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the-girl-in-the-box · 3 years

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Not Today XXXII

A/N: It's wedding time, folks! Which, of course, means new drama, and toward the end here, new trauma. Why do I do this to these characters? Because the plot demands it, I'm afraid. But hey, hopefully it makes for good reading. So, with that said, I hope you enjoy! Skål!

Summary: When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.

Masterlist

The palace was buzzing with activity as the wedding of Prince Oleg and Princess Katia drew ever nearer, and Asta found herself glad that the Prince and Princess were both kept rather distracted and busy with the arrangements for the occasion. This meant that she and Ivar had almost entirely unrestricted time to theirselves, and also an abundance of free time with Igor. It was easy enough now to get time with him, so they could grow closer and closer to the boy, until they’d grown so close to him, that he almost felt like…

Well, Asta had grown to think of him like a son. Their son, truly, though she’d never referred to him as such with Ivar. It wasn’t that she couldn’t see such a bond forming between the two, it was more that she knew that could force a discussion between them about what exactly they were, what they meant to each other. They didn’t realize they were very much on the same page, the care for each other being quite strong in them both, that it was even the same kind of care. Of course, they both remembered the kiss they’d shared in Novgorod- or, the kisses, really- but they hadn’t kissed again since, for fear the other hadn’t really meant it.

But the wedding was coming, and on the day of, both Asta and Ivar seemed to have the startling revelation that they’d be expected to attend, as the guests of Prince Oleg. As his honored guests, what with almost the whole of Rus believing she was Ivar’s Queen. This had sent them both into a frenzy of getting ready as quickly as they could, even down to braiding each other’s hair so that they didn’t waste time on fumbling with each braid themselves.

Ivar found himself stunned into silence at the sight of Asta in such formal apparel as they were expected to wear for the wedding. He’d not seen her dressed like a Princess since before the Siege of Kattegat. Since then, she’d put her everything into being a Shieldmaiden, and appearing as such, so it was a shock to him to see her dressed this way, now. But, there was a difference now.

Now, she wore a dress more like those the women of Kattegat had worn- the Queens of Kattegat had worn. Her hair was done in many braids, giving her a look which still very much called back to a Shieldmaiden, and her eyes were lined black, only adding to the look. Truthfully, she looked exactly like he knew a Shieldmaiden Queen would look, sitting in the Great Hall to hold court. This brought about Ivar’s second startling revelation of the day.

He gave a small hum, which brought Asta’s attention to him with raised brows, expectant. She even prompted him with the question of, “Yes?” which she spoke with quite the same tone as if she were asking if she could help him. This only caused Ivar to chuckle softly.

“I was only thinking how you would look sitting on the throne of Kattegat,” he confessed, and her eyes widened a bit.

“The throne?” she questioned. “I’d have to be Queen to sit there, wouldn’t I?”

“Mm, you would,” he confirmed, nodding slowly. “But I think you would make an excellent Queen. Don’t you?”

Asta chuckled softly, shaking her head a bit and leaning against the wall. “If you think a Saxon woman would make an excellent Viking Queen, then perhaps,” she said. Her answer had been far less committal than he’d have liked, but he didn’t figure he could do very much about that. Not without pushing a bit for a more exact answer, of course, which he was not at all above doing.

“I would think so,” he said. “You are not just any Saxon woman, though, are you?” She gave him a pointed, yet amused look. “You were born to be Princess of Wessex. A role you have… given up, yes, but one you were still prepared for most of your life. You would have been taught the sorts of things which make a successful Queen, wouldn’t you?”

With a deep breath, she did nod. “I would have been, yes,” she conceded. “But you are the son of Ragnar Lothbrok. You’re the heir to his throne, not me. If we return to Kattegat, triumphant, then you will be King, and I would be your Prophet again.”

“Maybe so,” he said, “but either way, I would like to have a Queen, and you are the most fit I can think of.”

Asta chuckled softly. “That would require I be your wife, you realize?” she pointed out, and the way he smirked made her cheeks flush pink. She blinked a few times. Oh. Well, then that was his whole point, wasn’t it? He was telling her a very specific intention he had when they eventually returned to Kattegat, and the thought made her blush.

He wanted to marry her there.

That, or they were preparing to attend a wedding, and he was messing with her. Messing with her, or… trying to see how she felt on the idea? The lack of certainty as to his meaning by presenting this idea to her made her shift a bit in place, and eventually just answer, “We can’t be late. Oleg will serve our heads at the feast after,” before ducking out the door.

She could hear him laughing to himself at her response, and her cheeks burned a little hotter in her embarrassment. Probably, it was only the impending wedding putting thoughts in his head of what he might like when all of this was done. Maybe it was true, he wanted to marry again, and she was the only woman he felt close enough to that he felt comfortable considering it with her. But surely that would change, if they only met some Viking woman who was better suited for him to be Queen in Kattegat.

What Asta didn’t realize, was that Ivar didn’t think there was a woman better suited to the position, to the throne, than she was. She knew and loved the people there, had been close to the Queen who had served during her time there, and now was close to him. Not only that, but she could fight better than any shieldmaiden he had met on the battlefield, and had been trained in the art of ruling a Kingdom before she left Wessex. Add her loyalty to him, and the connection he was fairly certain they shared? No, he couldn’t think of a better woman to be his Queen than Asta the Prophet.

They ended up walking to the wedding together, of course, but neither of them could quite find it in themselves to speak. It was incredibly clear how strange this would feel, to watch a woman who so closely resembled Freydis to them, marry a man who wasn’t Ivar- and a man neither of them trusted so far as they could throw him, at that. No, it wasn’t a pleasant day at all.

But still, they were escorted to a place of honor when they arrived, close enough they would be able to see the wedding take place with no difficulty, and they shared an uncomfortable glance as the wedding got underway. It was torture to them both.

Nothing felt any better as they watched the rings be placed on Katia’s and Oleg’s fingers, as their hands were bound together by a pure white cloth, and as crowns were placed on both their heads. Each of them holding a candle in their free hands, they began to follow the priests around the altar in a circle, and as they came around, both Prince and Princess looked to those they believed to be rightful King and Queen, though Oleg looked away before Katia did. Asta wrapped her arm around Ivar’s, hoping to bring him some slight comfort as he watched the woman who looked so much like his late wife, who he still couldn’t be sure wasn’t her, marry another man.

After all, how much would Asta’s own heart ache if she had to watch Ivar do the same?

They ended up being brought to feast privately with the newly wedded couple once the wedding was over, and as they sat, Ivar decided to speak up, to make sure he and his wife were in a good place with them both still, as strange as things had seemed during the ceremony.

“May we be the first to congratulate the bride and the groom on this momentous day?” he said, and lifted his drink in a toast. “Skål.”

Asta, Oleg, and Katia all returned the toast, taking a sip of their drinks in turn, though Oleg spoke up to say, “And may Odin, Frey, and Freyja also bless our marriage.”

“Yes,” Katia agreed. “To Odin, the Allfather. And to Frey, and Freyja.”

Oleg dismissed the servants who were waiting on the group, and they all bowed, before slipping quietly from the room. Asta watched them go, always perceptive to everything happening in the room. The poisoning of Prince Askold had warned her to be ever on guard with Oleg.

“To Odin,” he toasted, once the servants had all gone. “And the gods. Skål.” Asta wasn’t sure why he seemed to be toasting what he just had, but she figured the difference must lie in a toast to the gods, as opposed to a toast in hopes that their marriage would be blessed by the gods. Still, it made very little sense to her, in all honesty. “Katia told me that she reminds you two of someone,” Oleg began, as Ivar and Asta set their cups down. They each lifted a brow, and then looked between themselves in slight concern. Though, it should be noted only they could read that expression, from so long of being in such close quarters. Neither of them could be a closed book to the other, not anymore.

They also glanced to Katia herself, before Ivar finally nodded, and confirmed, “Yes. My first wife.” They had to be careful when Freydis came up, not to accidentally give away that Asta was not his wife now.

“You had a child with your wife, no?” Oleg questioned then. Ivar shifted uncomfortably, and Asta’s eyes narrowed. She knew she needed more tolerance for Oleg and his games, but she found her patience with him often running quite thin.

Well, not when he played his games with her. She could tolerate someone messing with her. But when she cared for someone, she couldn’t bring herself to tolerate someone messing with them. And this conversation turning to Baldur, Ivar’s lost son… She was already gearing up to argue Oleg down from this topic if she must.

Ivar remained silent for quite a long while, thinking something over for a good bit of time. Asta, having not been involved in quite a few of Oleg’s conversations with her ‘husband’, wasn’t shocked to hear him ask about this. But Ivar was, and so when he spoke, it was to ask, “How did you know that?”

“I know a great many things about you…” Oleg replied vaguely. Asta’s guard went further up. “Ivar the Boneless.” He paused a moment, before asking, “Am I not a Prophet?”

“I have my doubts,” Asta answered honestly, and all eyes turned to her in complete shock. “Unless the gods reveal all things differently to each of those they choose to speak to, it appears you simply have excellent information, information I know you have ways of finding out besides hearing it from the gods.”

She referred to what he’d said about Princess Anna, how he’d known she would be marrying Prince Dir before they’d even been wed, and Oleg’s eyes narrowed as he realized this.

“You are questioning if I speak the truth when I say I am a Prophet, then?” he asked, tilting his head just slightly. It was meant to be a threat, but Ivar watched with curiosity- and truthfully, a touch of pride- as Asta didn’t back down, and only narrowed her own eyes. She was retaliating, beat for beat.

“I am,” she confessed. “All information I have ever been given by the gods has been far less… precise than this, as I know it was for the Seer in Kattegat, while he still lived. So unless they speak to you more directly, in less of a riddle than anything they have spoken to us, I would doubt your information truly does come from them. Not in the way you claim it does, anyhow.”

“You should be careful in your accusations, Queen Asta,” Oleg said, his voice low and threatening. “Questioning me is questioning what the gods have shown me, and who knows what the gods may show me about you?”

Ivar watched incredulously as she leaned forward, her arms crossed on the table now to hold herself up, and her lips stretched into an easy, almost dangerous smirk. “And who knows what they will continue to show me about you?” she replied.

It was brilliant, and Ivar almost grinned with pride. Oleg sat back, and the battle of wills was won by the woman he was convinced now was sent to him to be his Queen. Who else could have worded that so brilliantly as to make it seem her questioning came because the gods had revealed something already, not because of what she didn’t believe they had? Sometimes, he truly wondered if she were not aided by the silvertongued trickster himself. Then again, if Asta didn’t believe in Loki, he couldn’t be sure if he would help her or not. Maybe Loki was helping him, then, through Asta? He couldn’t say, though her mastery of words made him wonder.

The air in the room had become tense and uncomfortable, even if it was slightly diffused by the end of the contest, and Katia gave a strained smile, before standing and approaching her new husband. “Do you mind if I take off this dress?” she asked him. “It’s too hot in here.”

“Of course, my darling,” he replied, and the perfect revenge on Asta came to him. “I’m sure our friends won’t mind.”

“They can help,” Katia said, and turned to walk to their end of the table. Asta stood and stepped forward, as if to help. Ivar looked very much like a startled deer. Because she’d stepped up, Katia asked, “Can you… undo it, Asta?”

Ivar was clearly miserable as Asta nodded, and set to work undoing the back of Katia’s dress, pulling it down off her shoulders once it was done. But it wasn’t what Asta was doing that made him uncomfortable, no. It was the look on Oleg’s face as she did so. In fact, Ivar found himself standing as Katia thanked Asta, smiling at her and letting her hair fall around her shoulders once she took the comb out from it.

“We should go,” Ivar said to Asta, putting a hand on her shoulder to draw her attention to him. His eyes- readable still only to her- were silently begging her not to make a fuss, and to just agree with him. “My legs are…” He cracked an embarrassed smile, tilting his head side to side as if to say they weren’t feeling well.

“Aching?” she supplied, and nodded. “Of course, my love.” She lifted her hand to cup his cheek affectionately, then turned to Katia and Oleg, who seemed surprised at this.

“Oh, but you have to stay,” Oleg countered. “It would be good for you.”

“No,” Asta protested. “We really must be getting him to bed. He stood for quite some time at the ceremony earlier, he needs to rest his legs, now.”

Katia sighed, as if disappointed, and pressed a kiss to Asta’s cheek, then her other cheek. The Shieldmaiden knew that was a common form of greeting, in some places, and so didn’t question it, but did return the gesture. “We are happy to have had your company for the time we’ve had it, then,” she said graciously. “And we hope to have it again soon.”

“Of course, Princess,” Asta replied, and smiled to her, before simply nodding to Oleg, and taking Ivar’s arm so they could go.

Oleg glared at her retreating form, the moment she’d turned her back to him.

The rest of the day passed without very much of note, as Asta really had taken Ivar back to their chambers and convinced him to go to bed. He’d been frustrated, but as his legs had actually been aching, he’d finally conceded and laid down- especially once he realized she intended to lay down with him, curled into his side as always.

Their conversation turned naturally to the meal they’d shared with Oleg and Katia, and he commended her for the way she handled Oleg. It was another point to her being an excellent Queen one day, he’d said, and she’d simply given him a light smack on the chest before telling him to go on to sleep. Amused, he’d laid back and promised to do as she wished, even calling her ‘Your Majesty’, which had earned him a roll of her eyes.

But she was amused as well, he could tell, and so he’d fallen asleep with a smirk on his face, and the woman he intended to make his Queen in his arms. And, for most of the night, they slept in peace.

That peace ended in the early hours of the morning, when Asta sat up gasping for breath, her eyes filled with unshed tears as she panted, her chest heaving as if she had great difficulty breathing, and Ivar quickly sat up with her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders immediately.

“My love, what is it?” he asked her, a near panic laced in his voice which she might reflect on later, as well as the way he had addressed her. But for the time being, she felt as though she were choking on grief, on pain and on a devastation she seemed to feel calling out from the earth. It was all she could do to choke out her response.

“Lagertha.”

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#ivar the boneless #ivar #ivar ragnarsson #alex hogh andersen #ivar's heathen army #ivar x oc #ivar x ofc #ivar x original female character #ivar x christian!oc #vikings #vikings history channel #history channel vikings #not today #chapter thirty-two

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schleierkauz · 4 years

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The Color of Revenge: Chapter 5

Because I’m an insomniac fool and because you’re all beautiful and deserve it, here’s chapter 5 featuring the gang and Reckless references so blatant even I caught them. Enjoy the love, everyone!

Chapter 5: An Engagement in Ombra

They had all come. By the time the church bells signaled noon the house that everyone in Ombra knew only as the Bluejay’s workshop was already full. Resa had even opened her chamber of wonders for the special occasion, a little room right behind Mo’s workshop where she displayed truly wonderful things.

Scales of nymphs and water-sprites that she had collected at the nearby riverbank could be found there, two honeycombs made by fire-elves (a gift from Dustfinger) and a strand of hair taken from a glass woman. Bowls of healing herbs and dried flowers, tree bark that could dye clothes, but also the page with Fenoglio’s handwritten words that had brought Cosimo the Fair back from the dead – and the book that had killed the Adderhead, bound by her husband.

Meggie was sure that any guest who wandered into her mother’s treasure chamber would immediately forget that they had actually come to celebrate the engagement of her daughter.

Resa’s chamber of wonders also contained two of the flying machine models that Doria had built. Meggie’s mother treated him like a second son by now, but Mo made no secret of his disapproval of Meggie’s and Doria’s plan to move out into their own quarters.

“Don’t be angry with him. Fathers don’t like anyone who outranks them in their daughter’s favor,” Resa had whispered to Meggie when Mo had asked her just a few days ago if she wasn’t a bit too young to be engaged.

Too young… Meggie didn’t feel young. Sometimes she felt so old as if she had lived a dozen lives already. She remembered so many Meggies… The one who had lived alone with Mo in the old drafty house, the prisoner in Capricorn’s village, or the Meggie who had crossed worlds and who had been in love with Farid.

They all seemed to have lived their very own lives. Sometimes Meggie imagined them as little figurines standing in one of Resa’s treasure chests. She remembered each one of those Meggies fondly, but she wouldn’t have traded any of them for the version of herself who was by Doria’s side.

The love he filled her heart with was like a coat she felt around her shoulders. A warm blanket in a cold winter night. She had always believed that no one would ever know her better than Mo did. But Doria saw so effortlessly into the most hidden corners of her heart as if he had always lived there. Some she hadn’t even known herself until he showed them to her.

It was easy to fight with him, to laugh or to sit in silence, and every day he surprised Meggie with a new outlandish thought or plan and lured her deeper and deeper into this world with his insatiable curiosity. Sometimes they would borrow Fenoglio’s stubborn horse and ride for days into some faraway village because Doria had heard of a blacksmith who created wings of gold or a cobbler who could sew seven-league-boots.

“Nonsense!“ Fenoglio shouted any time Doria spoke of such wonders. “There is no magic in my-, I mean, in this world!” he corrected when Rosenquartz shot him a warning look.

But there was. Doria found it every day. And so Meggie wanted to spend all her days with him, even though they had both only just turned 18. Even Dante loved Doria. Wasn’t that proof enough that she was choosing the right one?

“Do you need proof, Meggie?“ she asked herself while accepting another engagement gift. She knew exactly why she was asking herself this question. Before Dustfinger had disappeared to join Mo in his workshop, he had mentioned that the Strong Man had told Farid about her engagement to his younger brother.

What if he showed up?

Meggie hadn’t seen Farid since he’d left for Lorraine two years ago, after the jugglers of the Prince told him about the pathetic fire-breathers who performed at those distant courts.

Did love ever really disappear? Or did it leave its seeds like a flower which would bloom anew once she saw him again?

Meggie’s heart gave her the answer an hour later when Farid suddenly appeared next to Elinor. He had a beard and she barely recognized him at first, but then he looked over at her and -

No.

Her heart did not beat any faster. It filled up with warmth, familiarity and loving derision when Farid pushed his shoulder-length hair out of his face – shoulder-length like Dustfinger’s hair.

Meggie was sure that despite all those princesses, Farid still loved his teacher more than any other person. And he was still vain and eager to be loved and admired. He needed that admiration like the air he breathed.

As he stepped towards Meggie he wore the half-mocking half-enticing smile on his lips that she remembered so well. A fiery rose grew in the hand he held out to her. It left a heart of ash on his skin when it disappeared.

“Engaged?“ he whispered in her ear as he kissed her on the cheek. “Have you lost your mind? The same meal for the rest of your life?”

“This meal tastes different every single day,“ she whispered back, but of course Farid didn’t believe that. He would never believe her that she loved anyone more than him. But his eyes were already searching for Dustfinger. The one love he would never betray.

“Dustfinger is with Mo in his workshop,“ Meggie said.

“Ah, good. How is he?“ Farid turned to look at a girl who had pushed herself past them. Lucinda, the daughter of the miller who helped Mo make paper.

“A sheep loses all its skin and its life for just six pages!“ her father had said to her and Resa one day. “I’m tired of working with parchment. I’m going to accelerate progress a little bit – after all, it’s said that there are already paper mills in Spain and farther north.”

“He’s doing very well,“ Meggie said. “The whole city loves him and he has two new students.”

Farid frowned.

“They’re probably not half as good as I am, right?“

He was hopeless.

“Come on,“ he said and took Meggie’s hand. “I have to have a serious talk with your fiancé. He should know the risk he’s taking. If he makes you unhappy just once, I will turn him into the finest gray ash that this and any other world has ever seen.”

He probably would.

They couldn’t find Doria anywhere and the house was still so full that they barely made it up the stairs. Meggie and Dante had their chambers on the second floor and there was one bigger room that they all called the “living room”, even though the word came from another world. Mo’s and Resa’s books were kept there, very few compared to their collection in the other world. They cost a fortune in this one, but luckily Mo was able to fill the shelves himself.

Doria stood at the window – with a girl. Farid still knew Meggie well enough that he could feel her antipathy towards this girl. Doria bought the wood for his flying machine models from Filippa’s father and she usually brought it to him. Meggie had walked in on them once, just as Filippa had asked Doria why he hadn’t chosen a girl from Ombra instead of a stranger whose past was unknown.

No, she didn’t like Filippa Bafone. The fact that she was considered the most beautiful girl in Ombra didn’t help matters.

“Ah, the bride!“ she exclaimed when she saw Meggie and Farid standing in the door. “I just showed Doria my gift for you two.”

She shot Farid an appraising look and offered Meggie a bracelet. It was beautiful. Black, painted with tiny flowers. Doria held the matching one in his hand. He smiled at Meggie and pulled her at his side, not without a cautious glance towards Farid.

The glance that Filippa gave Farid was an invitation and Farid was happy to accept. But before he followed Ombra’s most beautiful girl, he whispered something to Meggie.

“You shouldn’t wear those bracelets. Witchcraft,” he added when he saw Meggie’s confused face. Then he and Filippa disappeared in the crowd. Meggie stared after him in disbelief but Doria had already pulled his knife and scratched the paint off of his bracelet.

“He’s right,“ he said. “I’ve heard whispers that Filippa doesn’t just rely on her beauty. I should probably feel flattered.“

He took the other bracelet out of Meggie’s hand and threw them both out of the window.

“Witches?“ Meggie looked down at the street where the bracelets rolled across the pavement.

“Oh yes.“ Doria took her hand and touched the ring he had put on her finger that morning.

“Not here. A few years ago the light witches fought so fiercely with the dark ones that they all disappeared. But farther north there’s still a lot of them, even though the priests of the new religions really hate them. Here in Ombra there are two merchants who sell their items. They say it’s only light magic but everyone knows that’s a lie.”

Witches… Meggie shivered. They were something that belonged only in storybooks. She laughed at herself a moment later – she lived in a book! At least Fenoglio still liked to see it that way. Did he know anything about witches in this world?

“Eastwards there’s said to be a country where princes ride silver dragons,“ Doria whispered to her. “The women in Lorraine turn into foxes. And up in Prussia, an uncle of mine saw people who have skin made of stone. This world is way bigger than just Ombra, Meggie.”

“I know,“ she replied – but what did she know? In all those years during which Fenoglio’s world had become her home (yes, she admitted, she still called it that), she had barely travelled 50 miles from Ombra. Travelling was arduous and she was so happy here in the city! Doria was here, and Dante and Mo and Resa, Elinor and Darius, Dustfinger, Roxane, Brianna and Jehan. What else did she need?

“Do you know what the Black Prince likes to say?“ Doria fed her one of the tiny cakes that Rosenquartz had bought for them from a bakery that specialized in such delicacies made for glass men.

“‘If you try to hide away from the world, it will come to find you one day.‘ I’ve told you so many times: We should travel! Samarkand, Constantinople, Edo – doesn’t that all sound wonderful?”

He started spinning with Meggie. The guests made room and clapped in time with the beat. Two more couples started dancing and Meggie forgot about witches and Filippa’s bracelets. Yes, they would travel! It was time to explore this world outside of books. She twirled in Doria’s arms and couldn’t tell what made her dizzier: Being in love or dancing.

(Next chapter)

#the color of revenge #inkworld #cornelia funke #ly dont look #i have nothing to say for myself #except: THEY KEPT?? THE BOOK???#gross #oh and anon are you seeing this?#cosimo is mentioned!

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thirst-trapnhl · 5 years

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Never Grew Out of This Feeling 3(charlie mcavoy)

(A/N): hey guys! i say this all the time but sorry for how long this took lol. hope you guys enjoy (if anyone actually still cares ab this series??) and i hope it was at least 25% worth the wait! also unedited because I’m actually DYING to get this up lol (word count: 1936) (warnings: underage drinking, cursing)

song of the chapter: hold my hand - new found glory

“you like you’re ready to go, so hold my hand. I’ll take you everywhere, anywhere, you wanna go.”

Charlie arrives at your front door at exactly 6:00 PM on New Years Eve with Chinese takeout in hand and your dad clears the coffee table in the living room so he can spread all the containers out. Your parents settle into their seats on the couch and you and Charlie take the floor, plates piled high. You all turn your attention to the TV as your dad presses play on The Princess Bride, your traditional New Years movie. Charlie and your dad both laugh at all the same parts they always do, and your mother ends up crying at the same part she always does. You clear the table as the credits roll and head upstairs to get ready for your night out, belly full and heart happy. 9:30 rolls around and Charlie’s migrated to the big chair in the corner, messing around on his phone when you finally walk down the stairs. “Thank god, I’ve only been waiting for an ho- “ he stops short when he finally looks up from the screen. “Holy shit!” He’s on his feet in an instant, eyes glued to your body. You warm at his appreciation for your efforts and give a little shimmy and his eyes light up at the way the sequins on your top shine.

“Whatcha think, Chuck? Good enough to ring in the new year?” You wiggle your eyebrows at him and he laughs before shooting a soft smile at you, the one that’s always made you feel like he’s the only person who really sees you.

“I’d take you anywhere lookin’ like that!” He reaches his hand out to you and twirls you around once just to see you laugh before grabbing his keys from the table and ordering the Uber. You call out your goodbyes to your parents, in their room getting ready for bed and shrug on a jacket. You follow him out the front door, hands reaching for his sleeve.

He feels you tangle your fingers in the fabric to shield them from the cold and looks back over his shoulder at you. You meet his eyes and his whole face crinkles as he hides a smile behind his collar, just the way it always has. You huff out a breath and furrow your brow up at him.

“What’re you smiling about, Alvin?” It’s his turn to pout and yours to laugh, loving the way you can always get a rise out of him by poking fun at his chubby cheeks. His pout quickly turns back into a smile, smaller and softer this time, at the sound of your giggle. The ride to the party is relatively uneventful. It’s easy to zone out staring out the window as Charlie makes casual conversation with the driver. Before you know it, a hand comes to grip your knee through your jeans, Charlie giving your leg a squeeze to bring you back to earth.

“You ready?” He asks and when you nod, he bids the driver good night and comes around your side of the car to help you out. You make your way into one of Charlie’s teammates’ house, and quickly find your way to the cooler. You grab a beer for each of you before snaking your way through the bodies back to Charlie’s side. He beams and wraps an arm around your shoulder before continuing his conversation with the rest of your friends. You settle in easily after that, jumping into the conversation when it turns to the show you’re all currently binging watching. It's no surprise when the party turns into a full-fledged beer pong tournament, complete with a bracket written sloppily on the back of a junk mail flyer. You and Charlie slot into the fifth matchup against the goalies and Charlie spends the first four trying to hype you up.

“Chuck, I really don’t understand why you insist on having me as your partner. You have to carry me every single time!” You’re a little exasperated at his undying positivity towards your beer pong skills. He’s had more to drink than you, as he usually does, but you both know he’ll end up making all his shots while yours bounce off rims. He smiles down easy at you and a piece of hair flops down over his forehead, a little damp with sweat. You hear a cheer behind you and you know the game ended and it's time to face the music.

“I don’t mind doing all the work, you know that. All you gotta do is stand there and look pretty to distract our opponents. You know the goalies both have a thing for you.” He wiggles his eyebrows, barely holding back a laugh as he drags you towards the table and you work together to reset the rack.

Despite your best efforts to swing your hips and bat your eyes, the goalie tandem take you and Charlie down swiftly. You make your way back to the kitchen to dig around for more beer and when you turn back around, Charlie’s leaned up against the counter, looking at you. “Sorry I couldn’t help out more, bud.” He opens his arms to you and you cross the small kitchen to him, putting your unopened bottles behind him before wrapping your arms around his torso. You can feel the rumble of his chest as he lets out a heavy sigh.

“I just don’t understand how you can still be SO bad after all this time.” You look up at him in surprise and he’s trying to hide a shit-eating grin, clearly satisfied with your response. You give him a light smack on the arm before sticking your tongue out at him, making him laugh. You grab your corona off the counter and bang it against the edge, popping the cap off. Charlie looks at you, impressed before taking this and doing the same, but with his teeth. He spits the cap into his hand as he laughs at your shriek of disgust. You smack him again, this firmer and on the chest.

“Don’t fucking do that, you yutz! It skeeves me out and you’re going to ruin your teeth and then those braces your parents paid for will be useless!” He’s almost doubled over in laughter now and you can’t help but stomp your feet when you take a step back from him. He manages to pull himself together enough to stand up straight and wipe the tears from under his eyes. You shake your head at him but there’s no real force behind it anymore, all your annoyance flushed away by how absolutely delighted Charlie is by your reaction.

“God, there’s nothing more satisfying then winding you up.”

——

The party continues on into the early hours of the morning, only interrupted by everyone gathering in the living room to watch the ball drop. Charlie’s huddled in close behind you as you stand pressed against the back of the couch. Brett, the more outgoing half of your goalie admirers, turns to you just before the countdown reaches twenty. “Hey, (Y/N), you gonna be my New Years kiss this year?” He’s half joking, but you can feel Charlie tense behind you as he wraps an arm around your stomach.

You let out a laugh and before you can even answer, Charlie shoots him a “Not a chance in hell, Breezy,” and Brett laughs. The countdown’s at 10 seconds now and, as you do every year, you turn to face Charlie. The countdown reaches 1 and the room erupts in shouts of “happy new year” and unintelligible cheers. Charlie, as he does every year, lifts you up into a hug and places a kiss on your cheek before tucking his face into your neck, mumbling a “happy new year, bub.”

You let your hand slide to rest against his jaw and he pulls back to look at you. “Happy New Year, Chuckie.” You unwrap your legs from his torso, expecting him to let you slide to the floor like he always does, but he holds you face to face with him for a couple seconds longer. You can feel confusion spread across your face when Charlie’s eyes flick down to your lips. You can see the gears turning in his head for a moment before he puts your feet on the ground, kissing the top of your head gently. You decide to let the moment pass, turning to greet the rest of your friends.

-- --

It’s close to 4:30 AM when you and Charlie stumble out of the party, ready to make your way home. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable, but you can tell he’s waiting for you to speak first. You’re about halfway home, passing the schoolyard, when you stop walking. It takes Charlie a couple of steps to realize you’re no longer next to him. He turns back to you and the beer in your veins makes you unable to collect your thoughts properly. Instead, you just blurt out “Were you gonna kiss me before?”

Your hands are stuffed in your jacket pockets, as are his, and the words leave your mouth with a puff of breath vapor. He doesn’t hesitate in his answer. “Yeah.” You both take a moment to digest the weight of the situation. You may be drunk, but you know that you’ve reached a fork in the road. All it takes is one look at Charlie to know what you want from the conversation, but the thought that maybe you’re not on the same page is the scariest, biggest monster you’ve ever had to face.

“Why didn’t you?” Your voice is smaller than you intended as your eyes dart from your shoes scuffling on the sidewalk back to Charlie. You can tell he’s trying to pick his words carefully, and you’re sure that the person you love the most in this world is about to break your heart. You swallow the lump in your throat, ready to pretend tomorrow that you were too drunk to remember this conversation.

“Didn’t wanna do it if you weren’t ready for it.” The words don’t sting like the ones you expected to hear and you force yourself to look Charlie in the eyes when he continues. “Don’t wanna send you running off. It’s not the right time yet.” A few hot tears leak from your eyes as relief floods your body, and you swear you feel your soul settle. You step to meet Charlie, sliding your hand into his pocket to wrap around his.

As you tug him along down the street, you look up at him with a teasing smile. “I don’t know how many times I gotta tell you, Charles. You’re not getting rid me that easy.” He smiles down at you and you round the corner, walking along the fence next to the very same playground where Charlie first watched you launch yourself off the swing. The very same slide you climb on top of to smoke and watch the stars. Your eyes can’t help but flick to it, red and plastic and smaller than your childhood memories let you believe. You think about pushing Charlie up against the fence right there and kissing him until the sun comes up, but the rest of the semester and the uncertainty of Charlie’s near future is enough to keep you walking, tucked into his side. “You gonna tell me when it’s time?” You ask, already knowing the answers. Charlie’s always been right when it comes to you, fourteen years in, and you’d follow his lead anywhere.

“Yup, and not a single second after.”

#mcavoy #bruins #mine #ngootf #boston bruins #boston bruins imagine #charlie mcavoy #charlie mcavoy imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagines #hockey rpf

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forever-forgotten-angel · 5 years

Text

True Love’s Quest Chapter 1

Sooooo....I had a dream that was basically a full length musical movie about this gay Prince and his Knight and their love story and I was like “Well I can’t force Disney to make this for me so I might as well Thvi-ify it right?” .....So here we are. This story is made up of what I can remember of the dream and me embellishing it to make it work. Hope you all enjoy!

PS: The bold and italicized bits are the singing. I attempted to write songs. I’m sorry.

Warnings: Language and sexual innuendo (Remus is in this so...yeah). My bad attempts at songwriting. Romantic Thomas/Virgil. Sympathetic Deceit and Remus. Genders of some characters changed because I wanted to keep them to the genders of the characters that were in my dream (Roman and Patton are Princesses, Logan is a High Priestess of Magic if you were wondering exactly who). Think that’s it but let me know if you see anything I should add!

Once upon there was a love story unfolding in a beautiful and mystical kingdom, a love story that was in peril of coming to and end, and not a happy one.

Our story begins with the King and Queen of the gorgeous kingdom of Namor. King Jasper and Queen Talia were honorable rulers, doing their best to rule justly and generously. They had three children. Their oldest was Prince Thomas, in line to soon take over as king. Their middle child was Princess Roman, regarded by the whole kingdom as the most magnificent and lovely princess the land had ever known. Their youngest and final child was Princess Patton.

Prince Thomas was nearing his 30th birthday, and thus the time he would be taking over as the King of Namor, and his parents stepping down, to enjoy their final years at peace with their family, having ruled for many years. As was tradition, the day exactly half a year before the new King’s coronation day, the Crown Prince would announce his choice of bride with a wedding set for a mere fortnight after the announcement. That day had finally arrived for prince Thomas, and his parents were eager for the event.

King Jasper and Queen Talia: Today’s the day we’ve waited for, for our son shall decide

Who within the kingdom walls he chooses as his bride

The one to rule beside him as our kingdom becomes theirs

While we spend our final years relaxing, and doting on the heirs

Through this marriage, our future is born and the process begins again

They will raise their children to take their place and have their own retirement

For that’s the way it’s always been

We all know that a King must have a Queen

The future King was also wide awake and eager as he rushed through the halls back to his bed chambers. He was not yet dressed for the day, but that barely crossed his mind in his excitement. As he reached his destination he flung open the doors and as he had expected a knight already dressed in his dark armor with the kingdoms crest embossed into it was sitting on his bed, his gaze lighting up upon seeing Thomas, though he gave a scowl in the Prince’s direction.

“I am your knight Sire, I am meant to accompany you everywhere. Yet this is the latest of many times in the past year that you have snuck out without me in the early hours of the day.” It is true that this knight had been assigned to his protection duty since he turned eighteen. His knight had turned the same age that year, and they had grown up the best of friends. No one was more dedicated to his protection than the man before him. He smiled at the night and closed the door behind him.

Rushing over he pressed a kiss to his knight’s lips as he slid forward to sit on the man’s lap. “Sorry, love.” He sweetened his apology with another kiss, his night leaning in as it deepened. It took a few minutes before the knight pulled back with a sigh. “We should stop doing that Thomas. We won’t be able to after today.” Thomas grinned as he brought a small book in his hand to the knight’s attention. “That’s what you think Virgil.”

Virgil glanced at the book curiously but was still unconvinced. “You already asked your parents if you could marry me instead of one of the ladies of the kingdom. They said you couldn’t.” Thomas shook his head. “No they said I couldn’t marry someone who couldn’t provide me and the kingdom with a child. A future ruler.” Virgil tilted his head in confusion. “What’s the difference?” Thomas took one of his knight’s hands, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss before placing the book into it, opening it to a freshly marked page. “This.”

Thomas: I remember crystal clear, my parents did decree

That if not for one little thing they’d let you marry me

Our marriage just could not provide the kingdom with an heir

So I scoured all the library shelves and guess what I found there

This is the answer we’ve been searching for, it’s the miracle we need

Just look! It’s perfect! Our problem is solved! Go on and take a read

“This is what I have been doing in the mornings when I sneak away. Research. I didn’t want to bring you along because you get too little sleep as it is. But I was determined to find a way for us to be together, and I have. Just in time too.” Thomas’ voice was cheerful and full of love as he directed Virgil’s eyes down to the page he had turned to.

Virgil looked down at the page, scanning over it shrewdly. Thomas watched as his face changed into an expression of tentative hope. “You really think this will work?” Thomas cupped his lover’s face in his hands. “It has to.” Virgil’s lips had a small smile on them as he asked his next question. “And you are sure you want to do this?” Thomas hoped the kiss he gives Virgil in response to that fully extinguishes and trace of doubt, but just in case he emphasizes it with passionate words.

Thomas: I won’t let us be parted by anything

I believe that a King can have a King

“Will you do this with me Virgil? I know you get anxious-” Virgil cut his Prince off with a quick but loving kiss to Thomas’ forehead, pulling back to look straight into the eyes that he loved to get lost in. “You’re worth it. We’re worth it. We’re worth fighting for.” Virgil watched as the eyes before him lit up with pure joy, the sight making his heart melt. “We’re worth fighting for.” Thomas repeated in agreement before reluctantly getting up off of Virgil’s lap.

There was an announcement to get ready for after all.

An hour later, the King and Queen stood proudly beside their son on the steps of the castle, his knight fidgeted nervously as he stood behind the prince, knowing what was about to happen. The Princesses stood further back, there to support their brother. “It is time Prince Thomas, to announce to our fair kingdom of Namor which lucky lady you choose to one day rule at your side. So tell us, who is to be your Queen?” It seemed that everyone in the kingdom had come to hear the announcement yet you couldn’t hear a single peep among the large crowd as the King finished speaking. All were awaiting the Crown Prince’s response with bated breath.

Thomas fought the urge to glance back at Virgil as he spoke as loud and clear as he could manage. “I choose my knight, l Sir Virgil to rule by my side as my King.” The crowd gasped before descending into murmured chaos. Thomas reached behind him to take Virgil’s hand, trying to calm the clearly nervous warrior, as he met the reproachful gaze of his father with his own.

King Jasper: Son, we’ve been through this already, your union can not be

I won’t let the passing of the royal bloodline end with your mother and me

I know what you think your love is worth

But this has been planned since before your birth

Thomas: Father, I have found a way we can both have what we planned

Your kingdom will have a royal heir and I will have my true love’s hand

Just listen! And you will understand

“There is a magical ritual father, a ritual that will allow an heir of mine and Virgil’s blood to be carried in the womb of another. All we need is someone who can perform the spell, a willing carrier, and a few drops of mine and Virgil’s blood.” Thomas showed the book to his father. The King took the book over to the court librarian to confirm it’s authenticity. Once that was done he returned to his son, looking at his determined face. The determination in Thomas’ face was matched by his tone as he spoke his next words. “When we discussed this last year you both said if Virgil was able to provide an heir than you would allow me to marry him.”

Thomas: It’s all right there, we can have everything

I love him. Please let him be my King

It was clear from the look on the King and Queen’s faces that they did not expect their son to actually go and find a way for Virgil to give him an heir. Nonetheless, Japer and Talia were not the type of royals to go back on their word, not were they the type of parents to deny their son’s happiness unless absolutely necessary. The Princesses were nodding encouragingly at their parents, clearly trying to urge them to agree. Both knew how much this meant to their older brother. With a simple look to each other, the rulers had a silent exchange before both nodded.

“Very well Thomas. If you can find a magical being willing and able to perform this spell, we will allow you to marry your knight.” The noise of the crowd grew as those closest to the front of the steps spread the news of what was going on through all the way to the back. Soon the whole kingdom knew what their Prince aimed to do.

Large smiles made their way onto both Thomas and Virgil’s faces. “Thank you father. Thank you mother. Thank you so mu-” His father held up his right hand for silence. “On one condition. It must be done within a week. The wedding must go ahead as planned in a fortnight as tradition dictates and you will need at least a week to fully prepare. Therefore I can only give you seven days. If you do not have someone who can perform this magic in the kingdom walls by then, I am afraid you will have to choose a bride. I’m sorry son.” Thomas’ face didn’t lose it’s determination for even a moment. “I will find someone.”

But would he? Or would the Prince and the Knight’s story be destined to end in tragedy?

Only time, seven days to be precise, would tell.

Roman looked up from his personal handwritten book of fairytales with a grin. “So what do you think?” His brother swallowed a bite of deodorant before speaking. “What if Prince Thomas and his Knight just slaughter the kingdom and then fuck on the castle steps, finally free of judgement?” Roman huffed. “Ignoring you. Anyone else got an opinion?”

The moral side spoke up next. “Why are you and I Princesses instead of Princes?” Logan added on before Roman could speak. “Also, ‘regarded by the whole kingdom as the most magnificent and lovely princess the land had ever known’, a bit egoistic don’t you think?” Roman ignored Logan’s question as he answered Patton. “I don’t know Padre, I based it on a dream I had and I didn’t want to change Princesses to Princes. Besides, I think we would make lovely Princesses.” Patton smiled widely at the light creative side’s answer. “We sure would Kiddo.”

“I thought it was a good opening Roman.” Roman grinned happily. “Thank you Deceit! Wait...do you actually mean that it was bad?” The scaled side gasped as if offended. “Of course not.” Roman scrutinized Deceit. “But is that a lie?” Deceit just smirked and raised an eyebrow this time, clearly enjoying being a little shit. Roman conceded with a sigh. “Well thanks...I think.” Deceit chuckled lowly. “You’re welcome...and I did mean it.” The words were said as sincerely as the deceitful side could manage and Roman perked up a bit.

“What about you two?” The Princely asked, his gaze focused on the two love birds cuddling in Thomas’ recliner. “Is something bad going to happen to Thomas?” Virgil asked, tone making it clear he did not want to hear anything of the sort. “Relax sweetheart, even if it does, it’s just a story. I’m right here beside you. Though I do hope Prince Thomas and Sir Virgil’s story ends well…” The host trailed of, looking at Roman for answers. He didn’t get any.

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Taglist (currently tagging people who have asked to be tagged in all my work, if you want to be added or removed, let me know): @organizeddiscord, @lesliealiceinwonderland, @amazonprimebox

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #thvi #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #deceit sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #new story #my fic

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