowess, that day, an unfamiliar warmth spread within you, accompanied by a flutter you couldn't identify.

You watched as he straightened up, brushing off the dirt and sweat. A stray strand of hair fell onto his forehead. An unexpected urge overcame you—to reach out and tuck it away, brushing your fingers against his skin. You were taken aback by this newfound sentiment. What was that?

Your heart raced, not only from the exhaustion of the spar, but from this unexpected surge of emotion. Memories flooded your mind — flashbacks of your shared laughs, the lingering, hidden glances, the melodic timbre of his soft voice as he shared stories by the fireplace.

You shook your head, trying to dispel these thoughts. It was just the exhaustion playing tricks on your mind. And yet, you couldn’t resist stealing another glance, captivated by the way his lips curved into a smile as his eyes locked onto yours, sending a shiver down your spine.

As you both wrapped up, the typical teasing that was so common between you both seemed charged with a new energy. Was it just you, or did he feel it too? Something deep within you had shifted giving way to emotions unknown and unintelligible for you, something you weren't quite ready to admit, even to yourself.

—--------------------------------------------------

Now, as you sat nestled between his legs, Sihtric almost regretted his impulsive offer to braid your hair. Had he overstepped? Yet, the allure of the moment was undeniable and too compelling to resist.

His fingers gently caressed your hair, the silky locks gliding seamlessly through his grasp. Every touch sent an electrifying jolt through his entire body, the strange feeling both excited and unnerved him. This closeness was a strong contrast to your sparring sessions—no blades, no shields, just the two of you, closer than a hand's reach.

His heart pounded loudly in his chest. Every sweep of his fingers, every touch of your hair sent a thrill coursing through him, stirring emotions and making his fingers tremble slightly.

The world around slowly faded. Every twist, every intertwining strand tightened an unexplainable knot in his stomach, every occasional brush of his hands against your neck made him yearn for more. The warmth of your back against his torso, the subtle scent that lingered, the softness of your hair—it was overwhelming, intoxicating.

He leaned in slightly, his breath uneven, lips mere inches from your head. Every second stretched, deepening his yearning.

The braid was almost complete, but Sihtric took his time, savouring the moment, cherishing each touch. He was in love, deeply so, and while he was not yet ready to speak it out loudly, the intimacy of this moment seemingly spoke volumes.

“You are ready, fair warrior,” he finally whispered, his voice bringing you back from your reverie.

Your fingers gently touched your head, where your ever dishevelled locks had been transformed into three neat strands, overflowing into one braid trailing down your back. Springing up, you dashed to the water to glimpse your reflection.

"Guess I won't need this blade for a haircut after all," you mused clearly impressed, sliding the knife back into its sheath.

Sihtric's eyes sparkled with a mix of pride and mischief. "I did say I had a knack for it."

You chuckled, "Thanks, Sihtric. I’m in your debt."

He shrugged, his casual demeanour back in place. "Just promise to show me a new sword move or something. That would square us, right?"

You grinned, "I've got a better idea. Teach me to braid, and someday, I might offer the same service to you."

"My lady, braiding isn't as straightforward as swordplay. It's an art form. If you wish to have the privilege of braiding my locks, you've got a lot to learn,” Sihtric smirked in response.

And so, the remaining week before departure a new dimension was added to your training sessions – Sihtric became your braiding instructor. You profoundly wondered how he had managed to persuade almost all the small girls in the whole village to sit patiently as his fingers, interlaced with yours, guided you through the intricate process, showing you the weaves and twists, demonstrating how to put pearls and beans in the hair and fasten the braids.

You were amazed by the delicacy and deftness of his rugged hands, contrasting sharply with your own efforts that often left stray hairs or twisted sections that unravelled the entire braid. And one day, the mystery surrounding the patience of the small villagers was unravelled when you saw Sihtric remove one of his silver rings, handing it to one of the girls. A smile played on your lips at the sight as you realised he was actually paying in silver to have you taught to braid.

—--------------------------------------------------------------

You sat beside a crackling fireplace, the camp sprawling amidst the trees with tents everywhere around you. An unmistakable tension permeated the air, as it always did on the eve of battle. Some warriors sought solace in ale, others meticulously sharpened their already perfect blades, while some gathered around the fires, sharing stories and seeking comfort in the company, driven sleepless by anticipation. There was no one else at your fire, sitting alone on a fallen log, you hugged your knees, immersed in thoughts, when a warm hand settled on your shoulder.

“Ever fought in a battle before?” Sihtric asked, taking a seat beside you, the firelight dancing in his eyes. “Don’t take me wrong. I know how good you are with the blade. But fighting one to one is different.”

“I know, you’re right and yes, I have. And I will not pretend that it doesn’t scare me. Only a fool would pretend to not fear the chaos of the battle,” you looked up to meet Sihtric’s gaze. “But don’t mistake my fear for weakness. Don’t think I will waver just because I’m a woman. I proved you wrong once and I’ll do it again, if needed.”

“You’ve nothing to prove to me. I just… I…” Sihtric struggled to find the right words. He wanted to ask you to stay by his side, so that he could protect you, shield you from harm, but he couldn’t find the right words to express that without insulting you. He understood that especially now after you had voiced your suspicion that he still didn’t trust you enough, there was no way of saying what he had intended to. You were a warrior, and he had learned his lesson not to doubt it, he respected that. And yet you were a woman. A woman he loved and cherished so deeply that the mere thought of harm befalling you was agonising and driving him to the brink of madness.

You looked expectantly at Sihtric, waiting for him to finish his saying.

"Could you... braid my hair for the battle tomorrow?" he finally blurted out, his cheeks warm, silently grateful that the fire's shadows hid his flush.

The surprise in your voice was evident. "You'd entrust me with that?"

Sihtric didn’t answer, his eyes full of strange anxiety didn’t leave yours and you swallowed back the joke that was already almost rolling over your lips.

His eyes, swirling with a mix of vulnerability and intensity, never left yours. He hesitated, before answering, "Among the Danes, there's an old belief. Having your hair braided by someone you truly trust… brings good luck in battle."

The meaning of the words slowly sank into your mind, making a genuine smile appear on your lips. "Trust me, this will be my finest braid," you replied, gesturing for him to sit down in front of you.

Sihtric slid down from the branch and settled between your legs. You reached out to touch his hair – dark, thick and curly and so pleasantly soft against your fingers, the sensation of the touch so unexpectedly stirring.

You began separating the strands, your fingers working with utmost care and concentration, as you started to pull and twist, enjoying the electrifying feeling of Sihtric’s hair brushing against your fingers. Each strand you took, twisted and wove into the pattern of your choice reminded you of the time you both spent together the last few days. His strong arms wielding the blade like a toy, his face covered with sweat, his concentrated gaze and furrowed eyebrows, as he looked for a weak point in your defences, his genuine laugh at your jokes, his fingers intertwined with yours, teaching you to braid.

Sihtric shuffled between your legs and you felt a warm flush rising to your cheeks as he leaned back nestling more comfortably between your thighs.

Your eyes, usually so sharp and observant, softened as they concentrated on the task and you unconsciously bit your lower lip. First small braids on the sides, then some more a bit higher and then the middle one – twist after twist the braids started to take shape, as you meticulously weaved each strand, ensuring not a single one was overlooked or twisted wrongly.

You tied off the ends and marvelled at your own work, not wanting to let go, to allow this magical moment to end, your fingers remained lingering, tangled in the free curls on the back, and you brushed them gently against the nape of his neck. The touch was fleeting, almost too tender to be noticed, as your fingers slid over his skin for the briefest moment in an unconscious attempt to communicate feelings you were not yet ready to express in words.

Drawing back, pride filled your gaze, your hands resting on Sihtric’s shoulders. "There," you whispered. “You’re ready for the battle.”

You felt Sihtric shudder under your touch, his arms lifting to clasp your hands, pulling them gently to his face and placing a soft kiss on your right palm.

"Thank you," his voice was husky with emotion, though he didn't turn around to face you. You felt like there was something in the air, something electrical, something unspeakable and indescribable, and you wondered whether it was the looming battle or the accumulation of the suppressed feelings and emotions or maybe both.

Sihtric slowly touched his braids, a hint of smile playing on his lips. He had finally found the right words.

“Promise me something,” he murmured, finally turning to face you. “Promise to stay by my side tomorrow. I need to know my left is guarded by such a skilled and formidable warrior as you.”

You looked in his mismatched eyes, feeling a warmth enveloping you.

“I promise,” you whispered, lowering yourself down next to Sihtric and almost melting at the feeling of Sihtric’s strong arm enveloping your shoulders, pulling you closer and wrapping his warm fur coat around you both. You leaned against him, the warmth of the fur, combined with Sihtric's steady heartbeat, making the world outside seem to blur. There were no words needed as he held you in his unwavering embrace, the silence between you both and the profound comfort of simply being speaking volumes on their own.

As the night wore on and the camp around you finally slowly drifted into sleep, you both remained wrapped in the coat, holding onto each other and the softness of the moment. His arm, strong and secure, held you close, while your head rested on his shoulder. It was a solace, a reprieve from the world outside, and a reminder of what is worth fighting for, the embrace becoming a silent promise—to stand by each other, come what may.

—----------------------------------------

The battle was over. Sihtric rose to his feet pulling his axe from the dead body, his eyes searching his surroundings for another enemy to release his anger over, but none remained. The ground, once firm and unyielding, was now a morass of muddied, trampled grass, blood, and the footprints of countless boots and hooves.

Abandoned weapons littered the field, gleaming dully. Swords, spears, and shields lay strewn around, some half-buried in the earth, others still clutched by lifeless hands. Bodies of the fallen were strewn across the landscape, and vultures were already circling overhead. Small groups of men searched the field for survivors.

Sihtric looked around and a pang of dread constricted his heart. He still remembered you beside him when the enemy's shield wall shattered. He remembered the fierce look in your eyes, the way you leaped at some random man swinging his axe at you. You had looked like a goddess of war, stabbing, chopping, parring, dancing around your enemies with an ease only you were capable of. But then Sihtric had lost you out of his sight. He had turned to face a big, red faced Dane swinging his impressive war axe at him and when he turned back, his hands smeared with blood pouring out of the Dane’s neck, you were gone.

The air was thick with a mixture of smoke, blood and filth, as Sihtric roamed the battlefield, shouting your name, his face pale and eyes darkening in despair with each moment there was no answer, his breathing growing laboured and hope waning. In the very moment when despair threatened to consume him entirely, he finally spotted you, sitting on a fallen tree at the rand of the battlefield. You sat there with your face, hands and your whole armour smeared with blood, breathing hard, your sword driven into the ground and serving as a support for your arms.

Rushing to your side, Sihtric knelt before you, his hands framing your face. "Are you hurt? Is that your blood?" he asked, his eyes wide, anxiety plainly written on his face.

“I’m fine. Just a few scratches. Nothing that won’t heal by the next new moon.”

“Don't ever do that again.” Sihtric murmured, his voice just a hush, pressing his forehead against yours. “For a short moment I thought I’d lost you. Believe me, I’ve never been so scared in my whole life.”

Your fingers slowly touched Sihtric’s face, tracing the lines and scars on his face, your eyes locked. Sihtric’s thumbs gently caressed your cheeks as he slowly, deliberately began to lean in. The space between you both diminished, charged with an electrifying tension, as you felt the warmth of his breath mingling with yours.

His fingers brushed your neck, and as you closed your eyes, you felt the tender, hesitant pressure of his lips meeting yours.

“I love you, my fierce warrior,” Sihtric whispered against your lips, “I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“And I love you too,” you managed to breathe out, your voice barely audible, melting against the gentle touch of his lips against yours.

It wasn't a fiery, passionate kiss. It was a gentle, lingering one, full of unspoken words and emotions, a culmination of all the shared glances, soft touches and unspoken feelings that had built up between you. It was a deliberate melding, like two flames coming together to form one and every nuance of the kiss spoke volumes—the delicate way Sihtric’s fingers cradled your jaw, the soft brush of his thumb across your cheek, your hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him closer.

“Hey, your braids are still intact. I did well, didn’t I” you laughed as you both pulled back, gasping for air.

#sihtric #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric fanfic #sihtric fic #the last kingdom #tlk #arnas fedaravicius #tlk fanfic #the last kingdom fanfic #arnas fedaravičius

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astralnymphh · 3 days

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before the flora.

knight!ellie x princess!reader teaser. beginning is essentially just lore. bonus excerpt with ellie and princess interaction below the sketch. wrote the intro in january. no warnings tbh. illustration by @trackinglessons :P READ THIS . PALESTINE MASTERPOST

When the universe was born, there was only fire; a slowly waning blaze. And so hence when death begins to unfurl its low, groaning bloom— there will only be ice.

Yet the heavens and earth are nay alike, as death— and life, are interwoven by the timeless nuptial that is humans, and Mother Nature. Cordial and tepid heartbeats meet with her frigid and frightening marrow this season. Flakes are falling, a howl swells in the wind, and hearths stay an undying tongue of flame in the province of Istenad. Isle of riches and hedonism gone rampant amongst those who proved meritful of a conversation spat over gilded chalices. Or those who wiped a famished tongue stroke over the sole of His Majesty— The King's tan leather boots in entreat, declaring the hide a tenfold more gullet–watering than their stale, daily spare of bread. Where high life reins, low life is there to scrub their steeds.

The wintry pearlescent tundra fringing around uncharted woodlands hums your name— it carries by gale, an airy reed of vowels pulled through your ears.

Tut, tut, tut, the pecking of bark.

Everything seems to resound much heavier over the windows thick limestone sill. Woodwinds, the sough of pine boughs— a chorus wafted. Woodpeckers, they beat rigid timber with their sonnets of calling. The echoed tut starts to sound awfully kindred to a beckoning call of your name. And at daybreak, when the tangerine sun dips its head under the coast, you feel a magnetic lull to traverse your truest passions and slip away into the night, arctic chilled steel in hand. The quantity of hay sticking beneath your shoes collected by skittering across the night–doused thoroughfare was well enough to concern your maids on duty to dress you, brows fuddled at the streaming of straw near your door come morning.

Loop of your knuckles, bend of your wrist, a hand flexed on the hilt of a meticulously poached sword. A swing 'round your waist, a cold hale grip the air could taste, fighting off many mythic brutes of moonlight, however only conceived where dreams are airtight. The mind, it plays. The play it perceives, a viewing spread like tawny butter. Ghouls and ghastlies encircle a quaint pond, chanting away in cryptic grumbles and beastly bumbles, enraged with their slobber frothing at the fangs you tore from their sockets— deeper than artless, juxtaposed to the blinding ruby reds and dyed paper sunflowers of the theater. Your mind’s play felt real.

Unfortunate to your heart, dreams will stay dreams.

Nary a princess was meant to tune into melee, especially at your courting age. Nevertheless, your psyche has spurned from what a maiden is expected of and is completely in a haven of your own structure, your signature sanctuary.

In the farmsteads, a forthcoming soldier harvests not just crop— but dexterity. Derived and nurtured in the faraway prairie village of Dunwich, where the fertile seasons prove flaxen of corn and the trickling sweat of every farmhand turns to gold. Any newborn granted to this quaint village is fated to form calloused hands with labor written in their palm lines as time unfolds. In their— well, her— adolescent years, the yearning for practices of gallantry in knighthood swiveled her sights to the colossal stone castle way.. way far away. Sprouting beyond the earth line, far as the eye can see.

So, she learned, she trained, she slept, partaking in a ranged cycle taught by her ruthlessly departed father: Sir Joel. Reprisal became her nemesis; never able to rend the barrier of hesitation and cleanse her shut eyes of revolting imagery. The horseman of death was not omitting the trauma of this hazel-haired soldier. A weight so burdensome, her speckled skin remembers the tales of every scar clawed into it. Like how the lips of a bard cling to an everlasting ballad.

Every knight knew well to exile any lingering ties to the past. It's been years since he passed, she understands that. Though, the heart never lies, and certainly never covets forgetting.

Ambitions stemming from legions of knights in waiting have fallen short, submerging within the moat of the castle and sinking deep into the catacombs with no elegy sung. An allegory for dreams long since vanished. A domain so valued longs for those biding life with rigid bones, such as she. Tempered by the hardships, endured like metal meeting the blacksmith's chisel.

A vividness to her movements, flowing like a river. For it is water that soothes the most cosmic fires, carves veins into the earth's soil, descends from the heavens above and proves iron soluble. A knight so pinpoint and poised like a painter, yet so daring and baneful like a warrior of evenfall. An artisan of her craft, this knight-to-be is. Born to thrive in matters regarding protection of their kingdom and its nobility. By the sheer tenacity of her skill, she will excel. From the self–instructed lessons in a verdant pasture, basked by undying light in her hometown— to the ordained priming within the royal court.

They were forged to be dutiful.

You are a daughter of the illustrious King, Sagard, and swan–grace queen, Sagard— maiden name Adela, and sister of your highly revered and cherished kin, Prudence. Subsequent to her fabled rise, was your fall. A pratfall you plainly turned a serene ear from, for you foresaw its coming. Clandestine adventures and lollygagging in the marketplace earned you right in the clasp of consequences. You knew that, knowing it kept you on the balls of your toes before you'd be caught suiting into an act more repugnant— be it, no.. befogging yourself in a peasant boys' dire–in–muck rags, merely to play "boy" games as a young one?

Sacrilege!

Prudence was there, at every occasion, scolding with her youthful finger at the palace fore, sucking her fingertip wet of spit and dragging a stroke over your soot–strewn cheek, just before scuttling the halls in search of father, cawing, “Father, Father! My sisters become a boy again!” until it rang his fucking ears to a pulse. Hmph, father even countered his own remark of squawk, pouring through the walls, “Hah! The second son I wish I reared! Tell me, what peasants skin does she clad: butcher's boy, or of the farmer?”

Rebuking the role of royalty isn't your entire bastion of vengeance. You purely long for a world of your own color. Your self-brewn arcadia of art. In a concise phrase, desire for sovereignty. And your family chastised you curtly for every scant display of free will, short of the Queen, she is fair.

Daughter of the King, Princess of the thicket. You retain your fortunes. Modestly.

“Why don't you resemble your sister more?”

A ruby crested box designed by the best of goldsmiths is lodged at the margin of your beds footboard, safekeeping of your esteemed regalia. You possess a bedazzled amassing of circlets, veils, brocade and velvet tunics of long lengths within this box. But do any of them revel in the blessing of being worn on regal skin? Never. You opted for garbs of less gilding and jewels, so that you might taint it with whatever adventures mold under the ribbing of your foot. That shit offended your skin with its indelicacy of forgetting a human will don its fabric golds and woven jewels.

Even— court gatherings. You don the likeness of simplicity and temperate elegance. This morning's virginal aurora, a broach of light swoll from the windows arch, to the footing of your bed, made the wake of your eyes begin upon a lighting behind sheer skin. Your box of regalia shone in that incandescence momentarily. It danced, fleeter than you, irkingly so. You had to squint whilst flipping the clasps and hauling the heavy lid slanted against your bed, or else you may be heaven–blinded. “Every inch of Princess,” you intoned in quietude at the sight of glamored fabrics, “—whom I shant mirror.” and reached for the homelier fabrics, scratch of cobalt-blue linen delight brushing under your prints, you grasped your reserve tight.

“I was not made aware that there is a village wedding to be, dear sister— from what river does this dress of rags hail from?”

“It is not a brides dress, nor rags, leave me Prud—”

Prudence had blocked the shut of your chamber door with her hand flattened, pursuing, “You glum your gems. Rotting in that chest, tasting no light, no glory.”

You kept your lips thickly sown shut, casting dimly eyes to the ground.

“Shall I send for the steward so he may sell—”

“No need.”

“Hmm, most stubborn, are we? Then I—”

“I am least stubborn,” you wedged your fingers beneath her palm, prying the door loose, “—it is you, who strays your own counsel, unmoving as a mountain.” ending with the trudging shut of your door, ceasing in silence.

[++ bonus excerpt from act 2, scene 1]

“Uh–huh..” she draws out. Legato; a sarcastic reply, and wipes her tongue through the press of her lips together, “This far out? You must rebel quite often to have made a friend, I bet?” she tilts her head, a bit playful.

“You bet well— a lot, I assume?”

Cannily, she winks, “Indeed I do.” and aligns her face onward. Gesturing to her horse's rump a second— third? Eh, whatever time— she jerks her brow with a head cock back, “Hop on, I'll take you there.”

Both brows fall, and you flinch bemused, “Wh– uh,” as you hem and haw for words, grating a stutter, “But not a moment ago you spoke of the roads recent perils—”

“Surely it's not far?” she spoke presumptuously, “I mean, you've come this far, My Lady. Nobody would travel the woods past sunset, besides you it seems.” now a matter–of–fact vocal barricade that shoves itself into your ears and winds the cogs to think cleverly.

You shan't know my transgressions, sweet Knight. You may talk.

Trust is sparse as a puddle marched in.

“‘Tis but a mile out. Bravo on your convincing, Williams.” you wry and scoff.

“Can't fumble that name, huh?”

“I would not want to dishonor your knighthood.”

“You honor me with your coincidental presence, Princess.”

“Honor in your mind.”

"Hmph," her breathy chuckle, a sweetness you luckily caught with ears even numbed by the snowsquall. Do not blush. Do not smile. Fuck. Guess you'll be visiting Malina after all, the gale of a displeased sigh icing your lips over as you approach that dangling stirrup.

#౨ৎ. born of flora and fauna #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie tlou #lesbian #sapphic #ellie x reader #knight!ellie #knight!ellie x princess!reader #tlou ellie #ellie williams au #ellie williams concept

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cryptidclaw · 1 year

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Cryptidclaw's WC Prefixes List!

Yall said you were interested in seeing it so here it is!

This is a collection of mostly Flora, Fauna, Rocks, and other such things that can be found in Britain since that’s where the books take place!

I also have other Prefixes that have to do with pelt colors and patterns as well!

Here’s a link to the doc if you dont want to expand a 650 word list on your Tumblr feed lol! the doc is also in my drive linked in my pined post!

below is the actual list! If there are any names you think I should add plz tell me!

EDIT: I will update the doc with new names as I come up with them or have them suggested to me, but I wont update the list on this post! Plz visit my doc for a more updated version!

Animals

Mammal

Badger

Bat

Bear

Beaver

Bison

Boar

Buck

Calf

Cow

Deer

Elk

Fawn

Ferret

Fox

Goat

Hare

Horse

Lamb

Lynx

Marten

Mole

Mouse

Otter

Rabbit

Rat

Seal

Sheep

Shrew

Squirrel

Stoat

Vole

Weasel

Wolf

Wolverine

Amphibians

Frog

Newt

Toad

Reptiles

Scale

Adder

Lizard

Snake

Turtle

Shell

Birds

Bird

Down

Feather

Albatross

Bittern

Buzzard

Chaffinch

Chick

Chicken

Coot

Cormorant

Corvid

Crane

Crow

Curlew

Dove

Duck

Dunlin

Eagle

Egret

Falcon

Finch

Gannet

Goose

Grouse

Gull

Hawk

Hen

Heron

Ibis

Jackdaw

Jay

Kestrel

Kite

Lark

Magpie

Mallard

Merlin

Mockingbird

Murrelet

Nightingale

Osprey

Owl

Partridge

Pelican

Peregrine

Petrel

Pheasant

Pigeon

Plover

Puffin

Quail

Raven

Robin

Rook

Rooster

Ruff

Shrike

Snipe

Sparrow

Starling

Stork

Swallow

Swan

Swift

Tern

Thrasher

Thrush

Vulture

Warbler

Whimbrel

Wren

Freshwater Fish

Fish

Bass

Bream

Carp

Dace

Eel

Lamprey

Loach

Minnow

Perch

Pike

Rudd

Salmon

Sterlet

Tench

Trout

Roach

Saltwater fish and other Sea creatures (would cats be able to find some of these? Probably not, I don't care tho)

Alge

Barnacle

Bass (Saltwater version)

Bream (Saltwater version)

Brill

Clam

Cod

Crab

Dolphin

Eel (Saltwater version)

Flounder

Garfish

Halibut

Kelp

Lobster

Mackerel

Mollusk

Orca

Prawn

Ray

Seal

Shark

Shrimp

Starfish

Sting

Urchin

Whale

Insects and Arachnids

Honey

Insect

Web

Ant

Bee

Beetle

Bug

Butterfly

Caterpillar

Cricket

Damselfly

Dragonfly

Fly

Grasshopper

Grub

Hornet

Maggot

Moth

Spider

Wasp

Worm

Trees

Acorn

Bark

Branch

Forest

Hollow

Log

Root

Stump

Timber

Tree

Twig

Wood

Alder

Apple

Ash

Aspen

Beech

Birch

Cedar

Cherry

Chestnut

Cypress

Elm

Fir

Hawthorn

Hazel

Hemlock

Linden

Maple

Oak

Pear

Poplar

Rowan

Redwood

Spruce

Willow

Yew

Flowers, Shrubs and Other plants

Berry

Blossom

Briar

Field

Flower

Leaf

Meadow

Needle

Petal

Shrub

Stem

Thicket

Thorn

Vine

Anemone

Apricot

Barley

Bellflower

Bluebell

Borage

Bracken

Bramble

Briar

Burnet

Buttercup

Campion

Chamomile

Chanterelle

Chicory

Clover

Cornflower

Daffodil

Daisy

Dandelion

Dogwood

Fallow

Fennel

Fern

Flax

Foxglove

Furze

Garlic

Ginger

Gorse

Grass

Hay

Heather

Holly

Honeysuckle

Hop

Hyacinth

Iris

Ivy

Juniper

Lavender

Lichen

Lilac

Lilly

Mallow

Marigold

Mint

Mistletoe

Moss

Mushroom

Nettle

Nightshade

Oat

Olive

Orchid

Parsley

Periwinkle

Pine

Poppy

Primrose

Privet

Raspberry

Reed

Reedmace

Rose

Rush

Rye

Saffron

Sage

Sedge

Seed

Snowdrop

Spindle

Strawberry

Tangerine

Tansy

Teasel

Thistle

Thrift

Thyme

Violet

Weed

Wheat

Woodruff

Yarrow

Rocks and earth

Agate

Amber

Amethyst

Arch

Basalt

Bounder

Cave

Chalk

Coal

Copper

Dirt

Dust

Flint

Garnet

Gold

Granite

Hill

Iron

Jagged

Jet

Mountain

Mud

Peak

Pebble

Pinnacle

Pit

Quartz

Ridge

Rock

Rubble

Ruby

Rust(y)

Sand

Sapphire

Sediment

Silt

Silver

Slate

Soil

Spire

Stone

Trench

Zircon

Water Formations

Bay

Cove

Creek

Delta

Lake

Marsh

Ocean

Pool

Puddle

River

Sea

Water

Weather and such

Autumn

Avalanche

Balmy

Blaze

Blizzard

Breeze

Burnt

Chill

Cinder

Cloud

Cold

Dew

Drift

Drizzle

Drought

Dry

Ember

Fall

Fire

Flame

Flood

Fog

Freeze

Frost

Frozen

Gale

Gust

Hail

Ice

Icicle

Lightening

Mist

Muggy

Rain

Scorch

Singe

Sky

Sleet

Sloe

Smoke

Snow

Snowflake

Soot

Sorrel

Spark

Spring

Steam

Storm

Summer

Sun

Thunder

Water

Wave

Wet

Wind

Winter

Celestial??

Comet

Dawn

Dusk

Evening

Midnight

Moon

Morning

Night

Noon

Twilight

Cat Features, Traits, and Misc.

Azure

Beige

Big

Black

Blonde

Blotch(ed)

Blue

Bounce

Bright

Brindle

Broken

Bronze

Brown

Bumble

Burgundy

Call

Carmine

Claw

Cobalt

Cream

Crimson

Cry

Curl(y)

Dapple

Dark

Dot(ted)

Dusky

Ebony

Echo

Fallen

Fleck(ed)

Fluffy

Freckle

Ginger

Golden

Gray

Green

Heavy

Kink

Knot(ted)

Light

Little

Lost

Loud

Marbled

Mew

Milk

Mottle

Mumble

Ochre

Odd

One

Orange

Pale

Patch(ed)

Pounce

Prickle

Ragged

Red

Ripple

Rough

Rugged

Russet

Scarlet

Shade

Shaggy

Sharp

Shimmer

Shining

Small

Smudge

Soft

Song

Speckle

Spike

Splash

Spot(ted)

Streak

Stripe(d)

Strong

Stump(y)

Sweet

Tall

Talon

Tangle

Tatter(ed)

Tawny

Tiny

Tough

Tumble

Twist

Violet

Whisker

Whisper

White

Wild

Wooly

Yellow

#cryptidclaw's warriors au #?#Im tempted to use these in the au #some characters deserve some more fun names hehe #rise of change #warrior cats #warrior cats design #warriors #warriors names #warriors naming #warriors prefixes

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mousetoe-wc · 7 months

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I Got bored one time awhile ago and made a list of every prefix plus some into organised sections so I thought I might as well share.

All the ones that aren’t cannon to warriors, yet at lest are bold

Describing names

Colours: red, russet, copper, golden, amber, yellow, green, blue, violet, pink, white, gray, black, ebony, dark, pale, silver, brown, tawny, fallow

Pattern, Texture + Size: spot/ted, dapple, speckle, freckle, brindle, patch, mottle, ragged, tangle, kink, bristle, fuzzy, curl/y, wooly, soft, sleek, little, tiny, small, slight, short, tall, long, big, heavy, crooked, broken, half, stumpy, shred, torn, jagged

Actions + Character: flip, pounce, bounce, jump, hop, crouch, down, low, drift, flail, strike, running, fidget, mumble, whistle, snap, sneeze, shiver/ing, shining, flutter, fallen, lost, rush, fleet, quick, shy, sweet, brave, loud, quiet, wild, hope, wish,

Other: claw, whisker, dead, odd, one, spike, fringe, echo, song, hallow, haven

Elements

Time + Weather: day, night, dusk, dawn, morning, sky, sun/ny, moon, storm, lightning, thunder, cloud/y, mist/y, fog, snow, blizzard, ice, frost, dew, drizzle, rain, clear, wind, breeze, gale, shadow, shade, bright, light,

Earth/Water/Fire names: stone, rock, boulder, slate, flint, pebble, gravel, sand/y, dust, mud/dy, meadow, hill, rubble, river, ripple, whorl, float, rapid, shimmer, lake, swamp, marsh, wave, wet, bubbling, splash, puddle, pool, creek, fire, flame, flicker, flash, blaze, scorch, ember, spark, ash, soot, cinder, smoke

Plants

Trees: alder, aspen, birch, beech, cedar, cypress, pine, elm, willow, oak, larch, maple, bay, rowan, timber, bark, log, wood, twig, acorn, cone, seed, spire

Berry/Nut/Fruit/Herb: juniper, elder, sloe, holly, yew, mistle, bramble, hickory, hazel, chestnut, nut, apple, cherry, cranberry, olive, pear, plum, peach, chive, mint, fennel, sage, basil, mallow, parsley

Flowers: aster, poppy, primrose, rose, bluebell, marigold, tansy, pansy, briar, cherry, daisy, dandelion, daffodil, tulip, violet, lily, myrtle, thrift, yarrow, heather, lavender, blossom, bloom, flower, petal

Other: leaf, frond, fern, bracken, sorrel, hay, rye, oat, wheat, cotton, reed, pod, cinnamon, milkweed, grass, clover, weed, stem, sedge, gorse, furze, flax, nettle, thistle, ivy, moss, lichen, bush, vine, root, thorn, prickle, nectar

Animals

Mammals: mouse, rat, mole, vole, shrew, squirrel, hedgehog, bat, rabbit, hare, ferret, weasel, stoat, mink, marten, otter, hog, wolf, hound, fox, vixen, badger, deer, doe, stag, fawn, sheep, cow, pig, lion, tiger, leopard, lynx, milk

Birds: robin, jay, cardinal, thrush, sparrow, swallow, shrike, starling, rook, swift, dove, pigeon, crow, raven, duck, goose, heron, wren, finch, swan, stork, quail, gull, lark, owl, eagle, hawk, kestrel, buzzard, kite, hoot, feather, bird, egg, talon

Fish, Reptiles + Amphibians: pike, perch, pollack, trout, tench, cod, carp, bass, bream, eel, minnow, fin, snake, adder, lizard, turtle, frog, toad, newt

Bug type Names: bug, lady or ladybug, moth, spider, ant, snail, slug, beetle, bee, wasp, dragon or dragonfly, bumble, worm, maggot, cricket, fly, midge, web, honey

Skyclan + Warriorclan: Bella, Billy, Big, Harry, Harvey, Snook, Ebony, Monkey

#warrior cats #wc

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twokinds-es · 4 months

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Merry Lynxmas

#1 voto de color de los bocetos de Diciembre, boceto sugerido por Kriegerstein. Lt Reed forma una muy bonita pareja con el príncipe... Wtf en la carpa de la derecha hay una pareja dándose muchas caricias XD.

Post original “Patreon” “Deviantart”

Boceto “link”

(Salu2 del Spark)

#lt reed #misc characters #fullcolor #Twokinds #2kinds

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nevenkebla · 1 month

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Algo que hacer

Fantastic Four #601 Jonathan Hickman (Guionista), Steve Epting (Dibujante)

— Spider-Man: ¿Johnny? — Johnny Storm: Sí… en serio, ¿qué llevas puesto? — Spider-Man: Reed y los chicos han hecho uniformes nuevos. — Johnny Storm: Pues son un horror. — Spider-Man: Estás muerto. Te moriste. — Johnny Storm: Más de una vez, y sigo siendo más guapo que tú. — Spider-Man: Dios mío… — Johnny Storm: Soy yo de verdad, Pete. — Spider-Man: ¡ESTÁS VIVO! — Johnny Storm: Vale, vale, bájame. Bonitos fuegos artificiales. — Spider-Man: Sí, el fin del mundo, invasión Kree. Sabes de qué va. — Johnny Storm: Sí, sí que lo sé. Sujétame a Annihilus. Hay algo que tengo que hacer.

— Iron Man: ¿Es ese…? — Susan Storm: Dios mío… — Ben Grimm: ¿Qué…? Oh. Menuda cosa…

— Centinela Kree: Iniciad eliminación, completadla y pasad al blanco suplementario. ¡Alerta! Revisión de amenaza matriz. Blanco primario aumenta resistencia. Calculando tiempo de tarea. Calculando. Comunicad plan temporal corregido. — Ben Grimm: “Comunicad plan temporal, corregido”. ¿Es así como un robot pregunta qué hora es? Dejadme que os ayude con eso. ¡ES LA HORA DE LAS TORTAS! ¿Estás bien? — Alicia Masters: Sí. — Ben Grimm: Vale. Tengo que trabajar, Alicia. — Alicia Masters: He oído a todos. Lo del cielo… ¿De verdad era…? — Ben Grimm: Me dispongo a averiguarlo.

#comics #comic books #comic book panels #marvel comics #superheroes #fantastic four #fantastic 4 #4 fantásticos #johnny storm #human torch #spider man #ben grimm #the thing #jonathan hickman #steve epting

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preciouslandmermaid · 1 year

Text

cold secrets, warm light (simon “ghost” riley x f!reader) - part 2/3

Note: This got longer than expected, so now it’s gonna be 3 chapters instead of 2. LMAO. This takes place in the same universe as cold hands, warm heart and is seen as a continuation of that fic.

Rating/Warning: Canon typical violence, blood/injury/and minor gore. Thigh grinding and making out. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) haha ! nice! (also those gloves make me feral)

** All the names of politicians are fake/do not relate to any living or deceased person. I also created 2 entire locations because I don’t want to use the real world lmao. (Al-Qunbar & Noreth)

No use of Y/N. Reader is described as muscular/toned with scars from active combat/torture, and no other descriptors are used.

(Read on Ao3) ||| 🔪🔪🔪

~~~~~~~~~

In the days that follow, you settle into a routine with Ghost and Soap at the safe house. Samira looked after Soap. She attended to his medical needs and physical therapy. He’s a decent patient until his frustration boils over and then he’s huffing like an old goat and crossing his arms. Agathi’s boys worked the farmland. They shovel manure, or prune plants, or tend to the harvest. The security of the safe house is organized into scheduled shifts. The perimeter of the property, the barn, and the house itself are your main concerns.

However, Ghost took over the sniper position at the barn. Instead of following the six-hour schedule, he stayed up there for twelve to fourteen hours. When he returns to the house, he talks to Soap, rests, then returns to the barn without speaking to anyone else. You don’t take it personally. Ghost is a diligent operative. He never wavers. He never falters. You are safer, Lukas is safer, with him here.

Your nails are encrusted with dark, rich earth from digging up carrots with James and Lukas. Lukas’ favorite task is to unearth food you’ve grown. He smiles brightly, holding aloft potatoes or carrots or stalks of green onions, and you cannot help but smile in return. He is a sweet and tender boy. And its awe inspiring someone so sweet and gentle could come from you. A trained killer. A girl made of ice. A woman without identity, without roots.

You skim your dirty hands across the stalks of tall reeds while walking down the dirt, pebble-strewn road. A lone bird calls out to signal that night is upon them and the predators will awaken soon. Your smile tugs errantly at the corners of your mouth.

The sky is bruising purple and dusky blue. The clouds on the horizon promised rain. You can smell in the air – fresh, biting, and green. You unscrew the cap of your flask and swallow a warm, robust mouthful of black tea. The dilapidated barn leans against a backdrop of dying sunlight like a wounded animal. Sven emerges from the grass with a sheepish smile. His blue eyes dart briefly to the barn loft.

He says, “time for shift change already?”

“I’m early.” You ruffle his stringy, blonde hair. “Go on. Your brother is waiting.”

Sven flushes bright red. “Thanks.”

You watch him jog down the road with a flashlight in his hand. You check under the tire well of the abandoned truck and find the hidden pistol. You check the safety and clip. You tuck it away again. Price, the thoughtful bastard, managed to arrange a covert supply drop. Ghost collected it earlier in the week. It contained ammunition, infrared lights, night vision scopes, and supplies for Soap and Ghost.

Price can get into serious trouble by his superiors if anyone finds out about it.

You aren’t sure why he keeps sticking his neck out to help you, but you’re grateful. You think of Lukas. You wonder if he suspects anything. Samira often says fondly, ‘it’s as if God took the blueprints of you and made him.’ You don’t see it. And whenever you tell Samira this, she laughs, and her scarred skin stretches with joy.

The wooden ladder creaks when you ascend it. Ghost is perched with his sniper and completely unmoving. Your nostrils itch as the scent of old, dusty hay fills them. You sniffle and wipe your nose with your knuckles.

“All clear,” drawls Ghost.

“Yes, I know. I was just outside.”

Ghost scoffs. You settle crossed legged next to him. You glance at his stark black-and-white profile. His sandy eyelashes flutter against his black-painted skin. Your body hums with acute unspoken desire. You trace the shapes of his tattoos on his forearm. You would give anything to touch him and feel the hot expanse of his skin across your palms. You’ve lain awake in your cold bed, tossing, and turning and coiled with taut desire, and wondered if he’d shun you if you came to find him. But you always manage to talk yourself out of it.

There’s no benefit in complicating matters further. Noreth is at war. You and Lukas can’t leave. Soap and Ghost can’t leave. The best course of action is to lay low and keep safe until extraction. You swallow another gulp of tea and watch the cloudy, star dotted horizon and swaying tall grass.

“What’re you drinking?”

“Tea.” You wipe your mouth with your fingers.

“Nothing stronger?” He grouses.

“We’ve got vodka back at the house.”

He gives a small shake of his head. “Foul.”

You extend your arm toward him, the flask pinched between your fingers, and Ghost glances sidelong at you. Seconds pass. You’re about to pull it away. But then Ghost reaches and accepts the flask without touching you. You force yourself to look away rather than look at him. You imagine the shape of his lips closing over the mouth of the flask. You imagine his muscled throat shifting when he swallows. You imagine him wiping away a teardrop of tea from the corner of his mouth with his gloved thumb. You wait until you hear the sound of the cap screwing back on before looking at him again.

His mask is pushed up to right below his nose. His jaw is shadowed with dark blonde stubble. You recall how it scratched against your bare skin and left faint, irritated red lines. You avert your eyes.

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” He mumbles.

You shrug, “things have changed.”

“Have they?” He says and the words are deep and rumbling. You take the flask from him and drink to delay answering his question. Things have changed. You are no longer an intelligence agent. You deserted. You have a child. You have good people relying on you. You have a reason beyond survival to carve a place for yourself in this new world.

“A bit.” You respond vaguely. The silence stretches, weighted and poignant, and you crack your knuckles one finger at a time. It never used to be awkward with Simon. Or has nostalgia completely skewed your perception? Or is it your guilt? Your fingertips touch when you pass the flask again. An electric jolt fires across your skin. You meet his heavily lidded, shadowed eyes. The unsaid words and confessions linger on your tongue. The distance between you is miniscule. It’s mere inches, but it feels like an endless chasm. You risk the danger and shift closer.

His skeletal gloved fingers graze along the feverish skin on your inner wrist.

“We shouldn’t complicate things.” You blurt. Your secret presses on every of your chamber of your heart. His presses his lips together and cocks his head to the side.

“We’re well past that, Lux.”

“There are things you don’t know about me, Ghost.”

The rough texture of his gloves glides up to your shoulder, lightly touching your neck, and you feel his index finger slide under the golden chain of your necklace. Your pulse throbs in your carotid artery. The moth charm twirls, pretty and light, between Simon’s large fingers.

“I’m not saying this to be coy or mysterious, Riley.” When you use his name, his eyes dart from your throat to your face, and you feel every ounce of his attention on you. You feel like a butterfly pinned to a display frame.

A hot and prickly sensation burns in your throat, “I have secrets you’d hate me for keeping.” You whisper.

You swallow with some difficulty. His tongue sweeps across his lower, chapped lip before he pulls his lower lip between his teeth briefly. Your heart stutters. You force your eyes from his mouth.

“I doubt that very much.” His voice is rumbling, and quiet, and its reverberation echoes into your spine. Your skin burns. Your breath, ragged and warm ,drags itself through your lungs and out your parted lips. You tilt forward and press your forehead against the cool, hard plastic of his mask. Your eyes shutter closed.

Simon says your name longingly. His breath tickles your chin. Your heart pangs to tell him the truth about Lukas, about Al-Qunbar, about Price and his help. Yet, pragmatism pinches your tongue in a vice grip. Lukas’ safety and well-being is everything to you. The less people who know the truth the better.

His lips ghost across yours. His stubble is prickly and rough. Without further prompting or encouragement, you kiss him and slide your tongue between his lips. You tremble and your breath huffs desperately through your nostrils. You hold his jaw. You need him close. You want to wrap your bodies together and remain glued. An overwhelming sensation of bliss floods through your veins. Simon’s tongue moves languidly and tastes of robust black tea. He squeezes the back of your neck, holding you tight and refusing to let you pull away. A heady sense of warmth explodes inside your chest and launches your heart into a tailspin.

You throw your leg over his big thigh, straddling it, and Simon makes a low, pleased sound at the back of his throat. His other hand clutches your hip—tight, possessive, his thumb digs into your flesh. He pitches your hips forward, then pushes back, and you quickly get the idea. You clothed cunt grinds against his muscled thigh. You encircle your arms around his neck, pressed chest-to-chest, and feel Simon’s every rough inhale and exhale. Your original plan to remain distant and uncomplicated has crashed and burned into ash and charcoal.

His tongue flicks obscenely and wetly into your open, panting mouth. “Can you come like this?” He asks, “or do you want my hand, hm? My fingers?” The thought of Simon’s hand shoved between your legs is enough to make your body tighten with anticipation and desire. You wonder if he’ll keep the gloves on.

“We have to keep watch.” You whimper.

He chuckles like deep, dark wine. “I can multitask.”

The temptation threatens to drag you underwater. You are swept into the current of Simon’s influence and your own intoxicating desire. His warm, rough burr. His large and deliberate hands. His strong, muscled arms and legs. His chiseled abdominal muscles quiver as you push your hands up his shirt and touch his hot, damp skin.

“God,” He drags the word out and tilts his head back to look up at you, “you’re gonna kill me, Lux.”

You smile. You are lost in the deep, coffee color of his eyes shadowed by ashen blonde lashes and smudged with black camo paint. They are the same shade as Lukas’. An arrow of guilt spears your heart. What are you doing? Noreth is at war. You’re on watch. You’ll never forgive yourself if Lukas got hurt because you let your lust overwhelm your logic. You clear your throat.

You say, “we – we should wait until we’re inside.” You climb off his leg and adjust your rumpled shirt. “Okay?”

Ghost licks his lips and watches you with dark, hungry eyes. “I’m a sniper. A few hours is nothing.”

“Great.” You reply, your voice tight, “I’m going to walk the perimeter.”

~~~~~~~~

The walk back to the heaven is tense. It is filled with piping hot anticipation and coated in white foam that tastes like a hopeful dream, a beggar’s wish. Two dimly lit windows peer like eyes onto the dead lawn and black skeletal shape of Kaja’s motorbike.

Simon’s palm glides along your lower back and blistering heat floods your stomach. Your body clenches and your clit throbs with pressure and desire. You’ve thought of nearly a dozen different positions and fantasies during your walk. This is unlike your time with the task force. You don’t need to avoid detection. Neither Samira nor Agathi will judge you. Although, for the sake of those sleeping, you resolve to do your best to stay quiet.

The front door opens to the sound of Lukas crying. Agathi is holding him, bouncing softly, and her tired face looks relieved when you cross the threshold.

“Nightmare.” She explains. Lukas reaches his tiny hands toward you.

“I’ve got him.” You bundle Lukas into your arms and kiss his flushed, sticky-with-tears cheek. You glance apologetically toward Ghost. Perhaps this is for the best. Maybe you shouldn’t sleep together. Maybe this was some unseen force ensuring that you and Ghost remain uncomplicated. Maybe it’s saving you from breaking your heart again. Once Soap is clear, Ghost will leave. You know it. You believe it.

You sway Lukas in your arms and mutter softly.

~~~~~~~~~

Ghost stands frozen in the doorway. The boy has his eyes. And the realization is like a leech. He cannot shake it. He cannot bear to be in the same room as you and the crying child. The child with his eyes. He stalks down the hall and ducks into the small room arranged for him and Soap.

Soap is asleep. He’s glad for it. He doesn’t want questions. His breath his ragged and edged like shrapnel in his lungs. His skin is flushed and stretched uncomfortably over his bones. You held Lukas sweetly. You kissed his face. You showed him more affection than James or Sven. How did he not see it earlier?

Lukas looks nothing like Sven or James or Agathi. He looks like you. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t. You must’ve had a child with someone during your time in Al-Qunbar. He scowls. The maths didn’t add up there either. He guessed Lukas’ age is close to 3. Lukas would be younger if you gave birth to him in Al-Qunbar. Then when? With whom?

He swallows thickly and recalls your short time together. Lukas can’t be his. Can’t be. Can’t. He’s not fit to be a father. He’s a dangerous man. A killer. And a damn good one at that. His palms are sweaty and clammy. He peels off his skeletal gloves and tucks them into the back pocket of his pants. He chews his tongue with his back molars.

If Lukas is yours then he doubts the agency knows. A child is a target. A vulnerability. He starts cleaning one of his guns to keep his hands busy. The gun oil is slick and warm against his fingers. He clears his dry, uncomfortable throat. He thinks about your weighted words in the barn. You mentioned you had a secret. You said it was something he’d hate you for.

His slick, oiled hands move purposefully over the metal. His gaze flicks upward to Soap. He watches his chest breathing evenly beneath the dark sheets. They will stay here for a few weeks and then they’d leave. He can endure it.

You were never meant to have a reunion. And he is a fool for wishing for anything other than what he got. Regardless of who Lukas belongs to—he’s no one’s father. He’s not destined for a civilian life. He’s comfortable in the danger. He’s comfortable wearing the mask. He likes it too much to walk away.

He can’t go and live on a farm and change nappies. That’s not who he is. And he won’t bring danger to your doorstep. But he doesn’t want to say goodbye again. He doesn’t want you to disappear. Ghost sighs heavily and sets the pistol on his bouncing knee.

He needs to talk to you.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It took an hour to get Lukas back to sleep. You settle into one of the wooden chairs on your small, porch balcony outside your bedroom and watch the darkness and swaying grass. You roll the night vision scope between your palms and feel the roughed, grip texture. You peer through it ever-so-often toward the barn. You consider joining Kaja, but you don’t want to leave Lukas in case he has another nightmare.

A floorboard creaks. The smell of gun oil permeates the air. Ghost sits in the chair beside you.

He asks, “what’s the story between the kids here? They got family on the outside?”

You bite your lip. “Not really.”

“What about their dad?”

“Agathi’s husband is dead.” You explain.

Ghost rests his elbows on his knees, “and the small one?”

You chose your next words carefully. “He’s alive. I tell him his dad is a soldier working hard to keep everyone safe.”

Ghost stares at you, unblinking, and his gaze is like holding a lit cigar to your skin.

“That the truth?” says Ghost gruffly.

The crickets chirp, a chorus, a symphony, lonely and desperate for connection.

“The truth would hurt everyone, ” You shrug.

“It would hurt him.” You look meaningfully over your shoulder toward Lukas’ bedroom door adjacent to your room.

Simon’s tone is commanding and harsh as nails, “tell me the truth.”

You squeeze your eyes closed. A swirl of black and purple spots spin on the canvas of your eyelids. You had hoped to avoid this conversation. But Simon has connected the dots and you played your hand too heavily when you told him you carried a guilty secret.

“Do you remember Al-Qunbar?” You ask.

He hums, “Mhm.”

It was the last place you and Ghost met. A city of dust and smoke, a marble fountain that gurgled with blood.

“I was Qadir’s mistress,” you begin, referring to the politician that governed Al-Qunbar, “that was my cover. It was not uncommon in their culture for people of power, regardless of gender, to have multiple partners or spouses. And they considered multiple children as a sign of virility and good fortune.”

You inhale slowly. This is the part of the story that is like traversing a minefield. You’ve imagined telling him, but never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d get the chance.

“Qadir had many children. But his regime was unstable. I begged him to send the children away. I groveled.” Your voice quivers and tears sting your eyes like wasps. You bite down on your lower lip and compose yourself.

“Qadir refused. He said we’d all go together in the end. He gave poison disguised as medicine to his wives, his mistresses, his personal guards…his children…his children…”

You knew those children. You cared for them. You scrub a hand over your face. Finding the courage to topple dictators or stare at the barrel of a loaded gun is easy. But looking at Simon is impossible. You focus on a spot in the dark, starry horizon. The high grass that surrounds your property sways like whispering dancers.

“I knew I couldn't’ save them all, so I chose Lukas.”

“Samira helped. She was Qadir’s midwife and served in his military as a doctor. The day Qadir was assassinated, I got Lukas out, but I couldn’t leave Al-Qunbar. Not yet. The extremists, the loyalists, the American agents. None of them could know he was alive. I need to make it seem like everyone in Qadir’s family perished in the uprising.”

The wooden chair creaks like an old ship underneath Simon’s weight.

“You were the one who torched his compound.” He says. It’s not a question. You wonder if he read the file. You wonder if anyone told him your undercover name and saw you were listed under ‘killed in action’. You wonder if Price mentioned his part in helping you escape from under the thumb of imperialism.

You nod. You burned Qadir’s house, and all the bodies within, and fled. You earned yourself a deep wound from a sniper at the town square before you reunited with Ghost’s team.

Simon scoffs, “I think you’re a bit of an arsonist, Lux.”

You recognize his attempt at humor, but you can’t summon the energy to smile. You’ve told him the background, you’ve set the stage, but you haven’t brought the main actors into the play. You haven’t revealed the truth.

Your voice scratches as it travels up your throat. “I told Qadir the baby was his, but the timing was off.”

“He’s yours, Simon.” You finish weakly and your heart capsizes inside your chest, “he’s ours.”

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t look away. The mask hides everything from you and his eyes are guarded and cold. He will hate you. You are sure of it. He will hate you for lying, for not contacting him, for keeping Lukas.

You lift the night vision scope to your face to hide your hurt expression.

~~~~~~~~~

“Shit!” You jolt upright, blood pounds in your ears, and your eyes swivel across the black landscape. You peer through the night vision binoculars to assure you saw Kaja’s signal accurately. You’re not mistaken. She flashed her infrared twice. Trouble.

“What is it?” Ghost is beside you, alert.

“Kaja is in trouble.”

He huffs. You think there’s a question poised in his eyes, but then a burst of gunfire illuminates the darkness like white fireworks. You drop like a stone into fight-or-flight. You run into the adjoining bedroom and scoop Lukas into your arms, waking him, and he cries – startled – in your arms. There is nothing inside your head beyond the checklist of tasks you must complete for your sons’ safety.

“It’s alright, lovey. It’s just a storm.” You assure him.

You barrel down the hallway. James and Sven step into the hallway with Agathi clutching their shoulders. You swerve pass them, taking the steps hurriedly, your heartbeat thundering in your ears and drowning out the sounds of Lukas’ tears and the encroaching gunfire. You don’t bother to look behind you or check for Ghost. He doesn’t know the household protocol, but he can handle himself in a fight. You aren’t worried about him.

“If you get out of that wheelchair, I’ll kill you myself.” Samira snaps. She shoves a loaded shotgun into Soap’s hand. “Protect the little ones.”

You duck into the basement. The door is heavily fortified, and along with supplies, the back left corner equipped with an escape tunnel.

“Alright, there, there, sweet boy.” You kiss the side of Lukas’ head, “it’s going to be alright.” You bounce in him in your arms, kissing and repeating platitudes, promising him that everything will be OK. You never expected motherhood to come equipped with so many desperate lies.

Agathi opens her arms for him.

Lukas’ little fingers cling to your neck, unintentionally scratching, and he is grabbing your shirt, red-faced and screaming. You pry him off. Your heart breaks. Your mouth is dry. You swallow your tears as Agathi cradles your son to her chest and rocks him. Her steely blue eyes meet yours—fierce, red-rimmed, and determined. You share a meaningful, wordless look. You’ve always known the role you would play if shit hit the fan. Agathi and Samira are the protectors.

And you?

You’re the fucking executioner.

“Be safe.” James says, squeezing your hand once before you hurry upstairs. The second your foot hits the landing, Samira shuts the door and extinguishes her lamp. In near-darkness, Sven tosses a body armor vest toward you. You clip it hastily, grabbing equipment from the case, and affixing it to your body. You grab a few extra throwing knives and tuck them into the holster on your chest.

Ghosts’ footfalls are quick and deceptively quiet as he comes downstairs, “counted five approaching.”

“There’s likely more with Kaja.” Samira says knowingly, pinning her dark hair away from her face and scowling.

“What’s the plan?” asks Soap.

“Defend the house.” You nod toward the basement door, “this door especially. If there’s any risk of breaching, hit the switch here, and they know to get the fuck out.”

You walk confidently backwards and toward the door, “if I don’t come back—assume I’m dead and don’t come looking for me.”

You spin on your heel and slip through the partially ajar door. You knew the conflict would eventually reach your doorstep, but you wish it hadn’t happened when you had so much to lose inside. Their flashlights cut through reeds of tall grass and flicker like ghosts across the lawn. They’re shouting at each other in Noreth’s native language. You’re not fluent, but you get an idea of the instruction, and you weave through the grass. Your fingers curl around the knife’s grip.

A low hum of insects buzz around your sweaty face and tall grass whispers as you move through it. You sharpen your focus. The moon illuminates the silent battlefield in a ghastly, blue-white subdued glow. You taste salt on your lips. You cling onto the memory of Simon’s warm, deep eyes. If you died here, or fucked it up, he’d never let you hear the end of it.

You catch your breath in your lungs. You attack, swift and deadly, your knife plunging wetly into your target’s chest. You vanish into the grass, crouched low, and using the light breeze to your advantage. You move with the wind, in bleached moonlight, and you strike down his partner before the others notice. The assailants approaching the front yard were easy. They spread themselves thin, they were too jumpy, and they held their rifles awkwardly. You surmised based on their gait and posture that they were newer—likely fresh recruits.

The three approaching the back entrance wouldn’t be so simple. They move cohesively with experience. You weigh your odds. You can kill one, but the other two will engage with you. If this had been any other mission, you would divert their attention slowly, pick them off using traps and tricks. However, the sands of time are pouring through your fingers, and you’ve got people inside to protect. A man you want to talk to, a child you want to raise, a friend you need to see again.

You test the weight of the throwing knife in your palm. It’s risky. But what choice do you have? These fuckers likely have reinforcements at the barn. Kaja is in danger. You grit your jaw and find the best position among swishing grass and damp, spongy earth.

You wait for the flashlight to illuminate his partner. Your knife spins in the dark, twirling, unseen and the target exclaims a short – “Ah!” as the blade sticks into the meat of his shoulder.

It’s off-mark. You leap to the second target, spry and agile. You are a weapon of death, a herald of doom. Your knife cuts across his throat in brutal efficiency and soaks your wrist in hot blood. You pivot, tucking your arm, and use the target’s body as a meat shield as they fire several rounds at you. You count the bullets.

He spasms and jerks against you as bullets whiz by and you wait for the reload. They might be experienced, but they’re spooked enough to fire all their ammunition simultaneously. You drop the body the second you hear the resounding click of an empty chamber. You draw your silenced pistol. Your last resort. Your breath catches in your lungs.

There’s only one man in front of you. You fire your shot. It goes through your target’s throat. He gurgles wetly, painfully, before falling backward. You scan the area for the threat, the missing attacker, but suddenly something hits you in the back of the skull.

Sharp and biting pain blossoms and stars dance in front of your vision. Their forearm wraps around your throat, pinning you to their chest, the muzzle of their sidearm pistol against your temple. Your time off the field has made you sloppy. Overconfident. Careless. You mentally berate yourself and plant your feet to try and throw him off before he can pull the trigger.

A bullet rings through the darkness. A torrent of hot blood and chunks of bone splatters wetly onto your cheek and side of your head. Your target collapses into you and you roughly shoulder him away. Half of his skull is missing and his brains and blood gushes over the marshland.

You look toward the house. You can’t see Ghost’s sniper scope in the darkness, but you feel it. You feel him watching. You holster your gun. You walk away from the house and toward the barn. To Kaja. To finish your hunt.

~~~~~~~~~

Ghost watches the flashlights disappear from your window. He has every intention of providing cover fire with his sniper—if you need it. He is watching you through the scope, remembering Spain, and his cold heart pangs weakly. He isn’t sure how he feels about you. He wants to be angry for keeping secrets. But, that’s bollocks, isn’t it? You both come from special ops backgrounds, from troves of classified files, and hell—his identity has been a secret for years. You don’t even know what he looks like. The kid’s got my eyes. There’s some small part of him that carries on throughout the world and you’re the only two people who know about it.

He doesn’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to being angry. You made the right call. You kept the kid—Lukas—safe. His kid. Ghost’s throat threatens to tighten. He shoves it down. The feeling smolders inside his chest. It’s not like it matters. You’ll go your separate ways once Soap is cleared to evac. Assuming everyone lives after this evening, he thinks wryly. He adjusts his hold on his sniper and breathes deeply.

A burst of gunfire crackles in the distance. He swings his scope to the swaying reeds. One of the targets have veered off into the darkness while the other fills his dead friend with bullets. He catches brief flashes of your body, hunched, before you duck from beneath cover and stand—your form exquisite and lethal. A muted flash appears before the muzzle of your gun.

The second target appears from the darkness and grapples you. Ghost holds his breath. His finger hovers over the trigger. The pistol touches your skin. He imagines it firing. He imagines your body going inert and dropping like a sack of rocks into the strangers’ arms. His jaw clenches. He has seconds to react. The targets’ face hovers next to yours.

He fires. An explosion of blood and brain and bone spews around your head. You knock the body contemptuously away and somehow manage to meet his eyes through the rifle scope. Ghost’s heart thumps painful and hard into his ribs. You’re half-covered in someone else’s blood like the final girl in a slasher horror film. He thinks of kissing you. You turn and vanish into the darkness. He releases the breath he was holding.

Samira swings into the room, hand clutching the doorframe, “Ghost.” She says, “I need you to go to the barn.” Her tone brokers no argument. Despite that, however, he still says…

“Why?”

“Kaja’s not back yet which means she didn’t escape.”

“How’d you know?”

Samira huffs, “we have a system of triggers and alarms and codes. She hasn’t signaled the all-clear.”

“Could mean she’s dead.”

Her gaze darkens, “they do not often kill women in Noreth. They make them suffer first. Go. An order, Ghost. It’s an order.”

He dislikes taking orders from her, but Samira has your trust, and that means something. And although you claim you don’t have a hierarchy at the haven, it’s clear they look to you for leadership, and Samira is your second.

His head is still fucked from everything. But he’s thankful for the clarity of battle—of conflict and fighting—it gives him something to focus on. He follows the tracks you made through the grass. The air smells like car exhaust fumes, and gun smoke, and dark, damp earth.

“Leave her alone!” Your voice jabs into his gut like a well-placed and serrated knife. Ghost moves silently through the brush. His blood is hot and pounding in his neck.

The glaring headlamps of their truck illuminates your bruised face. Your teeth glisten wet and red. There is more blood covering you, but he can’t tell what’s yours and what isn’t. Someone has you pinned to the ground, your hands behind your back, and your legs are pinned by a second body. The man in front of you drops to a crouch and speaks lowly. Ghost doesn’t hear what he says. Your gaze hardens and your lips press into a tight line.

Your eyes move past the man speaking to you. Your gaze strikes his through the blades of swaying grass and encroaching, tall weeds. Your eyes are red-rimmed and filled with vengeful tears like the oil-painting of Lucifer.

“Bring them both in!” The man pinches your jaw roughly, his tone scathing, “You will sing like a songbird for me, little viper.”

Your jaw shifts. You spit a bloody glob of salvia into his face.

“Bitch!” He yells. He back-hands you, and you head lolls sideways into the dirt, wheezing, a fresh cut blooms on your lower lip. Rage burns through him, hot and corrosive, across every limb, every nerve, until he’s certain the dry vegetation around him is going to burst into flames. He’s never wanted to tear somebody limb-from-limb before. Not ‘till this moment.

He’s shaking. He realizes it almost distantly, like he’s not inside his body, like he’s viewing everything from a sniper’s scope but he’s without his calculated, cold ease. A voice inside his head informs him of the amount of bullets he has, the target locations, and the cover the barn could provide.

Kaja’s lilting voice appears from somewhere near the back of the truck—her words are thick with phlegm and barely distinguishable—but Ghost can tell she’s begging. He can hear it in her tone, how she sobs around the broken syllables. It’s not you who will break. It’s Kaja. Young, inexperienced Kaja. Another voice inside his head tells him he needs to silence her before she blows his cover or more importantly, your cover and the safety of Lukas. There’s only one target with Kaja and his back is to the shadows. Big mistake.

He shifts into the dark, lush undergrowth. He circles around the barn. You’re still goading the leader. He suspects you’re doing it to keep the focus away from Kaja, to take her pain, because you know she’s fragile and you’re trained to take it. He hears your brusque, insulting tone and it is nearly always followed with the sharp, biting sound of his skin striking yours. His heartrate skyrockets.

He’s shaking again. He bites his lower lip, tasting copper and salt, and it forcefully yanks him back to reality. He creeps through the darkness. He strikes. His large palm covers the target’s mouth, dragging him backward into the shadows, he snaps his neck quickly and efficiently. He drags the body into the grass and approaches the truck bed where Kaja is tied with a black canvas bag over her head.

“Please!” She’s trembling. “We’re just a little farm! We’re not rebels!”

Ghost yanks the bag over her head. She meets his gaze with glossy, frightened eyes. He motions one finger to his mouth. He doesn’t have time to cut the ropes that dig into her bony, bird-like wrists. He grabs her and pulls her from the truck. The weight is shifted and the springs beneath the back tires groan and squeak.

His blood curdles with the abrupt sound of your scream when his boots hit the grass. Every instinct in him wants to—to drop Kaja and fire every bullet into the men that circle you like hungry lions. He resists. If you’re screaming, then it’s part of the act. You wouldn’t give these slimy assholes the satisfaction. He believes that.

He drags Kaja into the darkness.

“We need to go back!” She whispers harshly when they’re several minutes away from the barn, “untie me. We need to save her.”

Ghost says nothing.

<< Part Three (Final) >>

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

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