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sissytobitch10seconds · 11 months

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Our Love Died

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy Summary: Dumped into a strange yet familiar world, Viktor falls back into some old habits- including losing contact with his siblings. Eventually, some years pass and they start finding him again. At that point he's not quite sure he wants them to, though. Warnings: Domestic abuse, abusive relationships, trans male pregnancy, childbirth, depression/anxiety, and transphobia Word Count: TBD (Chapter 1: 3,535) Chapter(s): TBD Ship(s): Viktor Hargreeves/Five Hargreeves

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A/N: (fic notes) So I actually created an entirely different story and character off of labour and King by their respective artists and then I realized that it would fit really well into this kind of a fic as well. I decided I was just going to write it so I had another nice chaptered fic for TUA before the last season comes out. I'm going to leave a little disclaimer here: I have never been pregnant and I am not a trans man (I'm genderfluid, so still trans) so some things may not be entirely accurate. I'm also writing and uploading this at the same time so there might be some awkward plot holes or something throughout. I'm going to try my best to prevent that but please honor me with some grace if I don't manage it! I hope that you all enjoy this, I know I'm loving writing it so far. Make sure that you heed the tags, though, things do get pretty dark. Stay sissy and bitchy everyone <;3 (chapter notes) Here's chapter one! This is basically a complete rewrite of the last scene of the last episode of season 3. I tried to write every bit of dialogue directly from the show, so if things sound a little awkward it was probably a typo I didn't correct because I didn't want to go rewatch that scene again. Rewriting directly from a script is exhausting, after all, lol. I hope that you guys are enticed by this first chapter but if you're not, try sticking around to the second when the plot is gonna actually get started! Things are moving pretty slow for now but they'll pick up soon. Stay sissy and bitchy everyone <3

The first thing that Viktor saw when the elevator doors opened was a garden.

He hadn’t been in a lot of gardens when he was younger because it wasn’t something that Reginald put a lot of his time and energy into and then he had never sought them out as an adult around the monotony of his everyday life. He had to admit that it was an improvement to the accommodations that they had been staying in for the past week while they tried to sort out the third end-of-the-world.

It was dark, just as he thought it would have been when he was traveling in the hazy, half-asleep state during the ride up the elevator. The dimness wasn’t caused by the dark colored walls and lack of windows, however, but rather because at some point the sky had turned into night. The moon was hanging high in the sky, glinting pale silver-blue light down onto the earth with the help of the blinking stars. The sky was clear and bright, devoid of the heavy rain clouds that so often plagued The City. The color of the light reminded Viktor of the heavy power that slept inside of him, waiting to come forth and create another apocalypse like it had three lifetimes ago.

He tilted his head down so that he could take in what the garden actually looked like while his legs slowly carried him out of the elevator and into the cool night air. There was a gray cement path that led to a bust and plaque in the center of the main part of the garden. From it were several more paths, though it was hard to see where exactly they went because of the trees and shrubs that were obscuring the already dark view. He could just barely make out the vibrant green of the grass clashing with the darker shade of the neatly trimmed bushes along the paths. He thought that it was strange that there were no flowers, all of the books that Viktor had ever read as a child that contained gardens had them described as overflowing with different colors of petals.

Next to him, Lila giggled, “Cool.” It made sense that she would be able to process the weirdness that they had all just endured better than all of them. Viktor was probably handling it with the least amount of grace since he had never been a hero when the Umbrella Academy was active and thus hadn’t seen any of the weird powers or abilities that the villains the others fought possessed. The closest that he had gotten was just seeing his siblings train and listening to their exploits through the radio that Grace kept on when missions were underway. Lila, conversely, had grown up surrounded by time traveling assassins and flipped through many different periods in time with her mother. This was just another thing to add to her list of adventures instead of something that was emotionally shattering as it was to Viktor.

The sound of a police siren wailing in the distance was comforting and terrifying at the same time. The images of the police towering around the car that he had been trying to get his girlfriend and her son to safety in flashed through his mind, quickly followed by his nerves fraying just a little bit more at the memory of his electro-shock torture session. He flexed his hands at his side to try and get rid of the anxiety, something close to what he had used to do. His violin was nowhere in sight now, though, so it meant that he couldn’t pick it up and use that to get rid of the adrenaline-summoned energy.

All of those thoughts were pushed from his mind as soon as he turned properly and saw the towering figure of his brother. He short-circuited for a moment as the only thing that he could really process was the overwhelming joy about seeing the man he thought he had lost, just as he had lost Ben. Viktor was so used to mourning, to grief, that the joy surging through his body was foreign and addictive.

“Luther?” he asked, breathless and awed. Viktor was barely even aware that his legs were moving as he made his way closer to the other. He was moving a little sluggishly, as if he was scared that if he made even a single wrong move then his brother would disappear again forever, just as he had done when Klaus summoned him during their fight. “Luther?” he asked again, which got the blond’s attention.

“Oh, shit,” Luther swore as a smile blossomed over his face. “You can see me?” he asked, pointing towards some of the others.

“Yes! Yes!” Viktor almost screamed as he threw his arms around his brother’s neck and shoulders to trap him there in a hug.

“I’m alive?” Luther asked, his body almost vibrating with the shock of his realization.

Viktor and Luther had shared two hugs in their entire lives. They had never been terribly close as children since Reginald kept Viktor as far away from him as possible, both physically and mentally, while Luther had basically been on his coattails all the way up until the last year of his life.

The first hug that they had ever shared was one of Viktor’s least favorite memories. He had been under the impression that he had just killed his sister with no reassurance from his then-boyfriend. It had felt so wonderful to be wrapped up in the arms of someone he had known and loved without anything in return. Then he had felt the air slowly being forced from his lungs, his body compressing in on itself while black spots danced in his vision. Then he had woken up in the soundproof room where the only thing he had for company was his own quickening heartbeat, watching as his siblings all abandoned him one by one again.

The second hug that the duo had shared was the one that they were having now. Luther’s arms stretched all the way around Viktor and he was so tall that he had to bend over at the waist to be able to loop around Viktor’s chest. He could tell that the other was holding back his strength significantly because this time it felt nothing like it had before. Luther was hugging him and holding him tightly enough that he could know for certain that the taller was there, but there was no pain, even as he got lifted into the air.

“Luther’s alive!” Klaus crowed in the background.

“Oh my God,” Lila breathed. It was odd how quickly she had been assimilated into the family and how deeply she cared for them all already, but they were the Hargreeves. Nothing about their family had ever been normal and nothing about it ever would, not that they would want it any other way.

“And that’s not all, big guy,” Viktor felt like he was going to explode with how many emotions were flowing through his system. Luther had since put him down on the ground and he was able to get a proper look at his brother, though it was already confirmed when he had been up in the air. He was staring at Luther’s chest and arms as he tried to come up with a way to phrase what was racing through his mind.

“Huh?” Luther asked before he gasped when he noticed it as well. “Holy shit, my body!” he brushed his hands over his chest and then looked down at his arms again. Where there had once been copious amounts of thick, wiry hair stretched out over grotesque, engorged muscles was nothing but pale skin with blond hair and lean muscle. “Wait, I look amazing!” he beamed as he realized what it really meant.

Jealousy and happiness mixed inside of Viktor until all he felt was nauseous. He knew that Luther had struggled with how he looked after the experiment that their father had performed on him to save the life Reginald himself had endangered. That much was evident from the way that Luther had hidden himself away in layers and layers of clothing when they had all first reunited. Viktor was very familiar with what it was like to feel uncomfortable in one’s body as that feeling had been magnified for him since he realized what his gender was. He wished that the transport to the new universe had given him a body that he felt more comfortable in, one that didn’t make him want to crawl out of his own skin when he caught himself in a reflective surface at just the wrong angle. At the same time, he couldn’t help but be happy for the gift that Luther had been given after everything he had been through.

Klaus wandered over to them in that stumble-walk that he had perfected when they were teenagers. Viktor had always been amazed he wasn’t tripping over himself more often, the same way that he would be if he tried that. “Luther’s all svelte now,” he commented as he touched his brother’s arm as well.

“Wait. I gotta show Sloane!” Luther beamed. It was heart warming to see him being so affectionate towards someone other than Allison. When they were younger, it was very disheartening to Viktor to try and pour so much love into his relationship with his brother only to be pushed to the side. Of course, back then, he hadn’t realized that Luther and Allison were romantically involved so the relationship he wanted was actually very different. Given everything that had happened with Allison in the last couple days, up to and including Luther’s death, it was a good thing that he had someone who adored him just as much as he did her.

The mention of the Sparrow hero was enough to make Viktor take attendance for everyone standing around in the garden. Lila and Diego were standing next to each other, so close that their shoulders were brushing against each other. Ben and Five were hanging around the bust in the center of the little garden path. Klaus was near Luther, who was standing in front the elevator still.

Five raised up his arm, fussing with his watch. “I got my arm back,” he informed them plainly like it wasn’t the best thing that had happened to him in decades.

“This is so cool. W-wait where’s Sloane?” Luther asked as he reached out towards Klaus for the information.

Surprisingly enough, the most chaotic member of the family actually did have an answer for him. “Oh, she was, uh… she was right behind me-”

“When Allison hit the bloody button,” Lila finished for him, gritting her teeth in anger.

“She’s gone too,” Diego groused.

Five began to walk towards one of the dark paths surrounding the small place of respite that they were in. His brows were furrowed and his face was pinched in that way that it always got when he was upset about something. “You know, I don’t know about you guys, but I haven’t felt this good in years,” Klaus said as he also turned his gaze towards the peaking city that they could see between the trees.

“Does anyone know where the Hell we are?” Ben asked.

Viktor felt his heart sink down into his stomach as he realized that it was the version of Ben that had come from the Sparrows despite none of the other Sparrows being with them. He had been hoping, after Luther had risen from the grave and stepped out of the elevator with them, that his long-dead brother would also return so that Viktor could apologize for using up the rest of his unlife energy. He figured that it made sense it would be that version of Ben, since he was the one that fought the final battle with them after they fucked up the timeline so that he existed in the first place.

“The hotel,” Lila quickly supplied before he could get in a fight with anyone. “Or at least, this is where it used to be.”

Five let out a breath, which really emphasized just how tired he was. “I think the old man did it. I think he reset the universe.”

Diego walked over so that he was standing in front of Lila with his hand up in front of her. She gasped as she held it in both of her own and said, “You got your fingers back!”

“Sloane? Sloane!” Luther called through the garden in a desperate attempt to find his wife.

Viktor could only stand there and watch his siblings interacting with each other as he tried to process everything that had happened. Something inside of him felt like it was missing, something that left him hollow and slightly damaged. He didn’t have time to unpack it now as tensions were already rising between the other family members.

Moving around the bust, Luther grabbed onto one of the lapels of Five’s suit jacket. “I don’t care about any resets, all right? I want my wife back. Where is she, Five?”

“I’m glad you’re alive, but please take your hand off me,” Five snarked. He was using that voice that he always did when he was upset about something or close to getting in a fight with someone. Viktor had heard it often when they were all going through the beginnings of puberty.

Anxiety began to rise inside of him as he realized that this could all go very badly very quickly if someone didn’t step in to stop them before they did something stupid. “Not until you give me an answer,” Luther threatened as he grabbed the other side of Five’s jacket so that he had no chance of escaping.

“Okay, screw this!” Five sassed back. He jerked to the side like he always did when he was getting ready to teleport, but this time he just fell limply back to where he had been before. A look of confusion took over his face and he glanced out around the garden as if that would somehow give him an answer. “Something’s wrong.”

“That’s right, something’s wrong, you’re about to get your ass kicked,” Luther snarled as he jerked his brother around again.

“Yeah, kick his ass,” Diego goaded.

“No, you moron,” Five seethed. The panic was beginning to make him mean, Viktor knew exactly how that felt. “My power. I can’t blink.”

“Yeah, right,” Diego said sarcastically as he got one of his knives out from the vest that he always wore. It was nice to see him in something other than black leather, even if the knives were probably going to exist with him throughout his entire life. Diego flipped the silver blade around his fingers once before it toppled down into the dirt below them. “That’s not good.”

Suddenly everything fell into place. Viktor glanced down at his hand as he raised it. He focused for a moment to try and pick up on the minute noises that existed everywhere in the world. It was only then that he realized that everything had been muffled since he had stepped out of the elevator. Hearing every tiny thing that was happening around him, even if it was accentuated only when he was off of his medication, had just been how he lived his life. He didn’t realize that the world was so quiet for everyone else until his power had been stolen from him. It explained the heavy emptiness that rested in his chest, right where the supernova of noise had been only an hour prior.

A few feet away, Klaus was waving his hand out in front of him as he said, “Okay… come on… Alakazam… ghosties.” Nothing happened. Ben strained with his hands clenched in fists out to the sides, but again there was nothing. “This means I’m mortal again? Aw, man,” Klaus whined as it became more and more obvious that they were ordinary.

“Wait, wait, wait. How do we get them back, you idiots?” Ben asked before anyone had the chance to do anything else.

“Shit,” Klaus groaned when no one was able to come up with any ideas. Reginald had told them so little about their powers that none of them knew where they came from, much less how they were supposed to get anything back.

“I gotta… I gotta go find my wife,” Luther said hoarsely. Viktor had enough breakdowns in his life to recognize that the other man was clinging to something that felt like it could still be tangible. They had all been through something deeply traumatic and painful on top of arriving in a strange world that they didn’t know well enough to tell if it was safe. Learning that their powers, which had been a constant for everyone other than Viktor, were gone had to be enough to make some of them deeply rattled.

Luther turned and began to walk down one of the paths to do as he said he was going to. Klaus turned after him and said, “No! Luther, you can’t go. You were dead ten minutes ago, you’re fragile.” He whirled back around to the rest of the family and said, “I gotta go after him.”

“No, wait, Klaus!” Diego tried to argue with his brother but at that point Klaus had already begun down the path after Luther. Despite what a lot of the public had thought when they were younger and actively acting as the Umbrella Academy, Klaus was the most stubborn out of all of the siblings. If he got an idea that he decided he just had to do, then he was going to do it come Hell or high water.

Ben was the next to leave, already stalking towards the other side of the park, “I’m out, bitches!”

A flare of panic unlike he had felt in a long time rang out in Viktor’s chest. Memories that were hazy with sedative and time flashed through his mind. All the times that they had left him for their training, all the times that they had been ushered into a car together while he had been left watching them out of a stained glass window, all the times that they had snuck out together and left him behind, played over the top of each other. “Guys, come on,” Viktor said desperately. “We should stick together and figure this out-”

“Well what are we supposed to do?” Diego asked, interrupting Viktor before he even had the chance to say what he was planning to. Too much of it felt like what it had been before Viktor had gotten his powers and had become too dangerous to ignore.

They were all quiet for a second as Diego and Lila turned slightly towards each other. “Live our lives?” she suggested. Diego remained quiet as he obviously rolled the idea around his head. He then took her hand, weaving their fingers together, before he disappeared down another one of the paths.

Then it was just Five and Viktor, as it had been so often when they were children. The conversation that they had about other people being ants, which had given them some common ground now that they had shifted so much in their adult lives, rolled over in Viktor’s head again. He knew that it wasn’t true anymore since neither of them had the massive powers that they did when it took place, but he was still hoping that it would mean something.

He supposed that hope was his greatest flaw. Just like last time, Five turned on his heel and marched away from Viktor without saying anything. He disappeared into the dark foliage so that not even a glimpse of his back could be seen.

That morning at the dining room table, when Five had lurched away and thrown himself outside to try time traveling for the first time was a moment that replayed over and over again in Viktor’s mind. He always wondered, both now and when he had been a child, what would have happened if he had just had the balls to pull his brother back into his seat instead of just letting him go.

What was happening now felt so similar to that, that Viktor almost felt himself shrinking down into the demure version of himself that he hadn’t been in so long. Being off of the medication had let him feel free in a way that he had never before, and the idea of having to go back to that now that his powers were gone brought the panic that had been resting dormant in the back of his mind to the forefront of all his thoughts.

He paused for a moment to try and pick up on the sounds of footsteps and rustling leaves from where his siblings and Ben were now lost in the park, but there was nothing. He tilted his head down towards the bust of Reginald and gave his head a small shake. “Asshole,” he muttered.

Viktor turned and walked down the last remaining path so that he could get out of the park.

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nestable · 3 years

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BRING IT ON HOME NESSIAN ONESHOT

Bring it on Home to me by Sam Cooke is on of my favorite songs in the word and I highly recommend you go have a listen if you havent heard it, I promise you wont regret it. I was listening to it the other day and instantly thought of how these lyrics resonated with nessian, cassian more especially and couldn't resist writing this fic. Just a little soft, SFW, domestic Nessian. 🥺😭

"Nes." Cassian groaned as he rolled closer to her side of the bed. "Nesta?"

After being met with stark silence, Cassian outstretched his hand only for it to collapse onto cold sheets.

No Nesta, he realized with a start.

Though he and his Nesta have been mated for some months now, all of which have been without an incident, he can't help but worry.

Each night he reassures himself with the knowledge of their bond, the heat of her body pressed against his own, the words of love and loyalty she ensures he hears everyday, that she is safe and finally happy.

Not miserable and balancing on the cusp of oblivion where he found her last year. Juggling between drowning her sorrows and indulging in sub-par sex just to feel something, just to deny the connection they share because she felt that she wasnt worthy of him. No, that was all over now, but he can't help when the memories resurface.

The memory of Nesta writhing and arched in her bed as silver flames wreathed her body like a shroud. The screams of pain and anguish that left her lips only to be swallowed by starless night and Deaths flames. How the very mountain trembled beneath their feet, bracing itself for the potential explotion that Cassian could sense building up. Somehow he knew that Velaris would've been crumpled to dust that night and become a fond memory. He felt it in his gut. Just the same way he felt her night terrors take hold of her for her powers to bask in centre stage. And in the same breath, he also felt that he could stop it. Whether that was pure male arrogance or the suspicion of the bond that lay between them, that was yet to be found. And it was...the moment her powers seized in intensity when he said her name. Once, twice, just enough for Rhys to gain control and save them all.

No, he would never forget that and he'd be damned if it were to happen again and catch him in a helpless position as the first time he witnessed the extent of her power. A power that mostly returned back to the Cauldron, only to be replaced by 3 Dread troves and the Mothers favour. A different sort of threat perhaps. One sweeter, kinder, even benign from what he's witnessed.

Nesta barely speaks about the power the same way she did with her Cauldron gifts. She reassures him that these were different, these she understands and smiled every time he enquired about her connection with the Mother. He wishes to know more, his body yearns for it, but his mate has always loved surprises.

Cassian threw on a pair of his undershorts before leaving his and Nestas new room. Though the House of Wind has become their shared abode, its ill advised to walk around naked with the possibility of Azriel becoming an unwilling spectator with his prowling around the halls in the dead of night like he's been doing for the past year.

Cassian loves his brother, sometimes more than kin normally do, he believes sometimes, but he'll never forgive him for that night he ruined his birthday night when he walked in on Nesta modelling her new negligee in the library. He's never jumped from one intense emotion to another so quickly. Blinded by the red lace of her silk garments only to see red of a different kind when the blue of Azriels siphon opened the door.

The territorial male part of him nearly took over that night and he was inclined to let it ride him had Nesta not winnowed them to their room and pushed him onto the bed. The anger, the curiosity he had as to how Nesta was able to winnow around the House when no one else could were obscured then turned insignificant by the view of Nesta sitting astride on his thighs.

Cassian followed the music swimming through the hall which brought him to a new lounge area that didn't present itself in the centuries that he's been living here until Nesta inherited the place.

Many new things have made their presence known and sprung to life since Nestas made the House her home. Hidden rooms have materialized, troves have opened and a gorgeous garden has flourished on the top of the mountain. As if in preparation of someone, or little someone's who might need it.

Cassian isn't blind to the fact that the House makes things available according to Nestas hopes, dreams and wishes. All of which make Cassian excited for the future and a forever with his mate even more.

Nesta was leaning against the cream white wall that she and Cassian painted just last night, holding an A2 canvas painting in both hands. He couldn't decipher her facial expression or read some of the wild thoughts that were evidently bouncing around her head as Nesta was inclined to raising her mental walls to him when she was stressed. He'd once asked why and she told him that she didnt want to plague him with her problems. Didnt want to bother him. Little did she know that Cassian was built for her, problems and all. Nothing about Nesta could bother him. Not even the parts that bothered her.

"Hi." He whispered which startled Nesta before she composed herself. For her to be so drawn into her thoughts that she didnt notice him approaching, instantly put him on edge him.

"Hi." She said, plastering a lazy smile onto her face.

Cassian took that as an invitation to enter. His eyes swept across the room, taking in the organized clutter. From the closed boxes filling the lounge, the half hung snow white gossamer curtains blowing in from the open balcony, to the slightly dusty white marble tiles that were installed just last week.

Cassian was a bit skeptical when Nesta told him of her plans to decorate this room in all white. White cushions, white couches, white walls, white flower arrangements, white chandeliers and white fur carpets felt like a fever dream to Cassian, but now that it's all coming to life, he can see the vision of beauty that Nesta had in mind. A vision not only limited to this lounge but the entire House of Wind that Nesta will decorate herself with the input of the House itself to revitalize the place. All of which will be paid for by Rhys.

How the Cauldron matched him to such a female, not mere female but god, he'll never know. All he can do is be grateful and work to be worthy and deserve the gift to draw breath in her presence.

Now that Nestas accepted her Human emissary role and is the courts newly appointed courtier, she's recieving the same fat salary like the rest of the IC, but Cassian doubts that Rhysand will ever let Nesta access her funds because he insists on paying for everything for her. Which goes to show that Rhys' gratitude for Nesta runs very far. Or guilt, or both.

What Nesta did for Feyre, Nyx and Rhys was something that couldnt be described with words. She saved their lives and in doing so the entire court. Rhys failed to tell his family about him and Feyres decision and never left a plan of action to follow after his death. Had he died, the role of High Lord could've fallen to anyone. Probably Keir or one of Mors detestable brothers because they are Rhys closest male blood relatives. What they would've done to Velaris, done to the entire court....Cassian seldom contemplates that. Nestas sacrifice and mercy saved them all and in doing so, opened herself to a higher form of being that is yet to be seen.

"What are you doing up so late?"

"I had a lot on my mind. I couldn't sleep so I decided to come and get this room in order." She explained, flipping her golden brown hair over her shoulder.

"What's been on your mind?" Cassian asked casually, taking a step closer.

He'd have embraced her and held her against his chest if it weren't for the massive painting in her hands. A painting that he can feel is the source of all her trepidation.

Nesta bit her lip before turning the canvas toward him and placing it in his hands. "Feyre finally finished that and it was delivered yesterday afternoon. I was too afraid to open it then- but I figured that I wouldn't be able to sleep until I saw it."

At first glance, anyone would assume that the muse was Nesta. From the steel eyes to the clear skin and poise in the pose. But upon further inspection, the age of the woman, the beauty spot beneath her right eye and slight darker tresses reveals the truth.

"This is your mother..." Cassian said lowly. The weight of the image, not the canvas itself but the obvious memories, pain and loss the painting held settled on him.

"Was." She uttered a bit sharply. Her throat bobbing up and down.

Cassians eyes darted between Nesta and the painting. Surprise and admiration pouring into him in droves. Her sisters did mention more than once that Nesta is their mothers spitting image, but this...it was as though the same person had been born twice.

"You stole her whole face." He chuckled, bringing a sweet curve to Nestas lip.

"I know...I know." She shrugged.

Cassian lay the painting carefully against the wall then wrapped his arms around his mates shoulders. Her own found their home around his waist as she rested her chin atop his chest so that their eyes could meet.

If it were a few months ago, a year, she would've furiously blinked away the tears that have settled in her eyes, or rejected their proximity entirely. Only to retain a semblance of control that shes strived so hard to maintain. But now shes opened herself to him entirely. Made him a part of both her happiness and pain, loss and gain, victories and failure. Just as their mating vows ordered.

"Talk to me." He whispered, dragging his fingers through her hair.

"I- I just...I know that my mother was not the best of mothers, nor did she love us in the ways that a mother should but....but that doesn't make me love her any less. She might've trained me instead of raised me, saw me as a ticket to wealth and leisure or lived vicariously through me but she was still my mother." Her tears fell down her cheeks as if a damn had been broken. "There were good moments as well as bad and I'm not going to pretend that she was never loving or good to me. Elain and Feyre might've forgotten her, but I can't... I wont."

Cassian lowered his head to press soft kisses to her cheeks where her tears left stains. "I know." He murmured. "You dont share the same memories as Elain and Feyre, it's only natural that you saw her much differently and remember her in a better light than they do." He rubbed feather light circles on the back of her neck in an attempt to assuage her from her pain.

"It broke my heart when I walked through Feyres house that day and didn't see a piece of myself or her. It felt like I was being erased, forgotten. Now I've found my place in that hall but she hasn't. I couldn't allow that to happen. I couldn't let her be erased just like that."

"And she wont be, not if you will it. I'll remember her with you." Cassians lips found Nestas and before they knew it, the couple found themselves descending into a deep kiss that only a mating bond could conjure.

"You know that's one of the reasons I love you?" He stated, to which Nesta replied with a raised brow. "Your compassion, your massive heart, your loyalty... these are all qualities that you motivate me to pursue everyday. You've kept your soft side hidden for a long time and now we're starting to see it." She smiled. By far the most beautiful sight he's ever seen. "That sweet love. Just bring it on home to me."

A giggle was shared between them as soon as the words left his mouth. The lyrics of a song, their song, that came on the day of their mating ceremony that they had on repeat for 2 hours straight. Cassian had never heard a song that spoke to him and his experience with love the way that one did. One that Nesta knew would speak to his very marrow and chose not to warn him in advance, only to see his reaction.

"You're insufferable." She said, only to hug him tighter and lay her head on his chest.

"Well then you're going to have to get used to it, Nes. We only have forever left together."

Just when Cassian expected Nesta to respond, the soft melody of a piano begun in the corner of the room from Nesta symphoniam, followed by the ever true lyrics that might've been written for them, that might as well have been their wedding and mating vows.

If you ever change your mind

About leaving, leaving me behind

Baby, bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

Nesta begun the dance. Cassian followed with no hesitation. Though it was a far cry from the pulsating waltz they'd done in Hewn city or other court events thereafter. It was far more intimate, passionate. Just a sway of the hips and foot movements that reforged and strengthened the golden bond that surged through them on Winter Solstice and polished it to a shimmer. Their bond was not a mere tether, not a chain. It was a rainbow. Shimmering through storms and sunny days. It didnt only make its presence known or surge when they were in the throes of passion, it became more sentient when they were upset with each other. It was the musical and colourful road that led mate back to mate. Self back to self.

I know I laughed when you left

But now I know I only hurt myself

Baby, bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

His heart cracked at the words and the truth they carry. The memories when they were so at odds with each other that they could barely be in the same room longer than necessary. The nights when he thought the immense sadness and grief at the prospect of losing her entirely would drown him and suffocate him. When he wished that he could rip his heart out of his chest only to get a reprieve from his anguish. Anguish he attempted to expunge with throwing himself into work and training only to realize that the further they moved from one another, the further they moved from themselves.

As if Nesta could hear and feel those memories, she held onto him tighter. This female, his tether to reality, his anchor, the tree that was able to weather a thunderstorm that left the land decimated only to come back and continue to grow with fruits and flowers on display for all to see.

I'll give you jewellery and money, too

That ain't all, that ain't all I'll do for you

Oh, if you bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

Cassian knew that from the moment he met Nesta, there was nothing in the world that he wouldn't do for her. Nothing too out of reach that if she should request, he would give. He was already hers in mind, body and soul. Their bond might've snapped into being after she emerged from the cauldeon, but the draw he felt toward her was infinite. Like their souls were made from the same essence but placed on earth in different time periods so that they know life without the other, to appreciate being together more.

You know I'll always be your slave

'Til I'm buried, buried in my grave

Oh honey, bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

Cassian held up Nestas hand so that he may look upon the wedding and mating band. She requested that she have both and went to the best jeweler in Velaris to fuse both choices so that they sit as one on her finger. Both were made of rose gold, the slimmer wedding ring was imbued with three tanzanite diamonds and the larger mating band sports just one giant diamond that would need it's own security team. Cassian knew his mate loved nice things and made him pay a pretty penny to get it. He'd do again if only to see the stars that twinkled in her eyes when they chose the bands at the jeweler.

He looked at his own jeweled finger. A simple silver band that stood out more than he expected it to. He wanted to get black carbon fiber but Nesta threatened not to speak to him again if he had. Now he can't stop looking at it. He loves how it makes an appearance even though he's bedecked in full illyrian armour. He'll never forget the swell of pride he felt when his soldiers eyes zoned in on the piece of metal that could've easily been obscured by the red siphon that rests atop his hand, but chose to stand out and make its presence known. A symbol of his immature bachelorhood dead and gone, giving life to a new stage in his life. A stage he's waited for longer than he cares to admit.

He remembers using the word 'shackled' when describing his mating bond with Nesta when he was upset with her, but now that word seems appropriate. If the pieces of metal sitting on their matching fingers are the shackles of which he spoke, then he'd wear his shackles with pride.

One more thing

I tried to treat you right

But you stayed out, stayed out at night

But I forgive you, bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

Cassian rarely thinks about the time they spent apart. When resentment, self punishment and grief pulled them apart only because those memories are nothing in comparison to the centuries he spent without her.

Living life believing the words of the ignorant and seeing oneself as a inferior and undeserving of the love that he relishes in now. The love that has somehow wiped away centuries of self hate and lack of self awareness. He figures that the reason why he used to be the first to throw himself into deadly missions were all desperate plea to prove himself, to put it into stone that he isn't a mere worthless bastard but is someone worthy of respect. But now his outlook has completely shifted. He is no longer living only for himself, but for another. He remembers the blind terror he felt when he thought that Nesta was swallowed by the black water in the Bog, or how she screamed when she thought that she lost him on Mount Ramiel.

He doesnt want either of them to go through that again. To be without the other. To feel that their very heart was ripped out of their chest, when both had taken permanent residence in the other.

He saw how Feyre reacted when Rhys died, and heard when Rhys screamed when Feyre was on deaths doorstop. The mere thought of Nesta experiencing that pain or him has softened his daring heart.

He will live, he will love and he will do it with Nesta in his arms.

As the song drew to a close, Nesta shifted from her position on his chest, too look upon him again. She brought her slim fingers to his cheeks and smiled. "Forever."

He could offer nothing but the same. A truth that had been both a promise and a prayer from the moment they met, "Forever."

Tag: @bakingandbooks3 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @arinbelle @silvernesta @darklobe @haepaw @carlieg20 @illyrianshadowhunter

#acsf spoiler #nessian oneshot #nessian #bring it on home to me

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mooshs-crack-headcanons · 3 years

Note

Hello could I have sfw letters cjm for dante & lady pls? 🙏🙏🙏💞

I'm always happy to write for Lady 👉👈 I hope this came out okay!

Lady

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Lady hates it when you're sad and is willing to do anything to make you smile again. Expect to be fully pampered, just name it and she'll go out of her way to get it for you whether it be new clothes or going out for dinner at a fancy restaurant with her success at her job money isn't exactly an issue but if she does need some extra cash she can always send the bill where she needs it (RIP Dante's wallet) But if going out to make you feel better doesn't help or is just not your thing, Lady of course doesn't mind just spending time together cuddled up in bed or on the couch in your pajamas at three in the afternoon listening to you vent about what's troubling you either. Lady gives the best cuddles and her chest is quite the nice pillow to test your head on as she plays with your hair.

But if this is a panic attack you're having, Lady's attitude shifts. She knows from many dark troubling years what they're like and she knows how scary they can be so when she sees you tucked away in the furthest corner of your apartment just sobbing your heart out and barely able to breathe. In her experience, she finds that being alone during these times to be the worse (one of the many reasons why she's grateful for Dante when they were younger) but she knows everyone deals with these types of things differently but she would prefer to stay with you during it, whether just holding you in her arms as your sobs and sniffles soak her shirt or talking you through it reminding you how much you're worth to her and counting each deep breath you take with you to try and calm you down. After these moments you usually fall asleep in her arms and this is the time Lady takes to reflect that you're very strong especially with the tough lives both of you have lived to make the two of you find one another and despite the hardships and everything else, she's really glad to have you.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Lady, even though you will never hear her admit it, gets jealous quite easily. Is it mostly because of her childhood trauma and trust issues? Yes, yes it is (thanks Arkham, you blobby piece of shit) Don't get me wrong, she trusts you with every fiber of her soul and she knows that you do to and would never do anything like that, and she also trusts everyone in the crew and that they know of your relationship and respect it enough to never try anything like that with you (no one likes when Lady's pissed after all, way too many bullet holes to fix) However there's still the issue with people she doesn't know, you are very attractive after all and she knows there's some women and men out there that will push their luck when it comes to flirting with you even if after you shoot down their interest several times.

If you're able to pick up on when a stranger's hitting on you, whether it be a client or a random patron at the bar you and Lady frequent, then Lady's reaction will be mostly directed at the person in question (she'll get extra pissy if the person hitting on you is another woman) she'll sit next to you and ask the person what sort of interesting conversation they were having with her s/o not to be able to butt out when you told them you were seeing someone three times already. If looks could kill they would immediately be out of existence at the moment, without surprise it's not very long for them to leave after that. However if you're very oblivious or you just don't catch on that a person is hitting on you, expect a very cold reaction from her. She doesn't interfere, once she sits and watches the two of you for a while and sees that you're not doing anything, she'll just leave whatever place the two of you are at and go home. Expect the silent treatment for days, she'll just ignore your whole existence and carry on with her day, not even spending the time to glare at you, she'll expect for you to figure out what you did on your own and she'll wait for an apology. Because she really loves and trusts you, your apology doesn't have to be all big just enough for her to feel reassured by your feelings but that's not to say if the apology did have some expense to it, she wouldn't exactly complain.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

Lady for the longest time wanted to get married once she felt the world didn't need her demon slaying skills, she just wanted to be able to settle down in a peaceful world after all and especially with you. After the events of 5, she does feel like the world is a little bit better and with Dante and Vergil's vacation in hell to chill out the eldest brother, safely she can feel assured that he won't be causing trouble for a while.

It was after a job with Trish when the thought first came in her head. The blonde she devil had made some sort of comment on a ring when they'd pasted an old jewelry store. It was a golden ring that definitely caught the walking arsenal's eyes, the golden band littered with small diamonds and the smallest of pearls in the dead center reminded her a lot of her mother's ring that she would play with when she was younger. That being said it definitely spoke to something deep down within her. On the way back to your apartment, the thought of the ring wouldn't leave her head. It wasn't like she didn't have the money for it, but she just didn't have a reason just to go out and buy it, besides she'd after to take it off too frequently with the pace she gets jobs (rings and guns don't exactly mix well in the heat of a hunt) maybe she could give it to you? Although the ring is clearly an engagement ring, how exactly would you react to that? Would you even like it? What if...the two of you did get married? And the ring reminds her so much if her mother's it's really...comforting with the thought of seeing it on your hand. For the next few months her thoughts that she was stuck with in her mind in the early hours of the morning quickly transitioned from the ring itself to marrying you. Sure the two of you joked about bickering like an old married couple but, did you want to ever get married?

The two of you had been together for quite some time, maybe it was about time to take the next step. Lady is a classy woman, so she'll make sure that it happens over a nice fancy dinner at one of the first restaurants that the two of you went on your first dates on. No matter how many times you ask what the occasion is for, she'll just brush it away but saying it's just a little splurge just because of how well the last job the two of you went on was. Conversation topics will hop around all over the place but all come back to something relating to key moments in your relationship, and before long does Lady look deeper and get lost into the adoration in your eyes and the gentle smile on your lips does she even forget about the ring in the small little white box in her pocket and without a second thought, does she ask that important question.

Marriage with Lady I'd say would still be the same as in dating Lady, the main difference being that she takes a little bit more time off from jobs to come home and do more 'domestic' things with you such as cooking together, lazy cuddles on the couch together, bunches of kisses in the shower together, and maybe if you convince her hard enough she might let you even get a dog. After your married and Lady looks at you wearing that ring that reminds her so much of her mother's; does she smile to herself. She knows if her mother was still around she would've loved you and just another thing her father took from her. Lady loves you and she's promised deep down to herself that's your marriage is going to be nothing like her parents, everyday until the very she's going to prove her love to you and feel herself get lost in your smile all the same.

Dante

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

This is Dante we're talking about, I'd say he'd be the absolute best at comforting. With all of his fucked up mental trauma he's dealt with almost his entire life, he has quite the few strategies to calm himself down so he definitely knows how to care for other people dealing with shit also. It all depends on whatever works best for you. Want to sob and cry it all out? He's there to be the shoulder you cry on. Need a burst of energy to get all of the pent up rage out of your system? He'll gladly call up Morrison to find some sort of job to go on so you can slap the shit around some demons. Need to open up about whatever's plaguing your mind? He'll sit with you and listen to you speak for however long you need. Just need to punch something? He's taken quite the damage over the years so I'd say he can definitely take a few hits with no problem. You need just to be left alone for a few hours? He'll still be concerned, but he'll let you be, but sneak a pizza box underneath your door just to be safe.

Dante, like Lady, definitely has experience in the field (and as previously mentioned he also helped her out with them when they were younger) He'll never leave your side once through it, if you're comfortable he'll hold you through it and won't say a word, just gently tap a calm gentle beat on your arm as gentle reminders to breathe. Once you're able to talk will he begin to quietly rock you back and forth as hum in your ear. Humming always tends to relax him during his darkest moments, so he hopes the calming sound of his voice will distract you from any harmful thoughts you may have. Once it's finally over, always without fail the very first words that he'll say to you (probably the first for hours) is that he loves you and how much you mean the world to him.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Dante is most definitely not the jealous type. He trusts you and he's confident that your relationship is so steady that he doesn't need to worry about anything. He just doesn't find any reason to be jealous about the people (the crew and strangers alike) around you. But that doesn't mean that he won't fucking gloat you around, it lights his fucking ego after all. He loves having you sit on his lap as either clients are in the shop about future jobs or the rest of the crew is hanging about, he just loves that sense of pride he gets in his chest just showing you around and it helps clear up if anyone were to get the wrong idea that you were single so kills two birds with one stone!

Dante may not be the jealous type, but he's definitely not the man to just sit around if he sees you uncomfortable. He knows how fucking hard it is when people just can't take a fucking hint so it boils his blood when he sees someone hitting on you after multiple times you've rejected him to the point where you're clearly visibly uncomfortable. Now Dante's perfectly chill when he slides on over, but knowing him for years your instantly able to tell that something's definitely off with how he's speaks and just...the aura around him in general, he instantly wraps his arm around your shoulder as he stares the person in the eyes and asks what's up in with the most chill exaggerated "cool guy" his persona could come up with but the cold glare in his eyes doesn't seem to match that same attitude, seriously if the youngest son of Sparda was pissed enough things would turn dark very fast. Let's just say it doesn't take long for any 'pests' to take the hint.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

Marriage isn't exactly for him, he doesn't really see the point in it, the two of you love each other and that should all be what matters. Although if he knew that you were interested, his attitude would slightly shift he does want to do whatever makes you the happiest after all so maybe he'll keep it in mind.

He has few memories of his parents together but what he remembers the most is that they were the most loving couple in the whole world, through all the hardships and all of the struggle neither of them dropped their smile or the loving sparkle in each other's eyes when they would look at each other. Dante views marriage as a pointless way to get the government involved with people's love lives, but now that he knows you're interested in getting hitched one day over a conversation about Nero and Kyrie potentially tying the knot, he starts to fond over the idea of just having what his parents had with you. Now Dante is...really fucking broke so he can't get you anything fancy but he does take up really hard jobs whenever he can from Lady and Morrison to save up enough to at least buy you something (also note once Vergil found out what his brother was doing he - threatening to slice down anyone who brings it up - pitches in by taking in some extra jobs as well) Once he's able to get enough money to buy a decent ring he gets Trish and Lady to go with him to the downtown jewelry store pick out one you might like. After having many, many, flashy eye sores of suggested rings to be immediately shot down by Lady and Trish, is when he finally finds the one. The next few days Dante is happy and chipper with the ring in his pocket even going out on jobs he'll look at the small red velvet box and buzz around all the ideas on how exactly he's going to propose to you. Speaking of which now this is Dante we're talking about here so of course his ideas are wacky and crazily romantic but however with being in so much debt and already borrowing so much from Lady and Trish what he finally goes with is pretty small but..very special.

It's on one random night after having the normal pizza and strawberry sundaes dinner at Fredi's, the two of you hand in hand walking back home to the shop talking and joking about whatever comes to mind. The two of you eventually walked past the park, where the statue of Sparda still stood tall as ever. Everytime Dante came to this park it would catch his eye. You had stopped to talk to him about something, but he just couldn't exactly hear what his eyes fell upon the figure of his father and his hand fell into his pocket to feel at the box. You really did mean the world to him, but what if you don't even like the ring? What if you changed your mind about getting married? What if something happens and he can't be there to protect you and you end up like - your hand to his cheek is what brings him out of his darkening thoughts. You ask him if he's okay, your eyes both soft and concerned as they can be that he finds himself lost in them. With your voice he feels comforted. With your gaze he feels loved. Feeling the edges on his heart slip away does he pull the small box out of his pocket, and with fluid movements does he ask you to make him the happiest man in the world.

As the same with Lady, marriage with Dante is just the same as you were dating him. Though being married to you makes him a whole lot happier than he was before, going out of his way to even talk more about you when he's on jobs with the rest of the crew and everything (which mostly gets a nod and patiently listen reaction out of them as they're pleased to see him this happy) He might've originally thought that marriage would not be something for him but now he's damn sure that it's something he can't be without, after forty something years he finally understands what his parents felt.

If you like what you read please consider reblogging! It means the world for writers and artists!

#devil may cry #devil may cry x reader #lady dmc #lady x reader #dante sparda #dante x reader #mine

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zuffer-weird-girl · 4 years

Text

Overhaul / Chisaki Kai sfw alphabet

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Yeah... not very as you all may have expected. Chisaki is very reserved and his mysophobia doesn't help at all. Although, years of not touching nobody can do so much to a person and he MIGHT be willing to touch you after a few months... maybe years.

At the first few times he will only show his affection by giving you things. That's it.

But well, the wait is worth it. Chisaki is a gentleman by nature. Kisses on the hand whenever you pass by, forcing/invinting you to sit on his lap.

His forms of affection are from actions, not from words. He sucks with words, Im sorry.

B = Beginning (How would the relationship start?)

Something tells me that Chisaki would start a relationship only when the person gives him some type of interest. Personality, knowledge.... QUIRKLESS.

Really, he does care more about how intellugent or what they could be to him as a partner, appearance comes just as a bonus to him.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

AHA!

Jokes apart, Chisaki is just as a stone when cuddling... if he is willing to honestly because this man is such a tsundere brat it huRTS-

He would slowly learn how to do it, but please give him time and espace, he never done this before God help him.

He is much more comfortable with you laying on his chest as he continues on with his paperwork, it gives hkm a sense that he is not alone and that he can spend time with you while doing something so tedious as paperwork.

BUT! On harsh days, as example got into a argument with pops or a bad day in general, he likes to lay his head on your lap and just forget the world exists as hugging you close and inhaling your clean scent.

Also well, enjoy when he is sleepy.

Also, cuddling only after a shower. No buts.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Well, he does want to settle down but as long as he can continue gis work on the Hassaikai then its nore than fine to him (if we're talking about after the raid THEN HE NEEDS TO SETTLE DOWN AND SOME THERAPY)

Cleaning master. Sucks at cooking.

Okay, he is not that bad he can make a toast, but he just really doesn't like to do it, since is just so messy. Really enjoys your cooking though if you know how to...

If not his poor childhood friend will become the chef of you two. Seriously Hari need a break-

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Fuck. If HE had to break up he would be straight to the point. Cold and uncaring. Not even the whole "is not you, its me" no no. Chisaki will make sure to tell that he is breaking up because of you and thats final, being on his good intentions or not.

Kai would break up with his partner if they did something like cheat on him or something... and he is from the mafia you rreally want to take the risk?!

Or he would break up due to his fear of you getting hurt. But this will only happen when his paranoia would take over him.

He doesn't want to lose you soon, affirmative.

F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

He feels unnecessary before he mets someone he feels really in love with. He doesn't believed in love when younger so its a tragic change.

And no. Chisaki wants to make sure he knows the person very well before he goes to get down on one knee for them. And surprisingly, if he feels like he is safe and can be vulnetable around his partner? Then he is on the cloud nine internally.

Only time will tell when you can get engaged with this plague man.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

TSUNDERE BASTARD-

Is that enough? No? Ok.

He is always scoffing and rolling his eyes when you are affectionate with him but ny god dont stop or else he will discount his rage and frustation on poor Rappa.

Although, when he gets a bit drunk or just overworked he is so gentle. Like, sweet words and all, it even shocks you sometimesm

For him, you are the light of his dark life, his angel. So he doesn't mind speaking behind closed doors on how much he loves you and cherish you being here with him. Likes to carres your cheeks with the back of his gloved hand or plant sweet kisses on your forehead, hands and most of all: lips.

Appreaciate it because his behaviour can change on how you take his words.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Nope. Only when he feels the urge to it, when he is tired or when you are down.

He is not much of a hugger. But is willing to give some to you since... you're special to him.

Although Chisaki hugs are like 👌😤. His arms caging you to gis chest and how warm it feels its just heavenly. He hugs you close and likes to give you little squezze that does not hurt to make you sure he is not letting go for a while.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Long. Long time until he says this.

Saying those three words means to him only one thing: vulnerability.

Its going to take a lot of time for Kai to let out those words, mostly sure that his partner will be the one to say it first, but Kai would jjst stay there and not reply.

One: embarrassed as heck; Two: he is sure that he loves you back but... he needs time.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He is more overprotective than jealous. Yet he does feel it. A lot.

He doesn't trust OTHERS, he knows you love him. But the world around him failed so many times when he was young that this man has doubts even on his most considerate coomurate. He fears that they might take advantege of you.

A tiny part of him fears that you will leave him because he is not the mostproper partner, but his pride takes over that very easily.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Soft, passionate and hot.

As spoken before Kai loves to kiss your hand, forehead, cheeks and lips. Those are the cleanest and softest places he found to make you embarrassed and all soft.

He isn't much to being kissed... but he does love it when he is there working and then you rub his shoulder a bit before kissing his temple than pecking his lips softly.

Leaves him a blushing mess all the time.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

*laughs* ERI-CHAN-!

I have a few scenatios of him actually being a good dad so... I will just skip this one and let you all see it for yourselfs.

Although, one word. Strict dad. You guessed right.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

My HEART THEY ARE THE BEST

Especially when he doesn't go to work because its only there that you can see his resting face on the pillows. Usually when he goes to work he gets up, dress himself and carres your check softly before leaving a kiss on your temple and leaving.

When he is free you're trapped. Cant get out of the bed until he does.

Sweet scraches and petting coming from him. TAKE THOSE.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Soft. Watching him, tired as always getting out of his clothes to put his nightwear. If neither of you feel like crashing down onto the dreamland, Chisaki will pick one book you may like, let you rest your head on his chest, shoulder or lap as he reads it out loud while scracthing your head.

If he is on the mood he might even sing you a lullaby... only if you're feeling down though.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

After a very long time on the relationship.

If he does have a mentalbreakfown he is blurting everything out like he is about to die and just needs to tell you everything. Although it would be almost impossible.

I feel like Chisaki would slowly reveal things of himself to you. Is the most like to happen.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Easy peasy little squeaky.

This man gets angry easily but he does know how to control himself over this situations... although when he loses his patience he does get pissed off (we saw him already guys with pops and the heroes)

In discussions he woudl rather distance himself then to just shout at you though.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

STALKER

He knows everything and more about you. Every little detail he will remember

Seriously, he might still have that annoyed face of his when you're talming but he is listening and paying attention.

Might as well surprise you with your favorite sweets or flowers.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

First kiss.

He never kissed someone besides you so all the memroy is very well guarded on his mind and he does cherish it everyday.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Overprotective. Will kill for you, overhaul and then kill again for you.

Chisaki is powerful, not only by his quirk but his status as well so only one look of his is enough to scare the others away.

Or his threatenings like... slipping his glove out and showing his victim his bare hand as a signal to not speak or dont come any closer unless they want to die.

Will fell weirded out if you protect him since like... he is a boss of the mafia? He doesn't need protection? He is your knight in shinning armor not the other way around.

... although it makes him a bit embarrassed.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

So much money that the Hassaimai is stealing from other gangs because of this asshole expending shit tones of moneh in your guys dates.

Everything you once thought or mentiomed for him is there. He is not afraid to spend money when it comes to you.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Brush off something that its important to you bit seems unimportant for him.

Gets rude sometimes.

Always demanding on cleaning duty.

Wanting to keep his personal espace due to his mysophobia.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks? Do your looks bother them?)

Not much. He only gives care to his cleaning habbits and his smell. Definitely not because you find his scent amusing and devine. Nope. Definitely not.

He doesn't care about looks. Really, do not give a shit. Is just a bonus to him. You're divine and angelic to him.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Many thumbs up.

He feels extra annoyed and bothered when you're not around. Pls stay with this plague man.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Cant sleep without you on his side. Really, he just cant. He tried many times already but just ended up scoffing and going after you just because he needed to sleep says him.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He calls you brat as a affectionate nickname but seriously, he doesn't want a child as his partner, so dont be too childish. It irritates him a lot.

BEING ORGANIZED IS NOT A OPTION IS A MUST. or else it will feel like he is more occupied scolding you then loving you for that matter.

Hates. HATES. when his plans doesn't work well and when suddenly you cancel a date of you two or any plans in general.

Hates.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs? Does it change around a partner?)

Cling to you for dear life when he gets comfortable with you. And I would suggest you to stay awake for a bit longer than him since he mumbles in his sleep.

Might be nightmares of rombas chasing him with knifes or words of how much he truly loves you? You might as well find out.

#bnha villains #bnha #bnha characters #bnha x reader #bnha imagine #chisaki kai #chisaki kai x reader #overhaul x reader #overhaul #fanfic overhaul #my wriring #zuffer writings

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bittersweetmelxdy · 4 years

Note

hiiiii, if it’s not too much trouble would you mind writing First Kiss headcanons with the boys?

Here we are, I don’t know how many months ago you asked for this, but here it is 4.5k words of First Kiss scenarios with the boys, hope you like it x

Victor: A kiss to resolve doubts

One thing I think the majority of us can agree upon, is that the first time Victor kisses you it’s in a rush of emotion, it’s explosive and sudden, and the best example of it would be: fireworks.

Since you and Victor had started dating you had fallen into a teasing relationship (read: Victor took great joy in teasing you, whilst you fired comebacks and pouted accordingly), so you were very much comfortable being around him, seeing him often as a pillar of strength and comfort for you.

So, when Victor offhandedly mentioned he needed a companion for a gala event, you jumped at it, in truth when Victor had asked you your heart had skipped a beat. With Victor being a chief investor in your company, you often felt you had to tread very carefully when it came to your relationship with Victor. You and your employees worked way too hard for all your hard work to be disregarded as nepotism, therefore, you found yourself almost tiptoeing in certain situations with the stoic CEO.

But honestly, anyone who saw how Victor treated you and your company would never accuse you of nepotism, in fact the LFG employees sometimes felt pity for you as because you were his girlfriend, Victor seemed to hold you to a different standard, pushing you to be the best you could be with an extremely critical eye.

As it was between friends, you and the others (Kiki, Willow, Anna and Minor) often gossiped about your lives, and a recurring topic was your relationship. However, due to Victor’s more private nature you carefully kept a lot of details close to your chest, which the others pouted about but ultimately understood, and would move on to another topic. But you soon became lost in your thoughts, as you and Victor despite being together, had never kissed, something that occurred to you during Kiki’s teasing. Noticing the time, you shook your head, as if to dispel the very thoughts from your mind, gathering your things to return to work.

However, the thoughts didn’t leave you, and you thought about it as you got ready for the gala. Victor was a great boyfriend, don’t get me wrong, but you felt a little uncomfortable about bringing up the “first kiss” issue in front of him, but since you didn’t doubt the position you held in his heart you settled your nerves and went downstairs from your apartment where Victor was waiting for you in his car.

The drive to the gala, and a large amount of the gala passed like a blur for you, being present physically but not mentally. Victor noticing did not push the issue but kept glancing at you to check your complexion and expression for insight. But it all seemed to come to a head when you and Victor were about to leave.

“Whilst I just say goodbye to the host, stay here. I don’t need to spend extra time looking for you like a lost child.” Victor added the second sentence hoping to get a rise from you, but to his sheer surprise your only response was a simple.

“Okay.” you looked down at your feet, and squeezing your hand tightly once, Victor let go and left you by yourself, to which you sighed deeply.

“Well, look who it is?” a snide voice rang out, and you shivered recognising the owner, lifting your head in dread to reveal the women addressing you.

“Chic, it’s nice to see you.” you responded politely, smiling in greeting despite your downcast mood.

“I saw you with Victor,” she started, coming to a halt in front of you, “it’s interesting, you say you’re dating but Victor isn’t anywhere near as passionate with you as he was with me.” she leaned closer, dropping her voice as she delivered the final blow into your ear, “I mean he never could keep his hands off ME.” as with a swish of her skirt she was gone, and the breath was ripped from your throat.

Try as you might, you mind couldn’t help but bring up the past memories of way back in your acquaintance when you and Victor had just met. When you had gone to see Victor in his office, and you had seen Chic leave his office smug, and Victor inside had a dishevelled tie and lipstick smudged on his lips. And at this time, Chic and Victor were NOT officially dating, at least they didn’t have the public relationship you and Victor had.

Whilst you were stewing in your thoughts, you never even noticed that Victor had returned, his warm hand grabbing your chilled one was a shock to the system.

“You ready to leave?” he asked, softly, leading you out of the gala towards where his car was parked.

Once you were at the car, and heard Victor unlock the car, about to open the door for you, like the gentleman he is. Then the dam broke inside of you and you dug your heels into the ground, clenching your fists and voicing the fears that had plagued you all day.

“Why?” you choked out, “Why can’t you?”

“Why can’t I what?” Victor turned to you, his arm resting on the top of his car, “Use your words dummy, otherwise how can I know what’s going on in that head on yours.” Victor’s tone remained affectionate, however his care only grated on your frayed nerves.

“Why can’t you kiss me Victor?” your voice despite not being very loud, was deafening in the silence of the car park.

“That’s what been bothering you all evening, listen you-”

“Is it because I’m not as attractive as Chic!”

“What does Chic have to do with this?” Victor advanced on you, his tone deep and low, and your back hit the car door.

“You could never keep your hands off of her, so why am I different?” tears were streaming down your cheeks at this point, and Victor’s resolve snapped.

“Idiot.” he said lowly, and before you could even open your mouth to comment on this, he pinned you against the car, hands cradling your face, sealing his lips with yours.

The kiss was hard and heavy, and brimming with emotion, your lips tingled with the pressure and how hard Victor was pressed against you, almost as if he was trying to meld his lips onto yours. When he finally pulled back, you were left panting for air, as the sudden kiss stole the breath from you, and Victor’s thumb moved across your bottom lip rubbing it as if to soothe the soreness of it. Your eyes remained locked together, as Victor rested, he forehead against yours, breathing as hard as you.

“I didn’t want to come on too strong, dummy.” Victor panted, “I was being considerate.”

“So... it’s not because you don’t think I’m unattractive?” you bashfully asked.

“I wouldn’t be with you if I thought that.” Victor flicked your forehead in punishment, “Come on, let’s go home.” before completely leaving your presence, he leant down and placed a final gentle peck on your lips, before opening the door to let you sit down.

Once he was sat in the driver’s seat he paused and turned to you, “And next time, talk to me, before you drive yourself silly on your own okay?” at your agreement he laughed and ruffled your hair, happy that your doubts were now firmly resolved.

Lucien: a kiss as a reward

With how Lucien is, (a partly to do with his theme music), I just think of your first kiss with Lucien is as smooth as this man is.

There was a lot riding on this multi-part documentary, it had been a 3-month project, filled with countless interviews and late-night researching. So as the final day crawled closer and closer, you and the other employees were becoming more and more haggard, as everyday seemed to have a to-do list that was a mile long, along with the work you had to do for other projects, it was all becoming a bit much for you.

You were so grateful to have Lucien in your life at a time like this, he would always be there for you, dropping you off at work and picking you up, greeting you after a long day with outstretched arms for you to bury yourself into. You felt sorry for him, as you weren’t being a very attentive girlfriend, often just falling asleep in his arms as you sat on the couch together.

However, Lucien seemed to take it all in his stride, doing his job as a ‘Supportive Boyfriend’ flawlessly, whenever he didn’t need to be at the University or the Research Centre, he could be found accompanying you to interviews and standing off-stage during shoots, supporting you with his presence.

Honestly, he had no problem that you were so exhausted you practically passed out the moment you settled on his couch, in fact he loved it. He was beyond happy that you were so comfortable in his presence that you fell asleep in his embrace. It also helped that because of you became a dead weight to the world, Lucien would get to carry you, bridal style, back to your apartment and tuck you into bed and then as a reward for him the two of you would eat breakfast together, the soft domesticity of the situation was not lost on Lucien. So, he would just smile sweetly at you, doing his best to be in your presence as much as possible, and taking care of you from the shadows.

But it nearly over, you woke up on the final day, the day you and your team would view the final cut of the finale of the documentary. The whole week, you and your team had been viewing each part of the documentary, only making minor changes where needed, and finally you were up to the finale. Pushing the blankets off you, you hurried through your shower and got dressed, dancing around your room humming a happy tune to yourself. Once finally ready, you went about making breakfast, adding a little extra flair due to the importance of today. When you heard the muffled firm raps on the door, you perked up and rushed to the door, revealing your boyfriend.

Lucien stood on the opposite side of the door, and when the opening door revealed his beaming girlfriend, the smell of breakfast wafting into the corridor, he chuckled drawing you into a hug, and once he released you, you led him to the dining table gesturing for him to sit whilst you brought out breakfast, and the two of you ate whilst Lucien watched you amusedly.

“So, I’ll take it you’re excited for today?” he mused, and you nodded emphatically, your cheeks puffed as you munched on your toast.

You gulped in down and opened your mouth, “It’s the final viewing of the finale, and you’re coming with me to see it, so I’m real excited.” you looked down bashfully, wondering if Lucien found your behaviour childish.

But although Lucien did chuckle at you puffed cheeks, he reached out and brushed his knuckles across your cheek affectionately, ridding it of stray crumbs. Showing that he appreciated your childlike behaviour, as he rose to gather the dishes to help you tidy up. Once the two of you had cleaned up, Lucien waited for you at the door as you gathered your coat and put your shoes on.

Lucien drove you to work, and by the time Lucien had parked the car in your company’s car park, you were bouncing in excitement. You were literally bouncing with every step you took, and Lucien just trailed amusedly behind you, watching you bounce your way into the conference room.

“Boss!”, “Boss Lady!”, “Y/N!” a chorus of your excited employees greeted you, and you beamed in response happy to know your team was as excited for this as you were, and you tugged Lucien by the hand into two available seats.

Lucien found greater enjoyment watching your reactions to the finale than the documentary itself. You clenched your thumb nail between your teeth, eyes wide and bright, overcome with emotion at how all your hard work had paid off. Once it was over, you and your team stood up clapping and cheering at how well it was put together, and Lucien stood to the side watching as you, Kiki and Anna embraced, complimenting each other on your hard work. Then you rushed over to him, smiling brightly and you threw your arms around his neck hugging him tightly, and Lucien reciprocated the embrace wrapping his arms around your waist, and using his position of his face over your shoulder, he scanned the room, and noticing no one was paying attention to the two of you, he put his plan in motion.

“Good job.” Lucien drew back from you, and then without ceremony or build-up his leaned in a pressed a slow kiss on your lips, smiling against your lips at the audible hitch in your breath.

You flushed in a rosy hue, your eyelashes fluttering as you came to, and you opened your mouth to response but you were cut off by a teasing whistle, and Willow’s voice.

“Get it Boss.” she teased, and she, Kiki, Anna and Minor started to laugh at your expense as the blush rose to the tips of your ears, and you covered your face with your hands burying yourself in Lucien’s chest.

Lucien chuckled, using his arms to manoeuvre you out of the room whilst still hiding you in his embrace, “Okay, I’ll be taking her home now.” and the two of you left, whilst the laughter and playful teases of your friends followed you.

Kiro: a kiss in a rush of excitement

Kiro was well-loved, we all knew that, he packed stadiums and his songs were streamed and loved by the masses. But you knew more than anyone else, the deep-rooted insecurity that clawed at Kiro’s gut and followed him like a shadow, whenever he had to drop a new single/EP/album.

He had told you softly during your nightly video call, pouting adorably in his glasses, and squirming as he sat, saying softly and fast-paced, “I’m scared, would you come over tomorrow.” and once he had finished, he looked off to the side, avoiding your gaze, despite you calling his name a few times, however at the fourth call of his name, he shyly turned his gaze back to you, taken aback at your soft smile, and your sweet response of “If you need me, I’ll be there.”

The next day, you rose bright and early, getting dressed in whites and sky-blues (to match the aesthetic of the new EP), and you quickly gathered your things and your way downstairs where Savin’s car was waiting for you. You hopped into the car and chatted pleasantries with Savin along the way, and you could clearly see the pride radiating from Savin as he spoke about Kiro.

In his apartment, Kiro was pacing back and forth, anxiously waiting for your arrival, he hadn’t even got changed out of his pyjamas that morning as he was so nervous about this morning. When he heard the soft knocks against his door, he rushed to it, not even bothering to look through the peephole, ripping open the door. Once his eyes landed on you, he tugged you into his arms, locking his arms around your back and burying his face into your neck, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck, making you giggle at the ticklish sensation.

“Miss Chips, I’m so glad to see you!” Kiro leaned back, his eyes bright and joyful, but you could feel his finger flex on your back, and his apparent bed-head showed his nervousness.

You reached up and carded your fingers through his golden tresses, smiling at him, “Alright Superstar, I’m here.” you nodded to Savin in farewell, as you led Kiro back into his apartment and into his kitchen.

Savin seeing Kiro was in good hands, offered you a smile as shook his head leaving the two of you as he headed to the office, knowing he had to monitor Kiro’s social media in the runup to the release of the EP.

Once you had given Kiro a glass of water, and made a hot drink for yourself, the two of you moved back to the couch where you managed to convince Kiro to sit down. Once seated, Kiro continued to fidget in his seat, and he gripped your hand tightly, interlocking your fingers, as he opened his laptop, revealing the Weekly Music Release Countdown streaming Live from ‘Variety Express’. The host was introducing her segment where she spoke about the Top Ten releases, and Kiro started bouncing his leg, your intertwined hands bouncing with the force.

You knew why Kiro was nervous, this was his first new release since you two had announced you were dating, and the song the EP was named after, was a song he had written about you, that and it was a stripped down completely acoustic EP. Despite, you telling Kiro so many times when it came out (as he kept it a surprise), that it touched your heart, you knew he was scared how his fans would accept the stripped down, raw version of the Kiro they loved.

As the announcer entered the top three, the hand that wasn’t holding yours tightened in a fist, his knuckles turning white, and you just leaned into his shoulder patiently waiting for as the top spot creeped closer. When the second spot was revealed to not be Kiro’s EP, you could Kiro’s breath hitch, and although you had complete faith in Kiro’s talent, it was hard to remain confident when Kiro’s insecurity was literally bleeding out from him.

“Now before we reveal the top release, let me tell you that the release despite only being released two days ago, has been streamed already a total of tens of millions of times the number growing as we speak, it’s titular song accounting for 16 million of those views. Fans have described it as ‘Vocally and musically perfect.’, ‘heart-melting’, ‘so emotional, you really feel the love from the artist’.”

You furrowed your brows, knowing that they had create suspense, but for once you wished they would just get it over with and tell you all what was the top release of this week. Chancing a glance at Kiro, his jaw was clenched and feeling his stress you started worrying the nail of your thumb between your teeth.

“Here it is, your top release for this week, was the new EP released by Kiro!” the announcer FINALLY revealed, the rest of what you said was lost on you and Kiro, who jumped to his feet, drawing you up with him.

Once he was standing he wasted no time in picking you up in his arms, spinning you around, laughing joyfully a clear contrast in how much of a nervous wreck he was before. You joined in his laughter, your combined joy bouncing off the walls, when Kiro stopped, panting as his clear blue eyes locked with yours, your face hovering above him. A couple of seconds passed, the livestream playing Kiro’s song to you as your background music, as Kiro in an action that surprise you, buried his fingers in the hair on the back of your head, as pushed your face down, locking his lips with yours, his sudden kiss brimming with sparks of residual excitement. You yelp in surprise at the action was sufficiently muffled by the Superstar’s mouth on yours, your breath mingling.

Kiro lowered you to the floor, only breaking the kiss as your toes skimmed the ground, your cheeks were flushed with a rosy hue, and Kiro’s smile in response could blind the sun. He kept you in his embrace, and whilst still panting you laid your forehead against his chest, Kiro laughing out loud at how adorable you were.

“Miss Chips, I love you.” Kiro pressed a kiss to the top of your head, carded a hand through your hair.

“I love you too, Kiro.” you breathed, “How about you get dressed, and we can go on a date?”

Kiro nodded enthusiastically and rushed back into his bedroom to get dressed for your date, once he was inside and you sat back on the couch, to wait for him. You were once again shocked, when Kiro suddenly reappeared, grabbing both your hands and pulling you up. He looked you up and down, twirling you to completely assess your outfit, and after nodding once he rushed back to the bedroom, as you giggled at his antics.

“Just making sure I match you, Miss Chips.” Kiro called behind the closed door, as you continued to giggle at your boyfriend.

Gavin: a kiss to show I’m home

Like with his first ‘I love you’, I personally believe Gavin kisses you naturally, it isn’t too much of a surprise but a build-up to the inevitable and you and he just sort of fall into it, now with that being said it’s not like it didn’t come as a surprise to both of you, but looking back it definitely was a long time coming.

You were dancing around your kitchen, making a light dinner as you cast your eyes over to your calendar where you had circled the date Gavin was going to be returning from his mission. It was two days away and you were already preparing a large welcoming dinner for his return, you’d written your shopping list and tomorrow you’d head to the supermarket to gather the ingredients that you needed.

As you were tasting your soup, you heard a knock at the door, you frowned as you were not expecting any deliveries or visitors, especially as it was getting late in the night. But you walked over to the door, leaning up to see through the peephole, spotting a dishevelled Eli, supporting a slumped brunette that you realised quickly was your boyfriend. Opening the door as quickly as you could with trembling hands you let Eli pull Gavin into your apartment.

“Hey, where’s your bedroom?” he asked, Gavin’s groans not putting him off his stride.

“Second door on the right.” you called, quickly getting your medical kit from the cupboard under the sink.

Eli laid Gavin down on the bed, and you came in behind him, biting your lip in worry, “What’s wrong with him Eli?”

“Gavin’s been through worse, he’s fine-”

“Eli. What’s. Wrong. With. Him.” you gritted out, a blind man could clearly see that Gavin wasn’t “fine”. People who were “fine” didn’t need to be supported by their colleagues to their girlfriend’s home, as they were barely conscious and bleeding.

“Don’t worry, it’s mostly surface wounds, but he did get a deeper wound on his side, the blood loss and possible infection has caused a slight fever, he should be fine, but he does need SOMEONE to look after him.” Eli teased you gently, but quelled your fears slightly related to Gavin’s injury.

You thanked Eli for bringing Gavin to you, and after seeing him out, you gathered a bowl of ice water with some rags and the spare fleece blanket you kept on your couch, and made your way back to the bedroom. After unbuttoning his shirt and wrestling Gavin’s combat boots off, you wiped the sweat from your brow, standing up and putting them neatly to the side. Then you checked his temperature, one hand against his forehead and the other atop yours, your hand being more chilled compared to his forehead meant he sighed in relief at the change in temperature.

After tucking him in, making sure the fleece blanket covered his feet, legs and most of his chest, having at one point to hold the blanket down as Gavin tried to kick it off. After wiping down his neck, face and chest with a rag, trying to quell your raging blush, you then changed the rag, laying it gently atop his forehead stroking his cheeks with your knuckles as his expression finally relaxed.

Thinking that he would be okay for a while, and you should probably leave him to rest for a bit, you went to leave when you heard Gavin moving in his sleep. His hand shooting out and grabbing yours for support. Your heart felt a sharp pain as Gavin’s grip tightened, tossing his head to and fro in his fever state. Squeezing his hand firmly, you used your other hand and pressed the cooling rag into his forehead, keeping it anchored there and hoping that would help. a harsh breeze rippled through your apartment, and you grit your teeth slightly at the chill behind it. However, the breeze did carry your scent towards Gavin, and once recognising it he immediately calmed down enough to release your hand that was beginning to tingle due to lack of blood flow.

You spent most of the night tending to Gavin, changing the cloth often to keep his temperature down and wiping down his sweat carefully and gently. By the time his fever broke, coincidentally dawn was also breaking, and you ware exhausted, so much so that you passed out whilst kneeling on the side of the bed.

Blinking blearily, you were awoken by the rustling of the bed, focusing in the soft daylight you made out the leg of Gavin swinging over onto the floor, and you rocketing up, stumbling over your feet as you pressed against Gavin’s shoulders.

“No, no, you need to rest.”

“Hey, I’m fine.”

“Gavin no-”

“Y/N I-”

With the combined of you pushing at Gavin’s shoulders and him pushing you back, Gavin’s greater strength caused you to stumble backwards, and in your sleep-addled state you began to fall backwards. But, Gavin in order to prevent any harm, yanked you towards him so you fell into his chest, knee balancing you on the edge of the bed, in-between his legs. Your leaned forwards, your foreheads connecting and through the skin-to-skin contact you knew his fever had finally broken.

Gavin kept his eyes on you, flicking from your closed eyelids to your lips, before taking a leap of faith and tilting his head, connecting your lips, softly and tentatively together. Testing the waters, and getting his first taste of your lips. Your heart skipped a beat, but you quickly relaxed into it, Gavin’s hands moving so they rested around your waist, cradling you close to him as something precious. The emotion that poured through the kiss, caused tears to spill from your eyes, and breaking apart, you snifled, reaching up to wipe your eyes, when Gavin brushed his nose against yours, getting you to focus on him.

“Thank you, for taking care of me.” he smiled bashfully at you.

You shook your head gently, noses knocking together, “No, thank YOU, for coming back to me.”

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passionate-reply · 3 years

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This time on Great Albums, I talk about an album that actually isn’t older than I am for a change! Enter the spooky, haunted forest of The Knife with me, and find out why it was Pitchfork’s Album of the Year in 2006! Full transcript after the break.

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today, I’ll be tackling an album that’s more recent than anything I’ve done on Great Albums before, but it’s still old enough to start being considered a classic: The Knife’s Silent Shout, released in 2006, and hence seeing its fifteenth birthday in 2021. Silent Shout is a bit special to me, insofar as it was an album I loved as a teenager, back when it was still pretty new, and it was probably the first album I really fell in love with that wasn’t significantly older than I was. I was quite surprised when I eventually learned just how beloved Silent Shout is among music aficionados. This album has been lauded in critical circles, recommended as a “patrician” essential, and even considered one of the greatest electronic albums of all time! So, what’s the fuss about?

Before Silent Shout, The Knife were significantly closer to a conventional electronic pop duo. Their biggest claim to fame was the track “Heartbeats,” which scored some exposure after a cover of it was featured in a TV ad.

Music: “Heartbeats”

I like to think that “Heartbeats” contains the seeds of what’s great about Silent Shout, with its grinding synth backing and vocalist Karin Dreijer’s affecting wail. But its indie-pop brightness is something distinctively absent from their follow-up. Contrary to what might’ve been expected from an up-and-coming pop act, the sibling duo hunkered down in the studio and set about making something stranger and more exotic. On the technical front, they stripped the production down to its bare essentials, using just digital rhythms and two synthesisers to achieve everything we hear on the album. Stylistically, they took their sound into moody, atmospheric territory, imbuing it with this eerie, claustrophobic ambiance. It’s the musical equivalent of Frankenstein emerging from Mary Shelley’s mind, while the dreary “Year Without a Summer” had poisoned the world around her.

Music: “Silent Shout”

The title track here is also the opener, and introduces us to the frightful world of Silent Shout without mercy. This track is dominated by a powerful contrast of sound: low, thrumming bass, and these quick, but delicate and meandering synth arpeggios, carrying a distinctively Scandinavian flair. This bewitching synthesis of musical ideas makes sense in light of the diverse influences of the two siblings who made up The Knife: Instrumentalist Olaf Dreijer was strongly influenced by dance styles like house, trance, and progressive techno, as well as ambient electronic music, whereas vocalist Karin Dreijer was interested in guitar-based popular music, as well as the distinctive folk traditions of their native Sweden. Not unlike the Pet Shop Boys, they’ve got a wide gap between their influences, but that only serves to intensify the uniqueness of their work, which strikes listeners in a way the constituent musical parts of its heritage never could. Perhaps the most significant sonic feature of the album, though, is the extreme electronic distortions of Karin Dreijer’s voice.

Music: “One Hit”

If raw and everymannish vocals make music feel more in line with our everyday reality, the shocking and monstrous ones on *Silent Shout* render it a truly otherworldly work of art. While many people are quick to decry the “fakeness” of electronically mediated vocals--despite the fact that all art is, of course, artificial--I think Silent Shout proves, more boldly than anything else, just how uniquely powerful this musical tool can be in the right hands. Once you get past the sheer sonic force of the vocals, and their peculiar, skin-crawling timbres, you’ll find that most of the lyrical subject matter is actually painfully quotidian. “One Hit,” for instance, is told from the perspective of an all-too-normal “monster”: a domestic abuser, extracting and enforcing femininity and domestic servitude through the force of violence, dealing in “one hit, one kiss.” Sex, gender, and exploitation based upon them are among the album’s most central themes, and expressed harrowingly on tracks like “Na Na Na”:

Music: “Na Na Na”

Perhaps moreso than any other track on the album, “Na Na Na” is rendered borderline incomprehensible by vocal treatment--a trait magnified by its obviously meaningless title and chorus. But “Na Na Na” does have real lyrics, which tell the story of a life mediated by reproductive anatomy, defined by the rhythm of menstruation, coming from within, and the constant fear of sexual violence from without. It’s a tale of hidden anxiety, and experiences that go unseen and unspoken despite how common they are, making the haze of inscrutability laid over them all the more poignant. It’s clear that these issues are of high importance to Karin Dreijer, who has publicly described themself as “genderqueer,” despite both members of the band being remarkably sparing with all personal details. In another of the most striking vocal performances on the album, “We Share Our Mother’s Health,” Dreijer even gets to sing a duet with themself, and embody two distinct characters at once.

Music: “We Share Our Mother’s Health”

“We Share Our Mother’s Health” can be read in the light of gender and sex dynamics, as well, particularly if you’re willing to read its twin narrators as representations of masculinity and femininity. Personally, though, I think that’s a bit too easy, and really, a bit too cisnormative. I think the album is more interesting if we embrace the fundamental uncertainty of identity, and the transgressive queerness of it all. That said, I prefer to think of “We Share Our Mother’s Health” as a piece about capitalism--the endless toiling and scrounging for more material comfort and security, and the emptiness left behind when that proves to be no pathway towards true happiness. Besides, it’s not like sexism and the class struggle don’t feed off of each other in the end. This track’s sense of cacophony, with voices nearly battling to drown each other out, shows its more strident, aggressive, and downright angry side, which it delivers as powerfully as it does those moody atmospheres.

Silent Shout is the perfect title for this album, given its emphasis on voicing internal and private laments that go unheard--and voicing them with this terrifying sense of primal scream catharsis. While I initially wasn’t overly fond of the album art, it’s grown on me a bit now that I’ve seen it blown up to a larger size. This central disc shape is certainly evocative of a record or a CD, and its industrial-looking lattice structure, with a mottled, grimey-looking texture, helps conjure the impression of machine-age ennui.

I think a lot of the enduring appeal of Silent Shout is its sense of mystery. A lot of that mystery is deliberately crafted iconoclasm, and part of the art--while promoting the album, The Knife were photographed wearing sinister, elaborate beaked “plague doctor” masks, and their live performances from this period shrouded the band in darkness to obfuscate their appearances. They’ve refused to accept awards for their music or attend award ceremonies, including one memorable incident in which they sent costumed representatives of feminist organisation Guerrilla Girls in their stead. After Silent Shout, the duo created an opera based on Charles Darwin’s The Origin of Species in 2009, and released one more studio album in 2013: Shaking the Habitual.

Music: “A Tooth For an Eye”

Shaking the Habitual received mixed reviews, and so far, has proven to be the siblings’ final work together, though they remain active as musicians independently, with Karin Dreijer recording under the moniker “Fever Ray.” Part of the great myth of Silent Shout is the fact that nothing else in their discography really quite approaches its specific sound, and sharp precision of conceptual focus. It’s like the album is tailor made to stand perfectly alone, outside of context, perhaps even outside of genre.

For many of us, this great legend of lightning-in-a-bottle genius is infinitely alluring. But I’ve never really bought into it too thoroughly myself. I obviously adore Silent Shout, and I think it’s a Great Album. But, unlike many people who have showered it with praise, often claiming that they don’t enjoy “electronic music” overall, I’ve always been interested in a lot of heavy, angry, creepy synthesiser-based music, and so I never thought too much of listening to this and liking it. People praise Silent Shout for being unlike anything else, but I think it sounds like a lot of post-industrial dark wave, like Attrition or Chris & Cosey, and its themes of feminist rage feel like a strong parallel to that of more recent stars of noise music such as Pharmakon and Lingua Ignota. But that’s not to devalue what Silent Shout does achieve! I think it *is* a unique album...in the way that a bat is a unique animal. Much as bats are not the only creatures who fly, but stand out for having developed that ability despite their mammalian heritage, Silent Shout doesn’t actually take direct inspiration from the earlier music it sounds the most like. It ended up there through the aforementioned eldritch alchemy, combining trance and folk and Kate Bush to get something new. That’s still something worth celebrating! Silent Shout needn’t be a perfect enigma to be a stirring masterpiece of an album.

My overall top track on Silent Shout, which I bet will be a popular choice, is “Forest Families.” It’s equal parts bleak and strangely anthemic, defined by both the unease of adapting to a plainer and harsher existence, outside the bounds of society, as well as the release that music itself provides to so many of us as we seek comfort. Since music is so important to me, I’m a real sucker for music about the importance of music, and it feels particularly well-placed on an album that’s a cathartic listen in so many ways. That about wraps this one up; thank you for watching!

Music: “Forest Families”

#music #great albums #album review #album reviews #the knife #fever ray #silent shout

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justanotherlifeff · 4 years

Note

This is a kinda angst kinda fluff request but bakugo x a reader who apologies a lot even when it isn't their fault

Sorry

Warnings: Domestic violence, angst but eventual fluff, mentions of addiction

The way you were always apologising pissed Bakugou off ever since you stepped into class 1A. At the begining, he saw you as yet another pushover extra who didn't deserve his attention. However, when he got to see your immensely powerful quirk and your amazing control over it, he had to notice you and he found you to be almost as irritating as Deku if not worse. Why were you always apologising to everyone? Why did you always mutter a 'sunimasen' every time you hit someone with your quirk during training? Did you feel like no one was at your level and you would have to baby them? Who the fuck did you think you are? These were the thoughts that played into Bakugou's mind about you. At first, he tried to shout at you to intimidate you, which utterly failed as you kept profusely apologising to him for upsetting him. After that, Bakugou just ignored your existance, or atleast he pretended to. If he was being honest to himself, he found you weird. The fact that you were always apologising wasn’t normal. Sure, Bakugou almost never apologised, but, even if he were to compare you to someone normal like Kirishima, your rate of apologising was unnatural.

With time, he came to notice more subtle details about you. He noticed how you flinched before starting to apologise to random people for no reason. He also noticed the fact that you always had a slight glint of fear in your eyes every time you apologised to someone. While initially Bakugou thought that you were doing this because you felt like you were superior to everyone, now he saw that you were genuinely scared of something. "She has a strong fucking quirk... What the hell is she so afraid of?" was one of the questions that plagued Bakugou's mind now. The other question would be, "Why do I even give a fuck?". Yes, ever since he found that you didn't apologise because you felt like you are superior, he found himself getting more drawn to you. Your quirk was very compatible with him when it came to sparring and he found himself asking you to train with him. Ofcourse, he was still annoyed by the fact that you apologised about every little thing but he had a feeling that something wasn’t right. Unlike Deku, you weren’t being nice just for the sake of being nice.

You on the other hand, grew closer to Bakugou with time. Ofcourse, he didn't know anything about your life and you knew that he would throw you away like garbage if he did but then again, you were always good at keeping secrets. Ever since you started training together, you found yourself getting drawn to him. You never talked much at class and tried to keep a low profile but you found yourself having lunch with him on UA's roof. Ofcourse he still shouted at you about apologising way too much but you just couldn’t take the risk of not doing so. You knew the consequences of mistakes like that too well. Yes, you thought that he would never find out, however, Bakugou was more perceptive than the average person. He noticed every single move you made unbeknownst to you and you never imagined the fact that he would follow you home.

Bakugou was confused by the way you made him feel lately. At class, you almost never talked. However, during lunch breaks, when you and Bakugou hung out together, he saw a different side to you. Yes, you still apologised about literally everything even when it wasn’t your fault or even if the issue itself had nothing to do with you. However, you cracked jokes that made him laugh and in rare occasions, you made sassy comebacks with a completely straight face that made him howl with laughter (though you started apologising for being rude after that). Bakugou was confused by the giddy feeling that you brought within him because he clearly enjoyed your company. After reluctantly taking advice from Kirishima about it, (Kirishima noticed Bakugou's behaviour towards you and figured out that Bakugou had a thing for you and hence, he gave Bakugou advice without Bakugou asking for his help because Bakugou would never ask for advice by himself) Bakugou figured out that he had a crush on you. Bakugou was never good at emotions but he wasn’t the one to be coward enough to run away from it (Because Kirishima pretty much dared him to ask you out). Hence, Bakugou made plans to ask you out.

After class was over and you were on your way home, Bakugou stopped you. You were confused by that since you and Bakugou didn't usually talk except for when you were training together or during lunch. "Oi, (L/N)!" he called out before you stopped. You were also surprised by the fact that he used your last name instead of one of his weird nicknames. "Oh hey Bakugou. What's up? Did I do something wrong? I'm so sorry..." you answered. "Nah you didn't do anything wrong dumbass. What I wanted to say was that do you want to have lunch with me on this weekend? We already have lunch together everyday so this shouldn’t be a problem for you." Bakugou told you, looking away from you, trying to hide an obvious blush. "Uh... Are you sure about it? I really don't want to bother you even more..." you muttered in answer. "Hah? Do you have shit for brains (L/N)? Why the fuck will I ask you out on a damn date if you fucking bothered me?" Bakugou barked at you. "Huh? Date? I... I can't... I'm sorry..." your eyes widened at the begining but then your eyes were watering as you choked out the last part of your sentence before running away, leaving Bakugou confused. With that, Bakugou had enough. He was going to uncover your secret at this very day because it was clear to him from your expression that you didn't want to reject him.

At first, Bakugou felt weird about following you. He maintained a good amount of distance so that you wouldn’t notice him as you got on a train. He knew where you lived at since you mentioned your train trip slightly during a conversation with him, enabling him to buy the ticket. The train trip didn't last too long and Bakugou was on your trail yet again. However, when he found you entering an area that could be recognised as a slum, Bakugou was unpleasantly surprised. You entered UA on recommendations as your quirk was very strong and you saved a citizen once, gathering the attention of a few pro heroes. Bakugou also knew that you were studying in UA under a scholarship since you had potential but bad financial conditions. However, he didn't expect your financial conditions to be that bad. Bakugou was hiding nearby as he saw you stop infront of a shabby house as if you were contemplating whether to enter or not. After a while of just standing there, you entered the house, closing the door behind you. "Did she reject me because her dumb ass thought I'll reject her cause she's poor?" Bakugou wondered angrily as he didn't like the fact that you thought so low of him. However, all his doubts were cleared just when he decided to go back home and the door to your house was roughly opened and you were thrown out of the house.

Bakugou's eyes widened at your condition. You were still in your school uniform but your hair was messed up and you were clutching your stomach in obvious pain. Bakugou decided not to hide anymore and ran towards you. "Shit! (L/N)! Are you okay?! What the fuck was that?!" Bakugou asked you loudly, his voice showing concern as his face twitched into an angry but concerned expression. You on the other hand was surprised, embarrassed, scared and in pain. "Bakugou... What are you doing here?" you asked him, croaking in pain. "I'll explain that later. Firstly, did someone hit you? Is this your home? Where are your parents? You have a shit tonne of explaining to do dammit! I'm taking you to a fucking hospital and don't fucking argue." Bakugou barked at you, picking you up from the street. "I'm sorry about this mess..." you croaked out only to get an incredulous look from Bakugou.

You were kicked in your stomach. The doctor in the nearby hospital gave you medicines to relieve the pain. After checking you, they found many bruises, results of domestic violence. Bakugou wasn’t allowed to be there with you since he wasn’t family when the police were called to interview you. After all the procedures were completed, you were moved to a ward room where you were to be kept for the day as the kick was quite strong. That was when Bakugou was finally allowed to see you. He had been waiting in the waiting room for hours. He needed to have a chat with you about everything. When he entered the room, he found you sitting on the bed, looking out of the window beside the bed. Hearing him come in, you looked at him and suddenly, Bakugou could see a glint of guilt in your eyes. "I'm so sorry about all that mess..." you muttered, looking down at the floor. "It's not your fault, dumbass. Do you wanna talk about it?" Bakugou asked you, trying to keep his rough voice soothing. "I... Okay... You deserve to know..." you muttered in answer before telling him everything.

Your mother was a drug addict. Your father left you when you were in elementary school and never came back. Your mother was a drug dealer and that's where the money to support the family came from. You were ashamed of your background because how can the daughter of a criminal be a hero? You've wanted to be a hero since you were a kid and getting into UA was the best thing that happened to you. While you were in class, you could reject your family for a little amount of time. When you were with Bakugou, you could be yourself. However, your life never left you alone. Your mother was abusive. She found it fun to hit you even if you made the slightest of mistakes, sometimes even when you did absolutely nothing. Apologizing became your self defence mechanism as there was no other way to stop your mother from hitting you. Yes, you had a strong quirk but your mother had the quirk to erase quirks almost like Aizawa which made you helpless against her. The effect of your life at home creeped it's way into the life you made for yourself at school as you were constantly terrified. When Bakugou asked you out, you couldn’t express how much you wanted to say yes, how much you wanted to hug him. However, you knew better. Why would someone who is so driven to be the number 1 hero, someone who wants to save everyone, like someone who can't even stop her own mother from doing crimes? You felt as if you didn't deserve him.

At the end, you were crying. Bakugou was completely quiet as you explained everything. Suddenly, you felt Bakugou's hand on your head as he pulled you into a hug. He was standing infront of the bed as you were sitting, with your forehead pressed to his stomach. "You really are a dumbass aren’t you? You didn’t have a choice back there. It's not your damn fault idiot." Bakugou muttered as he patted your head. "I-I'm sorry..." you sobbed as your arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer. "Don't apologise idiot. I swear I'll break the arms of anyone who tries to lay a damned finger on you. You won't apologise without a fucking reason anymore. Promise me that." Bakugou barked at you, still petting your head. "I promise." you muttered between your sobs as a smile kept forming on your face. "We are having that date too." Bakugou muttered, making sure that you didn't catch the way he blushed. "Yeah. We are." you answered with a full blown smile on your face.

[Author's note: I'm not too good at writing angst but I hope this was okayish?]

#bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugou #bnha #bnha fanfiction #bnha x reader #bakugo katsuki #bakugo x reader #mha bakugou

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pippki-writes · 3 years

Text

Nessun Uomo è un’Isola

It started with the shadows. When he wasn’t looking at them, he would swear they had moved in the sentient sort of ways shadows had no right to. Or they would dart with furtive purpose just beyond his vision, but whenever Oriano would look, nothing would be there. The shadows would move gently, normally, the lights of the paths peacefully mixed around by the rustling leaves.

Paolo would have told him he was just being paranoid, but Oriano couldn’t bring himself to mention it. Even if the carbonieri did not come to their little island to enforce the quarantine, the handful of them still left on San Servolo took the duty seriously. Paolo and Oriano were the only ones staying in their particular dormitory building, on opposite ends, and every evening before and after Luca dropped off their dinners they would hang out of their windows over the lagoon and shout conversation from one side of the building to the other. It just didn’t seem like the place to mention passing worries over shadows, when there were so many more important things to worry about.

“What do we do if the supply boat doesn’t come?” asked Oriano.

“You worry too much,” said Paolo. “There’s always the vaporetto. Good old number 20 would never abandon us here. But even if the groceries didn’t come, and the devil himself stole our vaporetto line, look—” he pointed south and east, where the long inhabited sandbar of the Lido stretched across the lagoon, framing their view from the southwest corner of the island. “We could easily swim over. If you’re not afraid of a little lagoon water.”

“Nah,” replied Oriano, “it’s the shit swimming in the water that worries me.” But Paolo had a point, and he would know—Paolo was in his 30s, and had lived in Venice his whole life. If he said the vaporetto wouldn’t leave them cut off, then Oriano trusted that he could always find his way off the island if needed. Not that he had somewhere better to be. Oriano was only 19, with no family or home to go back to in America. When the classrooms had closed, and all the foreign students had gone back to their countries, their barista Oriano had stayed.

“We would find a way off,” said Paolo. As the handyman of the island, Paolo felt certain he could put together something that would float the short distance between the closest corner of San Servolo and the Lido. Wouldn’t even be a full kilometer, and the lagoon? Not even that deep, for the most part. Could probably push along the bottom with a broom. He lapsed into silence, wondering what materials on the island might float and not be too culturally damaging if taken for such a purpose, while Oriano stared across the lagoon at the sunset. Like nearly every other sunset since he had come to San Servolo some six months prior, the riot of clouds and color was one of the most beautiful sunsets he had ever seen.

In the mornings, Oriano made cappuccinos. The cafe and the kitchen were in separate buildings, so it felt safe, while Luca made breakfasts, for Oriano to make some halfway decent coffees to go with it. Luca would leave Oriano’s breakfast waiting in the cafe, and Oriano would leave Luca’s cappuccino on the little table outside the kitchen, and as they distributed caffeine and nutrients they managed like ghost ships passing in the night not to come across one another. Oriano wore his mask while he made the cappuccinos, and washed his hands at least twice more than he thought was necessary. Disposable cups. Disposable food-handling gloves. Disinfect everything, especially the outside of the bags that everything came in, even the bag of espresso beans, unloaded by Luca and Chiara from the supply boat each week. As long as the supplies lasted, Oriano would keep up this routine. It gave him something to do.

He left the last cappuccinos of the morning on the little table outside the housekeepers’ building and went back to his room. His room, like Paolo’s, had been designed to serve as student housing—the atmosphere was sparse, utilitarian, and duplicated. Two each of small beds, desks, nightstands, and uncomfortable chairs on the easy-to-clean stone floor. One bathroom with sink, mirror, shower, toilet, and bidet—that had been amusing. Oriano hadn’t known what the bidet was for, and had used it to hold a muddy pair of work boots until he could clean them, but Paolo had seen them there first, and gave him no end of good-natured shit for it. Oriano did not put boots in the bidet anymore.

There was also a TV—ancient and pointless, picking up only a few channels filled with convoluted daytime Italian soap operas too rapid fire for Oriano to keep up with. The only thing Oriano really cared about in his room was the window. The first day he’d settled into the room he had hated it. Even by himself in the room, it was small and cramped, and the operation of the air conditioning was beyond him. But as soon as he threw open the window, he realized why the room was worth keeping—unlike the other dormitory, the housekeepers’ building, and the administrators’ rooms, all the rooms in this building were directly on the lagoon. It was a straight drop down from Oriano’s second story window to the blue-green water below, facing almost directly into the unbelievable beauty of the setting sun. Back when the tour boats were still running, they passed close enough that Oriano could easily hear them talking about San Servolo— “It started as a Benedictine monastery” —and he would lean out the window to give a small wave, watching as dozens of people waved enthusiastically back.

He missed them.

They took turns spending time outside on the island. No one would have come to police them, but it seemed like the right thing to do, minimizing contact as much as they could.

Since he got to spend the morning walking back and forth all over the island from the cafe, Oriano took his turn after the sun had set. San Servolo was not a big island—a bit wider than the length of a football field, and not even a quarter mile long, but the trees throughout had a way of making it feel bigger than it really was. He appreciated the trees for that.

As he walked toward the front of the island, he thought about something Paolo had said in their conversation that night. People were claiming they were seeing more dolphins returning to the lagoon, swimming through the canals of Venice. Was it true? What else might be returning?

This was when Oriano began to hear the sounds.

At first, it sounded like water. Hearing water was not unusual—he was surrounded by water, the sounds of the tides gently lapping against the brick walls of San Servolo had become the serene backdrop to his everyday life. But this was different. Extra. More. It sounded like someone had recorded the sound of water and was playing it back ever so slightly wrong, from somewhere above. Oriano looked around, straining to hear. It sounded like it was coming from the small square tower by the library. Oriano took a few steps in the direction of the tower—the wrong sound of water playing was definitely louder—and he thought he saw a flicker of movement, of light shifting into shadow, through one of the arched openings in the tower. He wanted to go get Paolo, but his curiosity got the better of him.

Oriano took the stairs on the back side of the tower up to the second floor. To the right was the door to the library. To the left, an open arched path looking out and leading to the tower. Oriano willed his feet to be as quiet as possible as he approached the open room of the tower, the sound of water growing louder, his heart racing with the unknown of what he might find. He turned the corner into the room and found...nothing. The lights that illuminated the paths below reflected orange shapes around the room, through the leaves of the trees and the open stone arches of the tower. The peculiar quality of the sound of water had fallen away, and all he could hear was the waves of the tide slapping the bricks just as they always did.

“Which island is that?” asked Oriano, pointing to the forested island due west that was preparing to hide away the setting sun.

“La Grazia,” said Paolo. “Made from medieval trash, basically. Once was a convent, turned into a gunpowder storage that blew up in the middle of the 1800s. Spent time as an infectious diseases hospital until...late 20th century? Before I was born anyway.”

“Hm.” Oriano wondered what kind of creatures inhabited the abandoned islands around them. San Servolo was home to five domestic cats (three of whom looked exactly the same), and whatever manner of birds and lizards those five cats had not yet killed. “That one?” he asked, pointing to the next island south of La Grazia.

“San Clemente. Like us, another insane asylum. My own nonna still says ‘going to San Clemente’ for people going crazy. Also like us, spent time as a monastery and a military property. I think San Clemente was a garrison, ours was a hospital. At any rate, now it’s a hotel.”

“Do you think it’s haunted?”

“I hope so. Rich bastards. If they can afford to stay there, they deserve to be haunted.”

“What about here?” asked Oriano cautiously. “Is our island haunted?”

Paolo paused for a moment and rubbed his chin. “Haunted?” he asked thoughtfully. “Well...we certainly have history. But if you want haunted, either Lazzaretto Vecchio over there—” he leaned far out of his window, pointing left to the island they could just barely see to the southeast “—or the infamous Poveglia there—” he pointed straight ahead, to a forested island with a single bell tower rising above the treeline “—those two are your best bet. Lazzaretto Vecchio is small, but they’ve found over fifteen hundred bodies buried there so far. It was Venice’s first quarantine island for the plagues. And Poveglia...it was an insane asylum too, but they say one of its doctors brutally tortured, killed, and mutilated his patients there. Who knows how many. See the bell tower? They say the doctor fell from it to his death. Or was pushed. Or jumped, gone mad himself.” Paolo shrugged, all possibilities equally valid for haunting. “And Poveglia was a plague island too, before it was an asylum.”

“Was every island a plague island?”

“Not every island,” replied Paolo, patting the windowsill. “Ours wasn’t. But there is a lot of common, repeated, and violent history shared among these islands.”

Oriano nodded, watching the sun slip behind the trees of Isola della Grazia, leaving the sky a bruised and angry pink.

For that night’s walk, Oriano decided to simply sit at the end of the wooden dock that the supply boat used, listening to the waves. He squinted, trying to block out the lights of the channel markers to make out the shapes of the trees across the water. The abandoned islands were low, dark anomalies rising slightly from the water against the sky, hidden beyond the reach of the channel marker lights. The inhabited islands nearby were comforting—the constellation marks of civilization and electricity strung along the Lido meant people were there, even if he couldn’t see them. The darkness of the likes of Poveglia and La Grazia gave him an uneasy feeling of ignorance.

If he could just go to those islands, to know what was there and see for himself, then maybe he wouldn’t feel this way. No, that wasn’t true. He felt like he had walked over every inch of San Servolo now, and still he could sense secrets hiding in the trees, in the shadows between the lighted paths.

He wondered what kind of trees grew in the soils of such twisted histories.

He ignored the sounds that night—this time, from across the water in the directions of unlit darkness, he could hear the sound of singing, the feeling an anxious emotion, sounds and lyrics in a language Oriano didn’t recognize. The hair stood up on the back of his neck, and Oriano hurried back to his room, pretending he had not heard anything.

In the morning, there was no breakfast waiting for Oriano in the cafe.

Oriano ran over to the kitchen, but Luca wasn’t there. Luca stayed in the housekeepers’ building on the back of the island, and Oriano ran down to it, past the dormitories and lovely old clusters of trees, past the cats doing their morning stretches.

“Shit,” said Oriano, skidding into the locked door of the building. He didn’t know which room was Luca’s. His mask was back in the cafe. He started pounding on the main door.

“Luca? Luca??” he yelled, trying to see in the ground floor windows, alternating between beating on the door and rapping his knuckles on the windows.

On the second floor, a window scraped open. Oriano stopped and stood back to look up as Chiara poked her head out.

“Oriano? Is everything okay?”

“Luca wasn’t in the kitchen this morning. I’m—is he—can you check on him?”

Chiara quickly ducked back in her room. A couple other windows opened as the others staying in the building looked out to see what the commotion was. Oriano could hear Chiara beating on another door inside, and breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Luca’s familiar baritone shout “Oh dio mio!”

Everything would be okay.

He let their distant conversation in Italian wash over him. Sounded like Luca had overslept, which wasn’t like him but honestly, time had long since lost all meaning here. It was understandable.

And then Oriano heard Luca cough.

Was it a cough? Was Oriano the only one who had gasped when they heard it?

There are so many reasons for a cough. Did Luca smoke? Was it pollen season? Did San Servolo even have a pollen season? Surely it must, with all these rare plants and trees. Oriano’s heart started racing with his thoughts. Chiara leaned back out of her own window.

“Oriano, do you think you could do breakfast today?”

Oriano ruined about half a dozen pancakes before he decided the day’s breakfast would be cereal.

Paolo distributed dinner that evening. He found deep in the freezer something resembling an Italian riff on a Hot Pocket, in sufficient quantity to feed everyone, and most importantly they were very difficult to ruin. It was the sort of culinary monstrosity that would have brought great shame on his family if they knew of it, but they tasted okay and required no thought on his part to make happen.

Oriano waited until Paolo was back in his own room before he brought his dinner in, leaning on the windowsill while he ate. The sun had already set, but Oriano did not feel like walking the island.

“I’m worried about Luca,” said Oriano, almost too quietly for Paolo to hear.

“I’ve known Luca for almost twelve years,” said Paolo, waving his hand with dismissive confidence. “Luca’s fine.”

Oriano brushed the crumbs from his hands into the water and looked up. “What is that?” gasped Oriano. From the darkness to the south and west, steaming white clouds on the water seemed to be pressing toward them. Already the view was getting hazy, a chill threading through the air.

Paolo laughed. “It’s just the fog, Oriano. La nebbia. You really worry too much.” Paolo sighed. “Get some rest, okay?”

Oriano nodded, but he knew he would not be sleeping.

After some debate in the group text the next morning, Paolo volunteered to take over kitchen duties. He wasn’t exceptionally skilled at cooking, but he and Oriano were better isolated than everyone else. And everyone wanted Oriano to keep making coffee for their breakfasts.

Oriano walked to the cafe in the front corner of the island. Paolo had found a supply of Pop Tarts that had been imported for the American students, and Oriano’s allotment of cold breakfast pastry sat outside the cafe on the little table.

Luca was fine.

This was just a precaution.

Oriano ate absentmindedly, looking out over the grounds of San Servolo, toward the kitchen, the housekeepers’ building, the trees, Luca. The fog had come in overnight, putting a sullen grey haze over everything. When he looked out over the water, he could not see the other islands nearby, but at least he could see through the fog well enough on San Servolo. Oriano knelt down as the sweet grey cat of the island approached him outside the cafe, meowing patiently for some of his food.

“You won’t like it,” he warned her, breaking off a small corner and setting it on the ground.

Principessa sniffed the fragment disdainfully, gave a disgruntled meow, and walked off. Crumbs for the birds, then.

Oriano went into the cafe and turned on the espresso machine, waiting for it to warm up. Luca had texted the group to tell them he felt fine and not to worry. But what would they even do if he wasn’t fine? Being isolated on this island had felt like its own form of protection, an insulation from the chaotic news reports Oriano spent too much time looking at late into the night on his phone. But they weren’t protected at all. They were trapped like everyone else.

Oriano made his rounds, dropping off cappuccinos, and stopped by the brick walls to gaze out the iron-grated openings. He could hear the water, gently tapping the confines of the island, but the unseen haze of the lagoon felt unnaturally quiet.

There wasn’t much to look at out the window that night. The fog was thicker now, and Oriano couldn’t see the channel markers only a few hundred feet from where he leaned against the windowsill, balancing a paper plate full of pasta.

“Not spaghetti,” said Paolo emphatically, “Bigoli in salsa, a Venetian classic. Granted, this particular sauce was frozen and reconstituted and not handmade by my grandmother, but I think it defrosted quite nicely, and even I can cook pasta.” Paolo finished off his helping, gently tossing his plate into the trash. “Though I don’t know what we’ll do when the frozen food runs out. If I have to actually learn cooking rules, we might starve.”

“I’ll swim for the Lido before it comes to that.”

“Hopefully Chiara ordered sensible, idiot-proof groceries.”

Hopefully Luca will be back to making the food soon, Oriano thought. But he didn’t want to say it, because saying it admitted the possibility that things could turn out differently. Better not to say anything at all than to speak bad realities into existence.

For a while, they sat in silence, looking out into the quiet nothingness of the fog on the lagoon.

“Quarantine,” said Paolo finally. “It’s an Italian word, you know, quaranta giorni, forty days. That’s how long people coming into Venice from plague infected places had to wait before they could actually come into the city. Waiting out on these islands.”

“Do you think we’ll be holed up forty days?”

“Forty days, and forty nights, and who really knows if the end of it will ever come?”

Even though the fog was thick, Oriano decided to take a walk after dinner. He could still see at least a hundred feet in front of him, and that was good enough. What did the sailors and merchants do, hundreds of years ago, waiting forty days to see if it was safe for them to make their way into Venice? Did they worry? About themselves? About their friends?

Did they walk around as he did now, thinking about the trapped souls quarantined before them?

The fog felt like a blanket as Oriano walked. When the nights were clear, Oriano always had a sense of his place on this little rectangle of land in the whims of the tides, but as the fog drew close, he felt only the island, stretching into infinite unknown possibilities.

Walking along thus lost in his thoughts, Oriano almost didn’t notice a pair of boots sitting beneath a tree, nor did he fully process the way the fog moved strangely from the branches, curling into patterns, like a canopy of lace hanging down and around the boots, a curtain of uncertain purpose. Oriano did a double-take, the hair on his arms prickling at the sight. With the fog pressing ever closer, it felt like the island was holding its breath. As if the act of frozen waiting could allow the impossible to rise up before him. Cautiously he walked closer to the tree, holding his own breath without realizing he was doing so, but as he approached the mists slipped away, and the boots stretched out languidly, resolving into the form of Principessa.

Oriano let his breath out with a sigh. “What are you doing?” he accused her. She fixed him with a look. “What am I doing?” he asked on her behalf. He was nervous. He was jumpy. He was just being paranoid. He tried to tell his heart rate to go back to normal, but normal felt like a concept he’d already lost. What else would he lose before all was said and done?

Some time after midnight, Oriano gave up on rest. He looked around his room as if something there might distract him, but Oriano kept little of entertainment value in those cramped quarters. He was keyed up, and being still only wound him tighter. He decided to take another walk. Maybe this time a walk would calm him down.

As soon as he stepped outside of the building, he could see nothing but the fog. Everything was a spectral white, the lights of the path nothing more than slight and hazy bright spots in a sea of impenetrable mist. Oriano hesitated. He couldn’t even see beyond a foot in front of him.

The fog coated the air in silence. Oriano couldn’t hear the waves hitting the brick retaining walls outside the dormitory. He moved a few steps in the direction of the bricks, hoping to hear the water, and he couldn’t tell if he was hearing the water, distant and muffled, or if he only imagined that he did. He thought about going back to his room, but when he turned around, he was not certain which direction the building was in. Surely it was just behind him. He glared in a few directions, each as placidly white as the last. He heard an unearthly chirping from deep within the mists, and his stomach and heart crashed into each other in unexpected fear.

“It’s just the fog,” he whispered to himself. But the fog tasted like the thought of trees, and the weight of centuries. Oriano knew better than to run. He sat down on the paved path, pulling his knees up to his chest, and waited for the morning to find him.

#my writing #original story #original work #original fiction #short story #pandemic fiction #spooky story #written June 2020

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xbellaxcarolinax · 4 years

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Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 19- Ragnarok

Pairings: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 9090

Warnings: Violence in this one. Bad description of battle.

AN: This is a super long chapter. I’m so sorry. If you guys prefer shorter ones then I have no problem splitting them, just let me know. I also think this chapter is both boring and intense at the same time. You guys can judge. Hope you enjoy!

18- Protection

...

Ivar had always been a light sleeper, so it was no surprise to him that the smallest of noises made his eyes crack open in the dimly lit chambers. Recently, sleep came to him easily, despite the aches. After a long day of constant strategizing and training for the battle to come, slipping underneath the furs on a cool night was just enough to lull him into a dreamless slumber.

He never had a problem sleeping alone. It had allowed him to be alert if need be, but now, laying next to a much welcomed heat, Ivar had no problems drifting away, so long as Artemis was beside him.

Ivar made no movements, but his eyes scanned the perimeter of the chamber out of habit. There was a table with parchments littering its surface, a large changing screen, a fireplace not in use, and some candles scattered about to illuminate the area. Nothing seemed out of place, and nothing seemed to hide in the shadows. He looked over at Artemis who had her back towards him, and he decided nothing was out of the ordinary.

He shifted under the sheets, drawing closer to the woman beside him, his eyes slowly drooping until he heard it again. It was more distinguishable as a whimper, so low, yet loud enough for his trained ears to detect.

Ah. He should've known.

Artemis was having another nightmare.

He'd seen first hand how often they came to her at night. While his sleep had always been limited due to the constant pain in his legs, her sleep was always interrupted by terrors of some kind.

He runs a finger down the center of her back before gently placing his hand on her hip. He didn’t consider himself to be the first choice of comfort, but it was a start.

It seemed to soothe her for a moment as she stopped her whimpers. Satisfied, Ivar curves around her, careful with shifting his legs. He then moves his hand into the mass of her dark hair, fingers gently caressing her scalp in gentle motions.

This was oddly domestic.

But it was nice. He finds himself devoted to her, like a husband would to a wife.

Ivar bites his lips, suddenly aware of his heightened sensitivity. He felt he was a bigger mess of emotions when it came to Artemis, more so after their first night together. He knew who he was, embittered and rage filled. Such angry feelings within and yet, he melted at the sight of her.

No matter, there needn't be justification for things such as love or feelings or anything that relates to matters of the heart. Only the gods knew, and Ivar was fine with that.

He continues to gaze at her, his lazy eyes mapping out her small form.

Suddenly she turns over in her fitful sleep, facing him now with arched brows and eyes screwed shut. Her lips were tightly sealed, set in a frown.

Ivar sighs, carefully sitting up against the soft pillows. He places the back of his hand against her cheek, gently rubbing a knuckle across her smooth skin soothingly. Then he runs a finger over her brow in an attempt to smooth them down and ease her tension.

He frowns.

He had caused her such strife. He didn't need to be told what plagued her mind. Behind her lids he knew she replayed the images of blood, death and destruction. Subjects that he couldn't be bothered with ate away at her soul. Artemis was no fighter. She was a Christian, what he saw as an everyday occurrence was utterly disturbing for her.

Artemis exhales roughly through her nose before her eyes flutter open, blinking to clear her vision.

"Another nightmare?" He asks softly, smiling when she nuzzles her face against his hand almost instantly.

"They're like a plague," She groans, "I'm sorry for waking you."

"It's fine." Ivar tugs her towards him, having her cupped under his arm, her head laying on his chest. He could feel her lashes skimming over his skin when she blinked.

Oh yes, this was incredibly domestic, and extremely different then what he was used to, but he wouldn't change it for the world, not now, not ever.

"We've done this to you, all of us," Ivar mutters quietly, absentmindedly playing with her hair that draped over the two of them. She was silent, so silent in fact, that Ivar thought she might have dozed off again, as her breathing was steady.

"Some nights are better than others." She says, lazily dragging her finger across his bare chest, following the thick lines of his most recent tattoo. The swirls formed an image she was only just beginning to understand. She takes a breath as if she wanted to say more, but decides to settle into the calm silence instead. Ivar squeezes her closer, enjoying her warmth. She would talk to him when she was ready.

His eyes scan the light that filtered through the cracks between the fur drapes. It was daybreak, and in about an hour, preparations would begin for training.

"We have to leave soon." She mutters, looking up at him with a pout.

They were both still getting used to this, such intimacy and closeness. Her heart sang for Ivar, no matter how much her mind had been against it, but she willingly ignored it.

Ivar was shy at times, a side that was nothing compared to his war like demeanor. He skimmed his rough fingers over the soft skin of her exposed arm, humming in agreement.

"We don't have to leave just yet." He proposes, turning his body to fully face her, eyes glimmering with silent requests. His timidness certainly had its limits.

Artemis smiles up at him as he wraps strong arms around her. He captures her lips in a kiss that erases all rational thoughts and bad dreams.

Perhaps they could stay in bed a little while longer.

...

Vestfold was unpleasant.

King Harald's kingdom specialized in fishing, mostly whaling. In fact, upon setting eyes on its docks, one could not miss the skeletal form of a giant whale that was made to loom above them menacingly. The smells that lingered about were horrific, and the blood of the massive sea creatures dampened the soil in large puddles.

Harald was a contradiction of what Vestfold was like. He was a delight, throwing feasts without reason and talking of his brother often. He was the brightness that illuminated his kingdom, and if they were to be stationed there for some time, then it was only fair to make the best of it.

It was the forests where Artemis loved to reside as it was lush and green, so much green that it had her drifting off into other magical worlds. It was a place of shade in the summer heat, a tranquil, peaceful area with nothing but the birds singing and the cicadas chirping in the treetops.

Archery was practiced everyday for a couple of hours in the early morning before the sun was at its highest point in the sky. The skill came easily to her, and she learned a fair amount, but she was nowhere near as skilled as Hvitserk, and not even close to Ivar, but it became a routine for her to take her lessons with either one of the brothers, and both were merciless in their training.

There would be no private lesson that morning. Ivar decided to train with their most skilled archer's as they would have the duty to protect both himself and Harald on the battlefield. Artemis personally knew some of the warriors in Ivar's company, large and fierce with even larger bows in their hands. Those from Vestfold were equally as fearsome, their women tall with kohl streaked eyes. They emulated their beautiful queen who stood with them, though she lacked a bow in her hands or any form of weapon. She had sad eyes ever since the announcement of her pregnancy.

Harald and Hvitserk were out training with the other men and women in physical combat, along with Bishop Heahmund. Although Ivar is skilled with his axe, his specialty was as a bowman.

Ivar slowly walks in front of the crowd of archers, his slight limp and his crutch in perfect view for all to see. His eyes held the haughtiness of being in command, of having total control over the warriors.

"Archers!" He yells, and all the men and women of the first row immediately raised their bows, strings pulled back tightly and hands grazing their chests in practiced movements. Artemis obediently follows suit, raising her arms with the heavy bow in her hands, her muscles protesting the movement.

"Hold your positions!" Ivar booms, eyes already meeting with his lover. He smirked as he always did when she was particularly annoyed with him, and he knew she was.

In their lessons, when they weren't off giving each other gentle kisses under the shade of the trees, Ivar would always repeatedly say that warriors are made to hold their positions for longer periods of time during times of war.

She absolutely hated it.

"Straighten your posture, it'll send the arrow flying faster at a farther distance." Astrid suddenly appears at her side. The queen places her hands on Artemis's tense shoulders, forcibly smoothing them down. Artemis knew that Harald's queen had recognized her. Lagertha had always made Astrid keep an eye on her.

Artemis takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders off and pulling the bow string as far back as she could, despite the ache in her shoulders and the tightness in her chest.

"Hold your position." Astrid urges, sensing the discomfort she felt being surrounded by capable beings. Artemis's arm trembled from the pressure of the string as it did these past weeks of training. She turned her eyes to Ivar, who flashed her a grin as he walked off to the side of their flanks.

"Loose!" Ivar yells, and immediately arrows whizzed in the air, straight to their destinations. Artemis didn’t hesitate. She took a deep breath, letting her fingertips release the string, watching her arrow fly. It hits its mark and she beamed, a grin growing large on her face.

"Seems like the blacksmith will make for a shieldmaiden. Will you be fighting?" Astrid smiles at her, but before she could answer, Ivar grunts over to them with every step, brows arched in displeasure. His hawk ears didn’t miss a thing and he didn't trust the new queen.

"Absolutely not," He interjects, placing an arm about her shoulders, bringing her closer before instructing the next row of archers to shoot at the distant targets. Astrid crosses her arms, unamused.

"I've seen her with a hammer Ivar."

"And?"

"Would she not make a good warrior? I think she would." Ivar sucks his teeth, dismissing the comment.

"Perhaps in the future," He says, looking down at his new love from his great height, "But not in this battle."

"Have I no say?" Artemis feigns annoyance, crossing her arms as he quickly bends to plant a kiss to her brow.

Astrid was taken back. She'd been around Ivar long enough to know his dark nature, but next to the foreign girl he was a stranger.

"You think I would dare lose you when I just got a hold of you?" Ivar answers with a scoff, nodding at Astrid before turning them away from her. He orders the large crowd of archers to depart. They were ready, but Artemis was not.

"I will not lose you." He tells her, letting her go in order to summon his chariot, but she grabs his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

"Am I to lose you?" She questions.

"No," He replies with a grin, "The gods would not allow it."

...

The blacksmith's forge in Vestfold was nothing compared to York's. It was quaint, and ran by a family that reminded her too much of her own. A father, his wife, and their little boy and girl.

It made a knot form in her throat that made it difficult to swallow. The nostalgia ate away at her very core and she constantly had to blink back the tears of fond memories that she kept nestled in the back of her mind. Perhaps all the gods of the world did not intend for her to have a family.

She was set on the task of making arrowheads, and her nimble fingers were immediately at work, forcibly shaping the iron into deadly pointed edges. Working in silence beside her was the little boy of the family, making the shafts of wood to attach the arrowheads to.

His father and the other men worked to keep the fire going as they repaired whatever weapons needed attention.

The little boy hums to himself, not paying her any mind as his small hands attempt to shave down thin branches with his tiny blade. He struggled, his hand unable to pass it over the jagged surface of the branch. He grunts in frustration, tossing the branch and blade aside before crossing his arms stubbornly.

Artemis stops her sharpening, turning to look at the little boy with a smile.

"Here," She places down her own tools in favor of picking up his, "Like this." She flicks her wrist at an angle, showing him how to carve down the branch in a steadier motion, "It's like peeling a carrot." She tells him.

"I don't peel carrots," He pouts, "My mother and sister do when they cook."

"Well, if they can manage, so can you," She jokes, handing him back the small blade and branch, "Go on, try again." The boy hesitates before grasping the items, and after a few minutes of him trying and her watching, he gets the hang of it.

"See? You got it."

"Mhm!" The boy hums in glee with a tiny smile, turning his large eyes to hers, "Thank you." Artemis smiles, ruffling the boy's hair.

"Are you from England?" He then asks her, his tongue poking out as he worked, "You don't sound like us."

"No," She tells him, "I come from an island in the south." He turns to her again, his eyes twinkling in curiosity.

"Really?" That peaked his interest, "Farther than England?"

"Much farther," She voices with exaggeration in her tone, "Much hotter, and full of life." The little boy blinks up at her in awe.

"And how did you come to Vestfold?"

"Him." Artemis points out towards the bustling activity of the village, her finger following Ivar's hobbling form as he practiced swinging Heahmund's large sword.

"Ivar the Boneless!" The boy exclaims.

"Mhm."

They both watch on as Ivar approaches a whale suspended in the air by its tail, ready to be used for its supply of oil. In one swift movement he swings the sword, slicing the whale cleanly in half with a maddening grin on his face. He was obsessed with the blade, turning it round in his calloused grip. Artemis watches the blood and entrails spill out from the whale in disgust before looking down at the nameless boy.

He didn't shy away from the sight, though his little brows curved slightly at the scene.

"Caldur!" A woman's voice calls out, "Caldur, let the men finish the work, come help with the animals." The little boy groans, releasing his tools with a small grunt. Hopping off the chair he quickly turns to wave at her before running off.

Heahmund passes the boy, watching him run towards his mother before taking the seat beside Artemis. She doesn't say anything, not noticing him much as she was lost in thought, her eyes still watching Ivar handle the sword as he began a conversation with King Harald.

"Have you figured it out yet?" The sudden sounds of her native tongue startled her, and she pricked her finger with one of her arrowheads. She hisses in pain. She knew she should have worn gloves.

"Figured what out?"

"My sword. The steel." The bishop chuckles. They both glance at Ivar before turning to look at each other. Heahmund did not brood quite as much as he used to, but he was still just as irritating now that Ivar gave him leeway.

"No." She says irritably.

"It is Damascus steel."

"Damascus steel is a myth."

"So you've heard of it?"

"Yes," She drawls out, "And it is a myth." She repeats with finality. Damascus steel was said to be a strange metal that was resistant to rusting and shattering. No one knew how it was produced, and the secret was so well guarded in the east that it became legend.

"Then how would you explain the superiority of my blade?"

"Dwarfs." Was all she says, as if she believed it herself.

The older man sucks his teeth, clearly unamused. He grabs at an arrowhead for closer inspection. They were well made, even by his standards, and he knew they would be deadly once attached to wood.

"I've gone on pilgrimage to the Holy Land," He says after a moment, "The Arabs forge the steel. They say it comes from a land called India."

"India," She repeats the name, blinking in surprise, "I've never heard of such a place. If it is true, I shall like to go there one day."

"Perhaps you will."

"Do you wish to have your sword returned to you?" She asks, her eyes now focusing back on Ivar. He noticed them and immediately made his way over to them.

"He will tire of it soon enough. He prefers his bow."

"And will you truly fight for him?"

"It is our Lord's will that I do," Heahmund says, placing the arrowhead back upon the table Artemis worked over, his rough tone oddly drowning out her worries, "What is it you fear?"

Artemis shrugs before bringing her eyes to his. He held such unrelenting faith, such will and courage, strengths she did not possess. She didn't know who she was anymore.

"I am afraid of losing myself."

"We all have destinies. It just so happens that yours lies beside the crippled heathen."

She's never really believed in destiny.

"So you're friends with the bishop now?" Ivar barges in with a grunt, his eyes falling over the pair. He goes to stand by the work table, eyeing the tools and arrows with keen interest. He only knew how to sharpen his weapons but he couldn't actually make anything, really. It was impressive work, as always.

"We're civil," She answers with a smile, tilting her head towards the older man, "Isn't that right, bishop?" Heahmund grunts in annoyance, crossing his arms over his chest.

Ivar lowers himself closer to Artemis, quickly bringing a hand to shove at Heahmund's head so that his prying eyes would not see him kiss her plush lips. It was not the bishop's business.

"It's time for training." He then announces, turning to the bishop, shoving his head playfully one more time, "I thought you might want this back," He removes the sword from his belt, tossing it to him. Heahmund easily caught it very easily in his grip.

"I will see you tonight." Ivar mutters to her, placing another quick kiss to her brow before following Heahmund out.

They leave Artemis alone with her thoughts, and she almost wished the little boy didn't have to leave, so that she may have some form of company.

...

It was a beautiful day when their army departed.

The sun was blinding and the heat blistering. Back on their boats they went and into the sea, the calming waves carrying them to their destination.

Both armies were hundreds of feet away, biding their time for their leaders to ready themselves to declare war.

Ivar against Lagertha.

Brother against brother.

The intensity and ferocity could be felt in the air, from the birds soaring in the skies, to the creatures dwelling in the seas, it could be felt by everyone. Opposing camps were set before the battle and a last negotiation attempt was discussed before blood would be spilt.

Ivar's anger got the best of him when seeing Ubbe on Lagertha's side, as well as her son Bjorn, who had come from the Mediterranean just in time to defend his mother.

King Harald faces his own complications, extremely displeased with his brother. He tried to convince him to switch sides, but it seemed Halfdan's loyalty to Bjorn was stronger than his loyalty to his own brother. It was sad to see such battles within their own families. They would soon kill each other no doubt.

The camp was set up similarly to the one upon arriving in England, tents peppering all the way towards the horizon. The forging tent was miniscule, as there wouldn't be much need for it. The expectation was that the battle would end very quickly, and Artemis hoped that it did, with positive results.

Ivar had made arrangements for her to remain out of sight until he could come back for her, assuming he would come back. 2 guards were set to remain behind and watch over the camp, and in some ways, to look after her.

She sits on the ground at the far end of her tent to shield herself from the sun, fiddling with the loose threads that held her leather vest together, an anxious antic of the circumstances. To pass the time, she watches the warriors gather in preparation for the inevitable. Ivar was busy meeting with Harald, most likely more talk of strategy and such. She couldn't be bothered with the details, but it ultimately left her lonelier than she cared to admit.

The day continues, as well as the heat. Hvitserk appears suddenly in the campsite with Bjorn following behind, and the warriors instantly begin to murmur of his sudden return from the Mediterranean. They stopped in front of the tent, bickering quietly between themselves.

Her eyes catch a glimpse of Bjorns form, immediately noting his change in appearance. His skin was tanned, kissed by the sun, and his face glowed like she's never seen it before. His hair was paler, extremely flaxen and bright. He seemed to be a completely different person somehow; a changed person.

"Ivar will not back down," Hvitserk tells him with a sigh, crossing his arms and standing firm. They took shade in her tent, and she suddenly felt awkward as they began to bicker again.

"And neither will my mother," Bjorn answers back, "We are brothers, all sons of Ragnar. I do not wish to fight my blood." Hvitserk runs a hand down his face in frustration.

"And you think that I do? Lagertha killed my mother!"

"And your mother ripped apart my family!" They bickered so quickly that they were almost incomprehensible, tongues lashing at one another. They were in such a heated debate that they had both failed to notice her.

"All Ivar has done was separate us," Bjorn mutters, "You and Ubbe cannot even look at each other. Do not think I haven't noticed." Hvitserk proceeds to frown, knowing his relationship with Ubbe had deteriorated. It made him feel terrible.

Hvitserk remains quiet and Bjorn scoffs in response, blonde hair whipping about as he turns to show his younger brother his back. Bjorn's blue eyes landed on Artemis's small form, crouched in the corner, her head turned away from them as she worked to rip apart blades of grass between her fingers.

"Artemis?" He calls out to her, shifting his head to get a closer look at her from behind the small table. She says nothing, but offers him a nod of acknowledgement.

"I thought the tent was empty," Hvitserk says, "We sound like a couple of old fools, hm?"

"Hvitserk tells me you are now a free woman." Bjorn's curiosity had gotten the better of him.

"Yes." She nods again.

"Ivar is full of surprises, isn't he?" Bjorn chuckles darkly, crossing his arms in amusement.

"Without a doubt."

"I want you to know that I've seen the rest of your island," He continues, the small hints of a sad smile on his burned lips. Her heart suddenly drops, "And I must admit I've met the strangest people."

"I'm sure they thought the same of you." Was her snarky response, watching his shoulders shake in genuine amusement. "Was it to your liking?"

"The Mediterranean is a beauty. I've seen things I could have never dreamed of. I will remember it fondly."

"Yet you hide something." She tells him, rubbing her hands down the sides of her trousers, reaching out to rip more grass from the dirt. Bjorn sighs, turning to glance at a frowning Hvitserk before replying.

"Crete has been invaded. Andalusian's conquer the island. I left just as war had broken out." She could feel her heart pulsing in her ears as soon as he uttered those words. An uncomfortable heat rushed through her, as if her body were trying to fight off something within her.

"Andalusian's?" She finds herself asking in the softest tone, suddenly feeling faint. She blinks rapidly to gain her senses back, watching Bjorn tilt his head at her before nodding.

"They are Muslim's from Spain." Finally, she releases a breath, her hands gripping at the roots of her hair to make sense of the words.

"They say that the Arabs attempted to conquer Crete well over a hundred years ago," She speaks so low that both Hvitserk and Bjorn had to step a bit closer to hear her, "Everyone knows the story."

"And what happened then?" Hvitserk asks her, crouching down to sit beside her.

"The Emperor had prevailed in its defense," She continues, bringing her glossy eyes to Bjorn, "Why...?" She couldn't even formulate the words to ask him, but he understood.

"They were exiled from Spain. The island was an easy target for them to control."

"Artemis, you're crying." Hvitserk states dumbly, watching little tears roll down the apples of her cheeks. Somehow Hvitserk was always there to see her cry.

"If what Bjorn says is true, and war has broken out," She struggles to say, fighting the feeling of her throat constricting, "Then people were killed. My father could have been killed."

"You don't know that," Bjorn interjected, "You cannot say for sure."

"How can you say that?" She challenges, "You are a warrior. You should know well the fickle outcomes of war." Bjorn remains silent, releasing a large sigh at her comment.

"War spares no one, not even the innocent." She sniffles.

They all knew it to be true.

...

Negotiations failed miserably, and war was officially declared.

Horns blasted and the warriors assembled into their places in an orderly fashion on both sides. Chanting echoed across the green pastures and weapons were held high in the air.

Harald cheered alongside his men, giving them some kind of speech to arouse them with the need to slaughter. It wasn't very hard to get them to react in the way he wanted.

Ivar smiles, his feet hanging off the edge of the small cliff. His eyes scanned the field eagerly, gaze trained on Hvitserk and Heahmund as they took their positions. He'd need to join them soon.

"Men will speak of this day." He says quietly to himself, but Artemis hears him well enough, slowly approaching to kneel beside him. Just below were his archers waiting to defend him, his chariot prepared to ride off.

He turns to her, offering a grin despite the frown tugging at her lips.

"Are you worried?" He asks, reaching out a hand to smooth the lines on her brow. It was wrinkled in concern.

"A bit." She quietly admits, wringing her hands as proof that she was much more worried than she let on.

He notices the quiver strapped to her back, the unstrung bow nestled neatly within the arrows.

"What do you think you're doing with that?" Ivar jerks his chin towards her weapon with brows raised, "Do you intend to fight? I cannot allow you to be here. You are to go back to camp."

He watches her scan the battlefield just as he had. The men roared at each other as they pounded their fists against their chest. They were desperate to fight, and the energy that once made her uneasy seemed to fill her with something she couldn't really identify, but it made her want to run into danger.

"And what if I do not wish to go to camp?" She finally retorts, shifting her gaze to his.

"Do not be foolish," He grunts, playfully tugging at the ends of her braided hair, "It is not a matter of debate. The battlefield is too dangerous for a baby bird such as yourself." Somehow, he still had a sense of humor, even at the very brink of a war.

"I do not care," Her tone was stubborn like a child, "I do not care for my fate." Not anymore, anyway.

A noise resembling a growl brewed in Ivar's throat as a sign of his displeasure. He grips her chin tightly with his fingers, turning her face up to look at him. His eyes were hard and calculating, but impossibly blue, and filled with so much more emotion than he could ever express.

"Do not say such words so carelessly," He grits his teeth, the pressure of his fingers enough to make her wince, "What is the matter with you, hm? Do you not think when all this is over that I wouldn't want to rejoice with you in my arms?" Artemis shakes off his grip, bringing her eyes down towards the open plains at the very bottom of the cliff, worrying her lip between her teeth.

He sighs, throwing his arm around her shoulders to bring her close to him again.

"It is dangerous," He repeats, "And I do not wish to see you hurt." She listens intently as he murmurs the words into her hair, struggling to make his affections clear.

"You are not afraid?" Her voice sounded so small, drowning in the sea of war cries.

"No," He answers without hesitation, "I've waited for this long enough." Artemis shifts under his arm to get a good look at him. She searches his eyes again as if it were the last time she would see them, reaching up to place her hand over his prickly sideburns. Ivar sensed a farewell in her actions.

"Do not look at me like that," He demands, his lips curving into a gentle smile, "Your eyes say too much. You wound me before I can even go into battle."

She begins to feel the familiar pricking sensation in her eyes again, and they quickly gloss over, fixing her a blurry image of Ivar. Overwhelmed with emotion, she suddenly moves forward to smash her lips against his, the force causing Ivar to lean back unsteadily before pushing forward with the same fervent intensity that she had. After a few urgent kisses she pulls away, throwing her arms around him as she buries her face in the crook of his neck.

"Ivar?" She sniffles.

"Yes, baby bird?" He holds her tight, knowing in just a few moments a battle would be separating them. He runs a hand down her braided hair, feeling her tears against his skin, her voice wavering as she speaks.

"Pray that your gods protect you." ...

She was forced to stay back at the camp, utterly alone, save for those two guards, but she noticed they had silently disappeared a while ago. Probably bored of playing caretaker. She had robbed them of the excitement.

She could hear the battle, the warriors crying out in the distance. It drifted over the camp like a wave crashing against a shoreline. It was unlike anything she's ever heard before, and just the sound alone made the battle of York seem trivial.

It was enough to peak her curiosity, wondering what it must feel like to stab and kill another living being. The thought never crossed her mind before, and as a Christian, why would it?

If Heahmund, a bishop, could fight so vigorously, then why couldn't she...right?

She had a strong desire to just walk off into the middle of their war, to witness death first hand, perhaps even walk into a blade.

Who did she think she was? A fighter? No. A coward? Maybe. Yes.

She sighs, feeling the need to escape the tent after a few minutes of playing the scenarios over and over in her mind. The outcome of such a battle was uncertain. Ivar was undoubtedly a master strategist, he'd been planning the attack for 2 months, and although she knew he'd been trained in the skills of a warrior, she still wondered...would he escape out of this alive?

She could already imagine his rage if she voiced such a thought to him.

What, you think me weak like you, baby bird?

She allows herself a small smile, releasing a little puff of laughter. Her fondness for him had grown exponentially, which made all of this much harder.

She roams about the empty campsite until she finally decides to plop down on the grass, continuing to listen to the faint yells in the distance. A few minutes passed and she was growing weary.

Pulling an arrow from her quiver, she brings it down with a force, stabbing the sharp point deep into the dry earth to distract her mind.

Stab, stab, stab. Sigh.

As she littered the ground in slashes, old scuffed shoes appeared in front of her, and she quickly jerked away to get a good look at the intruder.

"What are you doing?" Freydis looms over her with a quizzical look upon her pretty little face. Artemis watches the blonde sit in front of her, the old dress she wore pooling around her.

"You have been traveling with the army?" Artemis questions her, hand tightly gripping the arrow as if ready to stab her. She was already in a foul mood.

"Of course I have. Wherever Ivar goes, I go." Artemis doesn't bother gracing her with an answer, only looks on at her with a curious expression. They've never had a formal conversation before, and the last time she'd seen the blonde was that day in York.

"I was so sure I had him. I thought perhaps I could please him," Freydis continues, smiling bitterly as she leans back on her hands, comfortably stretching out her legs, "But I see you have caught his eye instead."

"What a pity," Artemis feigns sympathy, twirling the arrow in her fingers, "You sound bothered."

"I had a plan," Freydis hisses, suddenly lurching forward on her knees to point an accusing finger at her, "I had a plan and you stole him away from me." Artemis jerks away from her, using the wood of the arrow to push Freydis's finger away from her.

"You had a plan." She repeats Freydis's words flatly, unamused.

"Of course I did! I convinced Ivar to free me. He takes kindly to words of praise, loves to be told of what a great king he would be." Freydis releases a hysterical giggle, and something about that makes Artemis uneasy. The blonde seemed to be at wit's end.

"And so you offered your body to him, in return for what? Power?" Artemis concludes.

"It is what all men want," Freydis says, the little angry arch in her brow becoming more apparent, her voice rising a few octaves as her frustration bubbled to the surface, "I was supposed to be taken care of, he was supposed to take care of me. I do not have the means to survive as a freewoman." She brings her blue eyes to glare at Artemis. "And I do not like competition." She finishes her rant.

"There is no competition," Artemis sucks her teeth, shifting to stand before returning the glare.

"I do not understand why he chose a foreigner," Freydis shouts in frustration, "You are nothing compared to a true northern woman." Artemis bites her lip, her eyes racking over the blondes features. Freydis was quite beautiful, even in hysterics, and she felt the tugs of jealousy on her heartstrings at the memory of her looming over Ivar.

She huffs, heat rising to her cheeks in anger, but she refused to feel the hands of envy. There were other things to worry about, and a conniving woman should be the least of them.

"Perhaps he realized how much of a poison you are," Artemis sneers, "Trying to latch on to him like a leech to blood. If all you have to offer is your body, then I'm sure you will have no trouble finding work." Freydis glares, her pretty face scrunched up in displeasure at the insult.

"You're ambitious." Artemis continues to say.

"And you lack it!" Freydis throws her hands up, "Ivar could make you his queen if he wished it so!"

"I've no interest. I am a foreigner as you say." The thought had never crossed her mind before. She saw herself as nothing more than, what, a companion? She shakes her head, focusing her attention towards the edge of the camp to avoid punching the blonde.

"Then step aside," Was the last thing she heard Freydis say, but she ignored it, her eyes catching bright colors lapping at the tents at the edge of the campsite. She blinks, squinting her eyes until the smoke begins to reach high as if to touch the heavens.

Fire.

It was spreading rapidly.

Artemis felt she couldn't move, her body rigid as all she could do was stare stupidly at the scene.

"What is wrong with you?" Freydis snarls, "Have you suddenly gone stupid?"

Artemis ignores the blonde's babbling again, her eyes making out silhouettes that now turned into the shape of men, warriors, all carrying torches, and all charging towards them with immense speed.

"Freydis, get up."

"What?"

"Get up and run!" Artemis lurches forward, grabbing the blonde by the arm and using all her strength to pull her to her feet. Freydis stands and looks over her shoulder, immediately letting out a terrible shriek. They grew closer, setting fire to all the tents and to whatever else they could burn. They were about five, all Lagertha's men by the blue colors they wore on their arms.

"Run!" Artemis pushes Freydis forward and they both take off in a sprint.

"Who are they?!" Freydis heaves, turning back again to glance at the men, easily setting the entire encampment aflame. The summer heat increased the fires tenfold.

"Lagertha's men, they're destroying the campsite!" Artemis coughs, the fumes of the fire already reaching her throat as they ran past the many tents that began to burn. Rations, supplies, everything was burning to cinders.

Her boots stomped over the dry grass, crushing twigs and everything else in her hurried pace, yet she felt they'd never reach the forests quick enough.

Freydis screams as an arrow whizzes by her, grazing her blonde tresses. She lets out a wail of fear, tears pouring down her pale face that blurred her vision. She stumbles, skirt tangling in her legs enough to cause her to fall, grabbing onto Artemis's quiver on the way.

Artemis let out a yelp on impact, her face colliding into the hot dirt. Tears ran freely down her cheeks, and she hisses as the pouch of arrows and her bow dig painfully into her side.

The flames grew taller, brighter than the sun. It was as if they had descended into hell itself.

Still, the men grew closer, smiles on their faces as one readied his bow again, pulling the string back.

"Freydis, get up! Get up!" Artemis cried hysterically, stumbling to her feet and pulling her up, but the blonde refused, becoming a sobbing mess as she choked on poisoned air. "If you don't get up, we will die!"

"It is fated! The gods, they-" Freydis stops, her eyes bulging out and blood immediately dripping from her mouth. An arrow pierced her throat completely, lodged all the way through. The tip of the arrow was visible through the skin, blood pouring out the deadly wound. A shriek lodged itself in Artemis's throat at the sight of a choking Freydis.

There was so much blood spilling out, and finally she did scream, sweat mixing in with her tears as she fought to rise to her feet. She glanced down at Freydis, watching her choke to death, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her voice weak gurgles against her blood.

That was not a fate she wanted for herself.

She couldn't spare Freydis a second glance, turning on stumbling legs and pushing forward.

"She's the one! Shoot her down already!" She barely heard one shout, and immediately another arrow soars, the tip tearing at the flesh of her left ear. She ignores the blooming pain as she runs, already feeling the blood leaking down her jaw and onto her neck.

She wanted so much to collapse, the bad air and her tired legs slowing her down.

Another arrow whizzed by, barely missing her cheek as it fell flat to the ground.

Run run run run!

She repeated the mantra, frantically searching for those guards that Ivar had assigned, until coming to the realization that they were most likely dead at the hands of those men. This was obviously planned.

The bow and quiver felt heavy on her back, completely useless as she was not yet skilled to render a man dead, and she was much too fearful to do so. But she needed something, anything.

The forging tent comes into view, and she thinks she had surely left something lying about, anything that would help her if she came face to face with one of the warriors. She could nearly see it, the tarp slowly catching onto the flames that spread.

More arrows were shot, along with more shouts of frustration, enough to make her wonder how they haven't pierced her already in the way they so easily did to Freydis.

She turns round quickly to see the men at her heels before finally entering the tent. Her large hammer sat untouched on the wooden table top, seemingly ready to be used. She grabbed it tightly in her hand and sprinted out the tent just as it began to collapse in fire.

She runs into the surrounding trees, hoping that they'd lose her, but they probably knew the forests far better than she.

One of them was successful in reaching her, his long legs stomping behind her. He was big in stature and a nasty smile played on his lips. Large dirty hands reached for her, grabbing onto the front of her vest and jerking her forward. She screams, knowing his intentions were beyond just killing once he rips her vest open.

The hammer hanging lifeless in her grip suddenly felt hot in her hand, enough for her to muster all her strength to swing the it against him as if beating a mighty sword. Though uncoordinated, she struck him well enough across the head with all her might, a cry passing through her dried lips. Blood splattered over her face but she barely noticed, blinking the red from her burning eyes as he released her with a shove.

He stumbled back from the impact; stunned, eyes rolling to the back of his skull before falling onto his back. His blood spilled onto the grass, pieces of skin and grime hanging from the deep gash. Her hands trembled, but again, she raised her arms high above her head, bringing it down with a sickening crack, smashing his face into mush until he was completely unrecognizable.

She sways, falling hard on her knees, vomiting the contents of her stomach right beside her first kill.

She just killed a man.

Adrenaline pumped through her veins, her ears perking up at the sound of heavy feet crushing leaves and fallen branches. The others were close, and she had to escape, but the farther into the forest she ventured, the closer she was to the clearing where the battlefield was. She was running away from an opponent, only to fall into another trap.

Her breathing was erratic and her muscles tensed, but she pushed on, bloody hammer in hand. The faster she went the farther away she was from the attackers, slithering her way behind ancient trees and large shrubs, but it was as if they had just vanished. She could not hear them tracking her down anymore, but it wasn't enough to stop her from pushing further.

Move. Keep going. Faster.

Turning to look over her shoulder she trips over a large jagged stone, her legs finally giving out. With a yelp her body slams to the ground, twisting and rolling down the harsh forest floor. Twigs and leaves stuck into her hair as her world spun.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally comes to a stop with a pained grunt. She lands on her face, grass and dirt entering her mouth. She spat, turning her head to the side, groaning at the feel of her aching body. So much noise surrounded her, the clash of metal and the war cries of men. She closes her eyes, wheezing as she fights to breathe. Her throat burned still from breathing in the toxic fumes.

She was tired.

If the attackers wouldn't reach her, then something else would finish her off.

She began to drift off, eyes fluttering when an annoying pain bloomed on her cheek over and over. It was a pecking, like a needle trying to pierce through her skin. She cracked her eyes open, blinking to clear her vision.

It was a raven.

It's beady eyes were as dark as its feathers, cocking its head as if questioning her. It pecked her again, this time on her hand before flapping its wings erratically as if to take flight, but it never did. It just looked at her.

Artemis squints against the glare of the weak sun, now hiding behind the darkest of clouds. A storm was approaching. She glances back at the bird that remained very still by her side before rolling her tired body over at the scene before her.

She had landed on the small hill where she bid Ivar goodbye, and she was surrounded by some of the dead bodies of Ivar's archers.

With a startled kick to the body beside her, she shifts, moving to crawl away to be at a distance from the bodies. All were littered with arrows.

The bile rose again as her eyes scanned the field. It was nothing she could have imagined. Hundreds of bloody bodies strewn across the clearing, and hundreds more fighting with all their might in the name of their leader.

Her eyes memorized the images of the deformed bodies, some disemboweled, others dismembered. Limbs were hanging off the bodies of the wounded who screamed from the shocking pain.

The bile came out, and she gags, sweat clinging her hair to her brow like a second skin. She spat, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth, feeling the sting of cuts littering her cheeks from the sharp branches. The pain of her torn ear finally hit her full force, and she squeezed her eyes shut at the unusual pain. She brings her fingers to touch the wound, and what should have been the shell of her ear was gone. Horrified, she looks at the fresh blood coating her fingertips, swallowing thickly.

With a shuddering breath she struggles to ignore the pain, scanning her eyes once more over the field, searching for his chariot.

Could he be...dead?

Before she could fall back into the dirt against the prospect, she spots him, riding across the field like the king he knew he would be.

He was yelling orders at his men, stopping occasionally to lodge his axe into someone’s skull. Even from a distance she could see the blood that coated his face and the look of determination he had.

He wasn't afraid.

She was in absolute awe. Ivar looked incredible.

She would smile if she could, but all chances were taken away when Queen Lagertha, clear as day, makes her way towards Ivar's chariot, sword held high in hand.

The wheel of his chariot was stuck, and he couldn't get the mare to pull him out.

That was just enough time to make her kill.

"No, no, no," Artemis begins to cry, gripping her loose hair as she watches the scene unfold.

The raven, already forgotten, begins to flap its wings rapidly, cawing quite loudly. As soon as she stood on her shaky legs, the raven flew, perching itself on her shoulder. Its claws sunk into her flesh, though she hardly noticed. What she did notice was the raven was still cawing, like it was urging her to do something.

But what? All she had was her bow.

Oh.

She reaches for the bow strapped to her back, taking the splintered wood in her bloody hand. It should have snapped from the impact of her fall, but it strangely remained in one piece, along with some of her arrows. Quickly, she digs in the pocket of her trousers for the bowstring, her shaking hands attaching the stretchy fibers to the bow as she was taught.

Taking a deep breath, she removed an arrow from her quiver, locking into place. The raven pecked at her cheek gently and she knew what she had to do.

But could she do it?

Ivar ceased his desperation to move his chariot. For a moment he was smiling, realizing he had the upper hand in the battle anyway, but all would be for nothing if Lagertha got to him first.

The queen stabbed at the warriors in her way, going straight towards him ever so slowly, and it was like everything around them had disappeared. All Artemis could see was Ivar and Lagertha, nothing else.

And she only had one shot.

She raises the bow, pulling the string as far back as she could.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Steady your stance. Pull the string. Release the arrow.

She recites the lesson in her head.

Lagertha raises her sword above her head, ready to bring it down in one swift movement. She yells as she builds up momentum, and Ivar quickly turns in surprise, his instinct quick to react, raising his axe to clash against her sword. She falls back, and again, raises her sword, so close to penetrating his armor.

Shoot!

A voice boomed, whether it was around her or in her head, Artemis didn't know, but there was no hesitation. Her fingertips released the sting and the arrow went flying at a fierce velocity to its target, impaling itself all the way through the flesh of the queen's wrist.

She cries out both in anger and pain, staggering back again as she gritted her teeth harshly against the excruciating pain. Her fingers spread open to drop her sword, falling onto her knees as she weakly cradled her wrist.

Ivar wasted no time. He grabbed a hold of his axe, slithering down to the ground and pushing Lagertha on her back, twisting the arrow lodge in her flesh to keep her from attacking. She screams and flails, Ivar's weight taking a toll on her already weak body.

He places his large hand over her eyes tightly, using the force to smash her head onto the ground. He lowers himself closer before bringing down his axe against her throat, slicing her head cleanly off.

That was it. The war was his. Kattegat was his.

He collapses onto his back beside the dead woman, he chest heaving as warriors continue to fight around him.

Slowly he sits up, the head of Lagertha in a death grip as he dragged his tired body over to his chariot, mounting the seat. He raised her head in the air by the hair, the blood leaking over his arm and onto his armored chest.

"Surrender!" He booms, "Lagertha is dead! All hail your new king!"

The opposing warriors began to retreat, fleeing back into their camps. Ivar's warriors cheered, yelling their praises to the gods, until some noticed the smoke filling the atmosphere from the tree tops.

The camp! The camp! Yelled the warriors.

Ivar's smile fades. He drops his arm, turning to look over his shoulder at what the other men gazed at.

The trees on the hill top were indeed surrounded by smoke, but that was not what held his attention.

Artemis stood there, blood, dirt and soot covering her face, chest heaving and bow held in a death grip in her trembling hand. A raven sat comfortably on her shoulder, flapping its wings wildly.

She was a sight to behold. Ivar couldn't tear his eyes from her. She looked every bit a warrior, even now as she fell to her knees, staring at him just as intently.

And then he realizes.

She was the one. She shot the arrow.

Ivar had so many questions, his mouth opening like a fish out of water as if to shout them to her from where he was.

He barks at a passing warrior to move his chariot, and once it was loosened, he turns it to bring it closer to the cliff. They stare at each other for a while until Ivar slowly raises Lagertha's head in the air towards her, as if offering it to her as a prize.

She stares at the decapitated head before dragging her eyes over Ivar's armoured body, covered in the sticky blood of his enemies. She would have been fearful of such a sight once, but now, all she wanted to do was fall into his arms.

The raven cawed loudly, flapping its wings again to gain her attention, but when she turned her head to look at the creature, it flew off, disappearing into the smokey sky.

Suddenly in the midst of the smoke stood a figure, an old man in all black. He held a long wooden staff in his spindly fingers. His beard was gray, long and matted, and when Artemis finally settled her eyes to look into his, she was startled. One eye was beautiful, different shades of blue in its depths, but the other a gaping black hole with dried blood around the edges.

He smiles at her.

"Well done." His voice seemed to vibrate through her before disappearing into a cluster of cawing ravens that colored the skies black.

...

@heavenly1927 @didiintheblog @rastakami23 @inforapound @a-mess-of-fandoms @leilabeaux @ostra814 @zumzum96

#ivar #ivar imagine #ivarfanfiction #ivarxofc #ivar the boneless #vikings #vikings ivar #vikings fanfiction #alex hogh andersen

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patchoulimademoiselle · 4 years

Text

Bat Shit Crazy (Part 1)

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 5.6k

Warnings: language, sub/dom dynamic, large age gap, smut, choking kink, violence/fighting, injuries/blood, hypersexual reader, mentions of death?

Summary: Bucky is back from a mission he was sent on without you. He works hard to get you back on your routine.

Notes: This fic is dark, and it only gets darker. This is more Winter Soldier Bucky in terms of behavioral traits and dynamics with other characters. This is not a soft lovey dovey style fic, and if that bothers you DO NOT READ.

Masterlist

Part One:

The night is young, the summer air is humid, you've swapped out your jeans for a pair of fray end shorts, tennis shoes scuffing against the pavement as you shuffle your feet, waiting.

You've been craving a bit of freedom, some wind in your hair, something intoxicating in your system, and that led you right to Tony Stark. You batted your eyelashes the best you could, pretty please, can we borrow your car for the night? Honestly, you don't have a plan. All you know is that you feel suffocated sitting around on base. You feel old, tired, missing and craving the feeling of adrenaline in your veins.

So as soon as the jet returns to HQ, you're grabbing Bucky by the collar of his shirt and dragging him out to the sight of a bright orange Audi that makes him groan in disbelief. A knowing look graces his features, and he almost feels bad for the guy. Because if there's anything you're good at, it's getting your way, and Bucky had basically signed himself up for it. But Stark? He had no idea what you were truly capable of.

"I'm not going to ask how you managed to get it," He says, hand catching your waist and pulling you to stop before you can get inside, "But I am going to ask, where are we going?"

He's still in his tactical gear, a gun on his hip, dirt and blood smeared across his skin, he smells like gun powder and sweat, and you can't resist the urge to just kiss him. So you do, hands in his hair, pulling him down into a searing kiss that pulls a strangled sound from the back of his throat. He hasn't seen you in days, and he's more exhausted than he's used to being. But he can tell you're restless, the chaos in your bones convincing you to basically seduce Stark and take his car to do who knows what in the cover of night. He's just glad that you decided to bring him along.

"For a ride." Is all you offer, letting him hike your leg up around his waist. "I missed you."

"I know." His voice sounds wrecked, laced with exhaustion and arousal, and you almost feel bad for keeping him up even longer, because who knows what he just came back from. But you're too excited to turn back now, dangling the keys in front of his face, his grin just as wicked as yours as he kisses you one last time.

"I want to go first, you can drive on the way back."

When you get in the drivers seat and press the button to start the engine, you get why people collect cars like this. The feeling of power, the sense of danger, it's intoxicating, and you start to feel a little breathless when you rev the engine.

Bucky can see it click in your head, he can see the exact moment that you decide that this might be taking it too far.

There's a wicked glint in your eyes when you turn to look at him. "Oh," You laugh, "I've created a monster."

His eyebrows furrow, fingers wrapping around your wrist to pull you away from the wheel, half bent over the console. "I would prefer it if you didn't get us both killed, so you take it easy, understand?" Because he knows. He knows you could say fuck it all just for the thrill of it.

You click your tongue, "You're no fun." You pout, watching as his eye twitches, a weakness, "But that's okay. I'm sure you'll figure out how to make it up to me."

He smiles at that, and you aren't sure if it's pride or love that has him grabbing your chin and forcing you to look in his eyes. You're a smart mouthed fool, and he knows that you probably got most of your attitude from him. "What am I going to do with you?"

"You can start with fucking me on every surface of this car before we give it back tomorrow morning."

He hums, kissing you once, twice, unable to pull away because he likes the look in your eyes, he likes that you're this comfortable with him, young and wild and trusting him not to judge you. It's harmless fun, he understands, the tedious schedule you follow everyday is eating away at your youth. So he indulges you, letting you put the windows down and drive just a little more recklessly than he should.

The shriek of laughter that comes from your throat is worth the risk, his hand gripping your thigh, watching as you change your grip on the steering wheel. The wind blows your hair, flushes your cheeks, and its a reflex more than anything else when he fishes his phone out to take a picture of you.

This is what you both live for. Moments like this where nothing else matters. You have each other, you've found a perfect medium between work and play, and it works out better than you could have ever imagined.

Keeping up with you is like pulling teeth sometimes, because Bucky just doesn't care as much as you do. He figured that you would be better suited with someone who is equally as high maintenance as you, someone like Tony Stark. The expensive taste and busy schedule could only be understood by someone who lives that lifestyle.

But behind the perfume and lip gloss, beneath the eyelash extensions and layers of designer clothing, chaos awaits. It makes you reckless.

You're hot headed, quick to pull a trigger and abuse your power before the chance can be taken from you. Steve had tried to train you first, but all attempts made to domesticate you failed, the restlessness within you wired deep within your bones, and so you were passed on to Bucky. Because there's a part of Bucky that craves chaos just like you do, the only difference is that he's learned to control it rather than have it control him. You were pushed right into his arms, and it was only a matter of time before he left and impression on you.

The devilment you shared made him putty in your hands. He saw himself in you, a pretty head plagued with torturous thoughts, a pretty girl ruined by this job, and so he trained you accordingly. He told you that there was a trick to it, that he never learned to tame the darkness within him, he just learned to suppress and channel it at the right time, finding constructive outlets rather than being a fucking brat all the time. He could actually handle you, and love hit you hard. You've been inseparable ever since.

Steve was concerned with how quickly your relationship developed, Tony called you both crazy, and Natasha, she may or may not be a bad influence on you. You're a killer, he's a killer, it's like you were made for each other.

But that part of you never went away, and it's times like these that it starts to become a test of his patience.

Eventually, you find yourself at a park, and Bucky is beyond confused when you park the car and actually turn it off. You meant it when you said you just wanted to go for a drive. It's too late to find anything open, he's too tired to go too far, and you would rather sit and star gaze with him rather than do anything to piss him off.

But first, he fucks you. Hard. On every surface, just like you asked. He pulls you over the console, flips your shirt up and presses your tits against the dash, fucking up into you with a strength that you realize you've missed these past three days. Then he gets out, an arm secured around your waist to hold you up as he rounds the car and places you on the hood, palms flat against the polished paint as he continues to fuck you.

It's obscene, your body caving under his weight, cheek pressed flat against the cool metal when he grips the back of your neck, arching you against him further. God, he missed you. You take him so well, always such a good girl for him, and he tells you that, lips pressed against your ear as he grinds his cock into you, and the only response you can give is a moan.

Then he's in the front seat, hands tight on your hips as you ride him, and you could have sworn the car seemed bigger until you found yourself in this position, back arched against the wheel so that you don't hit your head.

He forces you to look him in the eyes, grabbing your throat and tilting your head up, leaving you to find your own rhythm. The muscles in his arm strain at the restraint, because you slow down to a teasing pace, the look in his eyes becoming dangerous as you test his patience, and it doesn't take long for him to grab you up and turn you around, pushing the seat back as far as it goes and pounding you against the soft leather. He's relentless, hips slapping against your ass at a speed that your brain can't keep up with, and you're coming before your body has a chance to warn you.

He comes inside of you soon after, locking your body to his as if you'll disappear, and it makes you wonder what happened while he was gone.

You pull a bottle of liquor from the glove box, he pulls your shorts back up, and together you deposit your tired bodies on the swing set a few feet away. He tells you everything, sharing swigs of whiskey, eyes dancing between you and the night sky above you.

It was supposed to be recon, supposed to be a simple in and out. But Steve fucked up, stepped on a trip wire and gave them away. They had to fight their way out, didn't even get any intel besides the fact that whoever the fuck it was knew that they were coming. Or at least, they were expecting someone to come eventually.

It makes you wish you were there, because Steve wouldn't have been able to fuck up, it's you who goes out on those types of missions with Bucky. You two just work better together, something that maybe now Steve Rogers might finally come to understand. But you were told, more like ordered to sit this one out, and neither of you say it, but you both register at the same time that it was a mistake.

You drink more than you should, the bottle half empty by the time he decides to cut you off. But you don't let it ruin your fun, kicking your legs as hard as you can, the swing lifting higher than the bars that hold it, and for a moment it feels like you're flying before gravity takes over and yanks you back down. But Bucky doesn't let you jostle yourself around too much, arm reaching out to grab the chain of your swing, slowing your speed.

"We shouldn't stay out long." He says. "We need to get up early." You raise an eyebrow in question, he does the same. "Don't act brand new. You do this every time I leave. You fall off your routine and we have to work twice as hard for a couple days to get you back on it."

It makes you groan, makes him grab you by the arm and pull you to sit on his lap, kissing your cheek when you lean your head back against his shoulder.

You don't say anything, because there isn't anything else to say. He's back, he's here with you again and you couldn't ask for anything more than that.

But he seems to have too much on his mind, taking swig after swig until the bottle is empty and there's nothing left to distract him. "Don't do this again." He says. "I'll buy you a car if that's what you want, but don't you ever run to another man before coming to me." You aren't sure if this is an insecurity, or if he's simply being possessive, but either way you take too long to respond, his hands clamping down on your thighs in a grip that has you arching up off his lap to relieve the pressure. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes, fuck."

"Good." He kisses the corner of your mouth this time, smoothing his palms against your skin to soothe the ache he's caused. "Where did you get these shorts from?"

"College."

Your response raises a question in his head, how can you still fit them? But he realizes immediately that college was only a year ago for you, a harsh reminder of your age compared to his, and he simply hums in reply.

The air grows too cold for you to handle, shivering in his arms despite the warmth running through your veins, and he makes the call to wrap it up. But not before he kisses you first, turning you around on his lap and tugging you against his lips by a harsh grip in your hair. You don't get to have many moments like these, so you cherish it, kissing him as long as he needs you to, enjoying the chill that snakes up your spine when his hands round your ass and deposit under your thighs, hoisting you up.

He settles you in the passenger seat, eager for his turn at driving the car, and you could care less given your sudden exhaustion. You admire the way he looks, jaw clenched, muscles taught, arm flexing as he palms the steering wheel, a hand on your head rest as he glances back to reverse the car. His hair is loose for a change, framing his face and whipping back and forth each time he turns his head.

He could use a trim, but you know he'll never let you.

He doesn't lose his mind driving like you did, remaining at a reasonable speed, turning on the radio to keep his mind busy since you aren't doing much entertaining. He doesn't blame you, he's tired too, and you had been waiting up to greet him when he got back.

You start to doze off, the blur of lights and buildings putting your mind at ease. It's not until Bucky's hands are on you again that you realize you fell asleep, which is a bummer, because you won't have this car again come noon.

"I want you to get me pregnant in this car."

He snorts, ignoring your antics entirely, reaching over to unfasten your seatbelt.

He tries to carry you, but you don't let him, settling for holding his hand instead. The compound is quiet except for the sound of the tv on low in the common room, Clint passed out on the couch, the movie he had been watching probably long gone off by now.

It makes you smile, stopping to place a blanket on him. He doesn't move a muscle, and Bucky grows impatient waiting for you, so you carry on. In the privacy in your room, you step your way out of your shoes and kick them into the corner by the door, then you help him out of his gear.

You find a stab wound on his stomach, it's long stopped bleeding by now, not at all infected, and it's already starting to heal. He says nothing, your warm fingers brushing his skin and something domestic washes over you both. It's something soft and unspoken, something the lines of I'm glad your safe.

The tile on the floor is cold beneath your feet, you lead him into the bathroom and run a bath for him, despite his protests of you being too tired. You watch as the water turns milky with dirt and blood, fingertips against his scalp as you clean his hair. It's a side of you that he doesn't see too often, a softer side that you bury under attitude and attention seeking mischief, and at this point he doesn't know which version of you he appreciates more.

You lather a sponge with body wash, a cedar scent you learned to love on him, and you wash him gently, carefully, mindful of his bruising. His wet hands are on your face, pulling you in for an occasional kiss, and it seems that he just can't keep his hands off of you.

He fucks you again, but it's different this time, softer, slower, his eyes locked on yours, fingers gentle just like you were for him, and you feel it in your heart when he tells you he loves you. He fucks you to sleep and tucks you into bed, limbs tangled with yours to keep you close.

He'll never bring it up, but he wasn't sure if he would make it back to you this time. He sleeps better than he had in days knowing that you're close.

It makes getting you up in the next morning is hard. You're a heavy sleeper, something Bucky was always thankful for on nights where he struggled to settle beside you. But when it's time to wake you up, he curses your ability to still sleep soundly like a baby after all the things you've seen, he envies it. He wants to let you sleep in, he wants to stay in bed with you, holding you, because who knows if he'll ever be able to do it again.

But he has to keep things normal. He has to keep you on your routine, otherwise you'll give in to your madness.

You think you're dreaming it, his hands on your side, his lips on the side of your face. You just can't bring yourself to open your eyes, exhaustion keeping it's hold on you. But Bucky is determined, a bit rough as he tugs you to lay on your back, your eyes flying open at being jostled, and he doesn't look apologetic as he smiles down at you.

"Hey, peach." He kisses you quickly, leaving nothing to soothe you back to sleep. "Time to get up."

His voice is hoarse, you realize, he's tired, too tired for your liking, and you wonder how long he's been up.

"A few more minutes?" You pout, curling your body around his, and you can tell he's on the verge of saying yes. "Please?"

But his will is far too strong. "You need to get up." He says, "Now."

And just like that, you're pissed, a sour attitude shifting your expression entirely, and he could care less, standing up to give you room to move. You have a dull headache, a hangover no doubt, but you ignore it as you dig through your dresser for workout clothes to change into.

He shakes his head at you, sensing your attitude, but he doesn't say a word as you stomp your way over to the door, pulling it open hard enough to bang against the wall. It's okay, he knows what you need, and he's been itching to give it to you.

When it comes to training, Bucky tends to be harsher on you, because he knows you can take it. It's the textbook definition of tough love, pushing you beyond your limits to make you better. It's the kind of training that leaves you sore and exhausted and covered in bruises, busted lips, black eyes, you aren't new to any of it. In fact, you're used to the feeling, and that's something most people would find scary. But you need it to stay sane, a distraction from everything else. You like when he pushes you beyond your limits.

You warm up with a jog around the compound grounds, the sun hasn't come up yet, the air crisp and cool and burning your lungs with each inhale you take. He reminds you to breathe slowly, in your nose and out your mouth in pace with each foot fall. He quickly realizes that your endurance has fallen low, his hand on your back to push you to run faster.

He doesn't take it easy on you, not even when you collapse into the ground, your body forcing you to take a break from running.

"Get up."

Your lungs burn, your face is hot, your legs are jelly, you shake your head.

"Look at you, you can't even speak and you have to nerve to slack off." He glares down at you, hands on his hips. "Get the fuck up before I drag you across the concrete."

His threat is very real, so you struggle to rise back to your feet. He continues on, super soldier stamina has him not even breaking a sweat, and you curse the cheating serum coursing through his veins.

"You're cheating, you have an advantage." You pant, fingers barely catching his arm to try and keep up. "I can't go as fast as you for that long."

He slows just a little, your hand wrapping around his bicep. "Which is why I push you. Your muscles won't ever grow past the strain if you don't experience it." He says. "Shape up, we're almost done."

He allows you a five minute break, which you spend chugging as much water as he'll let you have, laying on the floor of the gym to try and catch your break and give your muscles a break.

He starts you on the treadmill, pushing up the incline every ten minutes, and you can feel the strain it's putting you under. You haven't done this in days, and the alcohol that remains in your system doesn't help. You're just thankful that no one else is in the gym to witness your struggle.

Next is ab workouts, he joins you for this one, side by side on the mat as he walks you through each exercise. He flies through them with ease, hardly breaking a sweat. But you on the other hand feel winded, muscles aching as you use them beyond what you have been. He watches, carefully, a knowing look on his face when you start to lose your speed, but he doesn't let you stop.

This is what you need. An outlet, something to exhaust your energy and take the edge off. For the most part it helps. But there's only so much he can do to keep you occupied, so when he has you here in the gym, he makes it count.

He has you on weights, which turns your body numb, and you aren't sure what kind of damage it's doing, but you know that you'll be sore for the next couple of days.

He lets you take a break after an hour, you drink as much water as you can, eager to be away from his scrutinizing gaze, and you find Natasha returning from a morning run with Steve. They look like they haven't done anything a all, but the smell of outside and sweat tells you otherwise.

Natasha has the nerve to smile at you, recognizing the winded look on your face, and she settles next to you in the kitchen, hand on her hip as she drinks from a water bottle.

"I tried to warn you," She says, "He's kicking your ass, isn't he?"

She did try, you'll give her the credit, knocking on your door every day he was gone to at least get you to come out for a jog. But you refused, anticipating this intensity, and while you'll never admit that to her, she assumes you enjoy the torture.

"It's embarrassing." You say. "Even after all this time, he can wipe the floor with me if he wanted to."

She laughs at that, a twinkle in her eye that hints at the history she shares with him. "Yeah. You and me both." Her smile is far from innocent. "But I'm sure you give him a run for his money."

Your grin is wicked, "You can bet your perky little ass I do."

Your relationship with Natasha is complicated. Sometimes she's the older sister you always wished you had. Other times she's the extravagant aunt who teaches you the life lessons your mother was too modest to. Then sometimes, it's hard to tell, she's just an attractive woman admiring another attractive woman, someone with experience gravitating to someone who doesn't, because it's in her nature to enjoy the power play. If you had to guess, Natasha would bend you over the counter if she had the opportunity, just like anyone else living here in the compound. But she respects your privacy, respects the strange relationship you have with a man who is just as deadly as she is, and settles for the mischief you create together instead.

It's fun to feed into it, you always had a knack for sticking your fingers into flames, and sometimes you hold it over Bucky's head. Like last night, you didn't tell him what you did to convince Tony to let you borrow his car, but it's implied in your nature. You tend to be a bit hyper sexual, another trait that sometimes proves to be a pain in the ass. But Bucky has something to handle that too, and sometimes, at times like this, he lets you off your tight leash.

"Who's ass is perky?" He had been watching, of course he had, and the look on Natasha's face tells you that she knew it too.

"Depends on who you ask." You quip, flashing him an innocent smile. "Yours is, mine is, and hers," You spare a glance at Natasha, "Well, you would know, wouldn't you?"

He rolls his eyes, because you already know the answer to what you're implying. Nothing ever happened between him an Natasha. If anything were to happen, it would have been long ago, before they had both reformed themselves into the people they are now. He told you that, confessed his entire life to you, so he knows this is just your way of trying to get him worked up.

"Don't drag me into this." Natasha waves a finger between you both. "Whatever this is, I want no part." Her eyes settle on you. "I also suggest you cool it, because I'm joining you, and I don't want to be forced around awkward sexual tension."

You look at Bucky, raising an eyebrow. He only shrugs. "Steve too." He says. "I figured you needed a change in pace, you're too used to me now, you could use a different perspective."

Your break is obviously over, Natasha follows you as you walk out of the kitchen. "Yeah," She says. "Perspective."

The mood changes drastically, all playfulness gone from her when you step on the sparing mat together. To put it simply, she kicks your ass. You put up a good fight though, you actually managed to make her bleed, but in the end, she's too on top of her training schedule for you to find a weakness. That's the point Bucky was trying to make to you. You know him and his tactics, you know how hard he hits, you know where he'll strike, all you have to do is avoid it and expect it. But with an opponent you've never faced before, you're far too weak at the moment to properly defend yourself.

The next time you hit the mat is your last, nose colliding with the floor, blood gushing, a grunt coming from you that actually manages to distract your boyfriend who stands feet away, sparing with Steve.

You pinch your nose like you've been taught, instantly feeling that it isn't broken, and Natasha has helped you up by the time Bucky makes his way over.

He's actually sweating, panting hard as he takes your chin in his hand, examining your face. "You'll be fine." He says, glancing at Natasha. He nods to her, and you aren't sure what it is, approval, dismissal? "Hit the showers." He says to you, "You're done for now."

For now, there will be more later after lunch you're sure. You leave with Natasha, who reminds you to keep your head tilted, her arm linked with yours as she walks with you to the infirmary. The nurse on duty clogs your nose with gauze, telling you what you already know. It's not broken, but it will be bruised, and after the bleeding stops you need to rinse your nose clear of the blood. Until then, breathe out your mouth, and be cautious of blood that may trickle to the back of your throat.

"Want to step out with me?" Natasha meets you back in the kitchen after you both shower, her hair dark and dripping, and for a moment you think she's kidding.

Your body is starting to bruise, knuckles scraped and angry, nose bloody. But she simply stares at you expectantly, waiting for your answer.

"Okay."

You take her Camero, she lets you drive, and it turns out it's just a grocery run. She wants to cook lunch, macaroni salad, and you both do a bit of personal shopping while you're out. After getting the ingredients, you both occupy the kitchen to make it. It doesn't take too long, but the serving size is large considering how many people will want to eat it.

Tony comes to find you in search of food, and he asks you about his car, a strange smell that he can't quite place. Liquor, sex, sweat? It could be anything, but you decide to play dumb instead, biting your tongue as you smile at him and suggest he go get it detailed.

While the macaroni chills in the fridge, Bucky comes to find you carrying fresh gauze and an alcohol wipe. He gives you his protein shake, chocolate flavored, and you sip from it eagerly. His hands are gentle as he pulls the blood soaked gauze from your nose and you take a deep breath, feeling the dried blood and soreness from the impact.

He applies pressure to the bridge of your nose, stopping when you wince, humming low in his throat as he leans down to kiss you. "It'll be a nasty bruise," He says, "But you deserve it, you fucking brat."

You imagine his opinion will change when the skin on your nose starts to discolor, but for now, he feels proud of himself. You let him have it.

He wipes your nose gently, hand on your throat to tilt your head back, he points the corners of the alcohol wipe and wipes the inside of your nose, eyebrows knit in concentration, and you take the opportunity to feel him up.

Your hands slide under his shirt, the skin is smooth where his stab wound was last night, and once again you're amazed by his abilities. "Did you have fun beating up someone other than me for once?"

His lip quirks up in a half smile, "Nah." He says. "It's not as satisfying."

You smile despite yourself, wrapping your arms around his waist. "What about you?" He asks. "Did you find anything interesting while your head was up Nat's ass?"

"Jealous?"

His grip on your throat shifts, "If I were, this would be a very different situation for you."

He knows you're his, there's nothing to argue, nothing to worry about, even if the entire compound wants to rearrange your guts. A pretty young thing like you, he doesn't blame them. But they wouldn't be able to handle you, you wouldn't enjoy it, and it would send you right back to him.

You both know it.

"You're so scary." You kiss him then, silencing whatever remark he had for you, eyes slipping closed as he tilts his head against yours, cautious of your nose. He tastes like chocolate, and sweat, slipping from your arms to take a shower.

When he returns, the salad has cooled enough to eat, and naturally, Clint already has a mouthful before anyone else can get their hands on it. He too has just returns from a workout, his sweats drenched, Bucky crinkles his nose, scowls at the amount of people occupying the kitchen and opts for lurking in the hall, watching as you portion out bowls for everyone, including him.

He's amazed at your cooking skills, the two of you tucked away out back with bowls of macaroni salad, enjoying the breeze in the shade. You beam at his praise, smiling over a mouthful of food, but it doesn't last long, his finger reaching out to poke your noise.

Don't look too proud of yourself, he says, this isn't approved in your diet plan.

Yeah well, screw him and the diet plan.

He makes you run after lunch, a water bottle in your hand because he isn't going to let you stop for breaks, the only water you can have is what you can hold.

It's cruel, the sun high in the sky and beating down on you with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe, let alone run. But you manage, a familiar exhaustion washing over you as you push your body for the third time today.

He makes you a protein shake, joins you for your second shower of the day, and then he drags you to bed.

"All your hard work means nothing if you don't give yourself a chance to recover." He whispers in your ear, lips pressed to your skin, his arm cold against your side when he spoons you. "I know you're tired, peach. You did good today, now rest."

It makes it all worth it, the torture of exercise, the agonizing exhaustion he puts you through. Getting to lay here like this, the comfort of his closeness, a vulnerability that only you have been allowed to see.

You turn, sealing your lips against his in a sloppy kiss, one that has no real effort behind it but has all the desperation in the world. It makes his grip tighten at your waist, his other hand slipping down to yank your panties to the side.

"Okay, you can sleep after this."

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Masterlist

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#bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #winter solider x reader #reader insert #avengers fanfic #avenger reader #dark fic #bucky smut #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader #assassin reader #bad girl #avengers smut #natasha romanoff #clint barton #tony stark #Steve Rogers

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sope-and-shine · 4 years

Text

Pregnancy Problems

-> Pairings: Hoseok x Reader -> domestic fluff // minor angst -> Word Count: 2.3k -> Summary: Don’t ask Hoseok if you need pregnancy advice. He’s still working on it. -> Warnings: mild language // pregnancy talk // talk about poop

A/N: I’m so happy to post this one!

Hoseok didn’t understand a lot of things about pregnancy. He didn’t understand how a person could go from absolutely despising snap peas to wanting to eat them all day everyday. He didn’t understand how cooking one piece of bacon is enough to make your stomach flop and send you waddling for the bathroom. He didn’t understand how your body was able to just make room for another human being and still have enough room for everything else you’re holding inside of it. And he definitely didn’t understand how you were able to go from happy-go-lucky love of his life to a sobbing pterodactyl in .03 seconds. But what really caught him off guard was you staring at the wall in front of you doing nothing for the past 45 minutes.

Now, he was no stranger to watching others space out. He’d watched his members stop and stare off into space plenty of times - he’d even witnessed Jimin fall off of his chair after spacing out for 10 minutes - but this was a little extreme. He’d called your name a few times, waved a hand in front of your face, and he’d even turned on your favorite playlist and started dancing. Whatever was plaguing your mind, it had you in your own little world where you honestly didn’t know he even existed.

It was kinda freaking him out.

Hoseok sits himself next to you, taking one of your hands in his to rub soothing circles into them, “Baby…? Are you okay?” It seems to be enough to knock you out of whatever you were in, but you’re still down about something. You don’t smile at him when your eyes land on him, and you look away almost as fast as you had laid eyes on him.

“I’m fine.” You mutter. The hand he holds is limp, but the hand still placed on your lap is balled into a tight fist. Whatever it was that’s bothering you must be serious if you’re really not going to tell him.

He hoped it wasn’t another fan trying to yell at you again, like when your pregnancy was announced to the world. Plenty of ARMY were so happy for the first BTS baby, but there were plenty that raged for weeks on end until he himself made a statement on the matter. He never intended to scold anyone - he wanted to leave it to BigHit - but when you were trying to hide that you’d been crying from him on multiple occasions, he refused to sit back and watch anymore. His statement in your defense was a huge deal on social media for weeks, and it even made headlines in international news! He’d felt bad about it after he’d posted it, wondering if he’d been too harsh or said something that shouldn’t have been said. But the hug that you gave him after coming to your defense, the joy on your face after reading the long note he’d prepared, and the kisses that you continued to plant all over his face was proof enough that he’d made the best decision for his family. If he had to do that all over again, then he was prepared to if it meant you’d be happy.

“Baby...are you being bothered by fans again?” He asks. It wasn’t like he didn’t know you still receive hate from time to time. He knew for a fact that you did, but you’d limited your social media habits to binging dramas on Netflix and Kocowa TV instead. He moves a hand to your hair and runs his fingers through it as a way to soothe the possible anxiety you may be feeling from it, “Just tell me. Whoever they are, they won’t get to keep saying things like that about you. I promise.”

“No, Hobi, i-” You try to defend them, the familiar protest right on the tip of your tongue. However, Hoseok wasn’t prepared to let you push the matter away. He wouldn’t let you fester in your insecurities because of others. Especially people that supposedly claimed to love him. He already had someone that loved him unconditionally; You. You were first and foremost his number one concern.

“-Baby, no. You don’t have to defend them just because they’re my fans. I won’t encourage their bad behavior.” He goes to take your hands in his own as a way to comfort you, but you turn the tables around and grab his instead. You squeeze his hands and give a small, forced smile in an attempt to comfort him. “Okay, but Hobi, it’s not about the fans.”

“It’s not?” Hoseok could feel the tension physically leave his body. He hated scolding his fans. He firmly believed that Namjoon and Taehyung were better suited for it and tried to let things slide when he could - save for the obvious. However, that didn’t take away from the fact that he still didn’t know what was bothering you so much. He was still in the dark about whatever had turned you into a wall of secrecy and solitude that wasn’t even penetrable to him. You were still hiding something from him.

“Then what’s wrong?” He asks.

You cast your eyes down, once again refusing to look at him with your hands losing their grip on his. You shake your head, “I don’t want to talk about it…”

“You’re worrying me, (Y/n). Please, tell me what’s wrong!” His right hand moves from yours to gently cup the right side of your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. Hoseok has always made a point to be gentle with you - even when you aren’t in the most gentle of situations - because he’s always wanted you to feel cared for and cherished. It’s how he hopes his sister is treated, and if you’re to have a daughter, that’s how he expects her to be treated as well. But right now, you need his gentle touch the most. “This type of stress isn’t good for the baby.”

You know he’s right. He’s always right. Even when he agrees that he’s wrong he’s usually right! That’s what you love most about him is his willingness to please you and make you feel validated. Of course, he’ll pull you back to where you need to be if you go off the deep end - what he happens to be doing now - but he knows you’ll always do the same for him when work gets complicated. He’s always loving and understanding and altogether the best boyfriend around, and you know he’ll be the best dad around when your baby is born. But it’s the uncertainty of the birthing process that’s getting to you, and thinking about it again just makes you melt into tears.

Hoseok is surprised, “No...No, baby, come here.” He stands up from his crouched position to sit next to you on the couch and pull you into his arms. He wraps you in his warm embrace and guides your head to rest on his chest so you can hear his breathing as a way to help you come back down, knowing you like to hear him when you get stressed like this. It’s not often, but it’s definitely not his first rodeo. “Sh, you don’t have to cry. I’m right here. Tell me what’s wrong and I can help you.”

Even as he begins to rock you back and forth, humming a tune just for you to feel resonate within his chest, you can’t stop the tears that continue to pour down your cheeks and onto his shirt. “You can’t help me with this Hobi. There’s no way you could possibly help me with this!”

“Are you sure?” He pauses for a moment, feeling the way your head bobs as a ‘yes’ rather than answering him through shallow, broken sobs. He shakes his head, distracting himself from talking too soon by drawing circles into your back. His mother had told him several tips over the years of dealing with his sister that she claimed his father always forgot, and like father; like son he had too.

“Sometimes it’s best to just shut up and listen than to continue talking to a closed door.”

So he waits, drawing his lazy circles and other various shapes into your back while your sobs slowly begin to shrink into hiccups. He lets you calm down again before he continues your conversation where it had left off, “You won’t know if I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

“I do know.” You huff, a cute little whine that makes him smile. You; however, are not as amused as he is, “You’re gonna hate me and the doctors are going to hate me and everyone is going to make fun of me-!”

Hoseok pulls away, both hands rest on your shoulders and his mouth and eyes are wide open in shock and mock anger as they look into your own. He shakes his head in disbelief, “Nobody will be making fun of my beautiful baby mama on my watch! There is absolutely nothing you could do that would have anyone make fun of you.”

And he firmly believed that. Anybody that even dared to make fun of the love of his life while she was trying to push out their love child that they were going to love and raise together for the rest of their lives was going to meet his fists! There was no way in hell anyone would be cracking jokes about her, not even Seokjin.

But even with his declaration to protect your honor, your pregnancy brain didn’t give two shits. The thought in your head had plagued you for days, and there was no way he’d ever understand how you felt. But still, you could no longer hold it in.

“UNLESS I POOP ON THE TABLE!”

. . .

Hoseok must’ve looked like a deer in headlights compared to how anxious you looked. Unless you what? Why would you poop on the table? Why would you get up there anyway? That could hurt the baby!

“-I don’t want to be there trying to push a baby out of me with people standing in between my legs, and then I suddenly poop because I can’t help it!”

Delivery table.

That table.

That makes more sense. However, he really didn’t see the problem with the whole ‘pooping on the table’ thing. The midwife and the nurses were trained to deliver babies, they’ve already delivered babies, there was no way that if you pooped on the table you’d be the first one - or that they’d hate you for it. He thought that made sense. The hands that he’d left on your shoulders move to cup your face again, a tender look in his eyes. He wanted you to feel his love, and his eyes reflected what he had in his heart.

“Baby, it won’t matter to anyone if you poop on the table, I’m sure you wouldn’t be the only one.”

He meant well. He truly meant well. But anyone that has ever talked to or seen anyone talk to a pregnant woman would know that trying to reason the way he just did was a mistake. A big mistake.

“I don’t want to be one at all!” You pull his hands away from your face. The tears that had stopped are already threatening to come back again. There was no way that you were going to poop on the table, no matter how many women had done it before you! You refused! You’d never be able to live it down. “I don’t want to poop in front of everyone, Hobi! They’ll hate me, and then I’ll hate me, and then the baby will hate me because their Momma pooped on the table!”

Your stress was too much for him. If you started crying again, then he was going to start crying himself. Pooping on the table wasn’t a bad thing, but he obviously couldn’t tell you that or you’d actually break down in front of him! How was he supposed to just to convince you that no one was going to hate you for a normal bodily function?

With a leap of faith - and high hopes to whoever is listening to him - Hoseok takes what he hopes isn’t his last breath, “Baby, our baby is still going to love you if you poop on the table.” Your eyes bore into him with vigor, one that makes him want to move away but he knows the conversation will still need to be had even if he chickens out now. “They don’t need to know, so we don’t have to tell them.”

“Really…?” The way your eyes go from glaring daggers to softening like you’re looking at a puppy makes him take a deep, much needed breath. “Really. And the doctor’s won’t hate you because they’ve seen everything! You pooping on the table will be the last thing on their mind, because they’ll be taking care of our baby.”

You look away, suddenly becoming shy after your tantrum. You hated acting this way, especially when Hoseok did his best to assure you everything was fine when you thought it was the end of the world. “I guess you’re right…”

“And even if you do poop on the table, I’ll still love you.” He pulls you back into his arms once more, only now he’s much more relaxed whilst holding you against him. Pressing a kiss to your temple he asks, “Do you know why I’ll still love you?”

“Why?” You mumble against his chest, pressing yourself as close to him as you can get to hide from the embarrassment you felt. Your hands grip his shirt tight, and he chuckles to himself that you’re so flustered in front of him. “Because you’re carrying our baby and making sure they’re ready to come and meet us, and I couldn’t throw away a love like yours over one measly poop.”

You may be emotional and unreasonable at times with the amount of hormones you’re dealing with, but he’ll be damned if he lets you go through it alone.

#fae fic #fae writes #sope-and-shine #bts #bts x reader #jhope x reader #hoseok x reader #jung hoseok x reader #fan fiction #bts fan fiction #domestic au #fluff #pregnancy au #family au #idol au

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allie1804-fan · 3 years

Text

The Middle of the Road

Chapter 1, 2 ,3, 4

Chapter 5

Emily heard the door close as Keanu returned home one afternoon from another meeting about the screenplay.

“Hey beautiful people” he called out, walking into the living room.

“Oh wow, are you in the bouncer baby girl?” he bent down to smile at Hannah as she bounced away in the doorway giggling as she sprang up and down.

“She loves it, just like Johnny did” Emily said from the sofa where she was reading Johnny “The Very Hungry Caterpillar”

“And you two look snug as a bug there” he said sitting down alongside them.

“You so have this mum thing nailed” he said “feels like we’re kind of getting in the swing now, right?”

“For now maybe” Emily offered without much conviction.

“But?”

“But, it’s a moving feast is all I’d say. We’ll blink and she’ll be crawling, then walking and feeding herself….” (and maybe I’ll be working one day too she thought but didn’t say out loud, wanting him to join the dots on that himself)

“more chaos, more fun huh?” he laughed, completely missing Em’s hidden message. Emily laughed along with him, keeping her disappointment to herself - at least for now.

And while she felt this growing sense of loss at not writing, it wasn’t as if she was being held ‘barefoot and pregnant’ at home. Keanu was hands on with the children when he was home and had even got a few meals under his belt that he could rustle up – huge progress since she’d first met him when his solution to being hungry was either a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, at a push a steak thrown on the bbq but usually to order in or eat out!

At the end of that week, Emily had been mulling over whether to say anything about getting her writing sessions more regular again and decided she’d have to or go crazy. After bed time and the treat of a take away dinner and some wine on Sunday night, she brought up the upcoming week’s diary.

“What do you have on this week hun? I was hoping to get back to some writing if I can”

“Oh man, this week’s pretty bad – I mean I won’t be out all day everyday but I think I have something every day - 2 gym sessions with Denise, a casting session, a screenplay catch up with Hannah and some press” he said pulling a face at the last one”

Emily’s face fell.

“Can’t you do it while they’re napping?”

“Well, you obviously hadn’t noticed that they’ve started napping at different times now so not if I want to keep them both alive I can’t, no”

She stood up, pushing her chair back noisily.

“Em, come on!”

“What?!”

“Don’t be mad, it’s not as if you’ve got an actual project!”

That was it, touch paper lit and fuse rapidly burning towards the dynamite.

“No, and at this rate, I never will as my brain will just be jello by the time I get any free time to express MY self, unlike you with your creativity coming out of your ears”

“Wha …….. ?”

He wasn’t able to finish a reply before Em was storming out of the kitchen and up the stairs to bed. His mind was racing. Where the hell had that come from? He thought they were happy, that she was happy with their beautiful family and now, out of the blue, it seemed like she was resentment fuelled and mad as hell at him.

He poured himself another glass of wine, taking a long gulp before he tidied away the take-away leftovers to the fridge, loaded the dishwasher and locked up. When he got to their room, Em was turned away from him – he didn’t think she was asleep but she didn’t say anything and nor did he. After cleaning his teeth, he got in beside her, lying in his back wondering what he had missed that had led to her outburst.

The next day, Chloe turned up at their house for an impromptu visit while Keanu was at the gym. By a miracle both Johnny and Hannah were napping at the same time. When Emily opened the door, she was a tearful mess.

“Uh oh, what’s going on? Gonna let me in and spill?”

Emily made them an ice tea and they sat on the patio with the baby intercom on the table next to them. Emily explained how she’d been feeling about writing and Keanu’s collaboration with Hannah and how it had all led to her outburst the night before.

“But Em” Chloe said have you actually spelled any of this out to Keanu properly? I mean other than screaming at him about your jelly brain”

“He should understand!” Emily said defiantly, pouting,

“I mean we talked before and specifically carved out time for me to write and get myself back in the game, but it’s like that simply never happened now he’s writing with Hannah and going to the gym and all his other meetings on ‘actual projects’” she spat the last words out making air quotes.

“Well, I can see your point, he is being selfish, but I know him, you know him, he’s not doing it intentionally, it’s just an adjustment to have to make way for the other person’s work once you have kids – and I guess that never really happened with Johnny as you got pregnant again so soon. It’s been a rollercoaster right? And that means you have to talk – properly I mean. Stop shouting and festering and expecting him to second guess how what he’s doing is affecting you”

Emily sniffed and looked down at her hands. She had thought Chloe would be on her side, not play devil’s advocate.

“Look, Em, I’m your friend and you know I love you but I love him and the kids too and I can see that this is more to do with communication than blame. Just promise you’ll talk to him OK? “

Em nodded feeling once again, feeling once again that she just couldn’t get anything right.

“And why don’t I help with the kids?” Chloe asked. Jamie’s in school and Rosie’s in nursery a couple of mornings a week, so I could help out. And maybe your mum would have Johnny for a morning and you could write while Hannah sleeps?”

“and the chores?” Emily protested.

“Em screw chores - it’s not like you two can’t afford to subcontract some of that shit – however much you want to be regular people, if you want to have the career and keep the really important activities with the kids just for you, get help with shopping, dry cleaning, meal preparation..…”

“I hate it when you’re right!”

Chloe just laughed.

“Look I’ve been there. The education system has a lot to answer for making girls think they can grow up and have it all – no-one can. We have to make choices. But same goes for Keanu. He has to make choices too and he has, I mean he’s done one film right since you had Johnny. But he’ll probably have to make even more choices once you’re through with breast-feeding right? After that no one can argue that you’re the one who has to do a bigger share can they? Not if you don’t want to. And getting back to writing is tough, the pressure if you do TV might be too much and the isolation and feeling like you can’t do it anymore plagued me when I worked on my own ideas after Jamie was born. So honey, I totally get why you’re upset. I just want you to figure it out without ruining your relationship.”

After talking some more, Chloe agreed she’d try having Jamie for one day a week. Emily could then try writing during Hannah’s naps and she would talk to Keanu about some changes in household management (getting some more domestic help) and they would find time to talk properly about her outburst and the feelings that had sparked it. She hoped that maybe Karina and his mum would take both kids for a weekend to really give them the space they needed.

By the time Chloe left, Emily was feeling a bit more hopeful about the future.

@penwieldingdreamer @fortheloveoffanfic @kindainlovewithkeanu @ladyreapermc @witty-wallflower @gatsbynouvel @bitchyslut99 @keanureevesisbae @omg-imagine @iworshipkeanureeves @fics-not-tragedies @ficsnroses @kindainlovewithkeanu @paperplanesandwallflowers

#keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu

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thealphabetmurders · 4 years

Text

Laundry Day

Pairing: Prinxiety

Word Count: 3580

Summary: Virgil walks in on Roman with the door unlocked, causing him to realize some feelings he didn't know he had.From the sentence prompt: "I'm sorry, I thought this door was locked."

Triggers: anxiety, suggestive themes

Authors Note: This is my second Prinxiety fic in a month, what is happening to me?

Thank you to Koko on my Discord for the sentence prompt. This was really fun to write.

(Read on AO3)

Virgil didn’t mind his roommates, not at all. Sure, living in a city apartment with 3 other people sounded like a nightmare, and it was sometimes, but they worked together great. Logan was a surprisingly component chef, Patton was good at keeping the peace whenever tensions rose, and Roman encouraged them all to be active to match his own fitness lifestyle. Of course, they are also all close friends, but they had all had their own fair share of bad roommates, and after two years of the 4 of them living together, there was no reason to stop or for that to change. They were in a comfortable, domestic heaven.

***

The Home-osexuals Chat

P: Hey kiddos! Remember I wont be home for the next week because of the convention in Jersey, please do not slack on your chores, I will be upset if I come back to the house and nothing is done :(

L: This is Logan. I believe we still have the list you wrote out for us, we will do our best to abide by it.

R: You have nothing to fear Padre, we will complete everything you need us to!

Virgil looked at his phone, smirking, before placing back in his pocket, blasting the music from his large headphones as he gathered up his laundry as well as his roommates. He felt proud of himself for actually being ahead of schedule and doing his and his roommates laundry a day ahead of schedule.

Normally, laundry would be a task left up to the individual to complete, but 3 months into living with each other, Virgil quickly found out that his roommate absolutely despised doing laundry- a formidable task that Virgil had never had an issue with. So, his job was to wash, dry, and fold everyone’s clothes for that week. It was a bit awkward folding his very platonic roommates undergarments the first time, but after doing it for years, he barely bats an eye now.

With a huff, he reached down, and grabbed the three smaller plastic laundry bins and one large one on top of one another, the stacking made the baskets reach his chin. He struggled to the elevator but eventually made it up to the 14th floor and set the laundry down so he could begin folding.

Virgil began with the large basket- Princey’s laundry. It was the biggest and the most daunting out of the 3. With work out clothes and dancing attire and the fact that Roman spills on himself a lot, he goes through a lot of laundry. No matter. He begins his work at a steady pace, folding the shirts and shorts in the way that he knows Roman likes, separating the clothes in the basket by the occasion. Work out clothes and undergarments go on the bottom, everyday in the middle, and dancing/theater attire goes on top. Virgil let his mind wander about a couple projects he has to complete for work and a potential promotion that is in the works at his job. He bites his lip, shaking his head, wanting to distract himself from the pressures of work on his day off. He steadies himself and focuses on the polyester fabric between his fingertips and the sound of Hayley Williams’ voice.

Once he was finished, Virgil put the basket on his hip, feeling like quite the 19th century maid, and made his way up the stairs where Roman bedroom was. Patton and Roman essentially had control of the upstairs (it only being their two rooms and a bathroom) while Logan and Virgil claimed a hallway for their corner of the house. It didn’t take long to realise that Roman blasting show tunes while Logan was studying for his Masters was not going to work out.

Virgil sighed, knocking twice on the door decorated with golden stars and fairy lights draping on the outside. There was music Virgil couldn’t quite make out play from inside the room, so it is very likely he could have just not heard Virgil’s subtle knocks, “Ro, I have your laundry,” Virgil said, to no avail. He tried the door handle and it twisted successfully, so Virgil pushed himself into the room, “Roman, where do you want me-”

He cut himself off, unable to form any sentences after seeing Roman. It wasn’t Roman fault, Virgil caught him off guard. And it’s not like he was doing anything bad, and yet Virgil’s palm seemed to sweat and his throat dry once he saw Roman doing flexibility stretches. Roman was sat on the floor, holding his right ankle with both his hands behind his head, his other leg bent on the floor in front of him. Maybe it was because Roman was also completely shirtless or maybe it was the small and tight shorts that did not leave a lot to the imagination or maybe it was the way Roman’s olive skin gleamed with sweat under the lights, paired with his Adonis like body. Maybe it was all of that. Maybe it was none. But Virgil’s brain just went white as all he could do was stare.

“Ah, Virgil!” Roman let go of his ankle, and relaxed himself cross-legged on the floor, “I’m sorry, I thought this door was locked,” He stood up, towering over Virgil, stretching his arms a bit. Virgil nodded, dumbly, “Yea, uh, I knocked but the music-” Roman walked over to the speakers and turned off whatever cheesy pop song was playing, and now Virgil could clearly hear all the blood rushing in his ears. “The music is… Is no longer playing,”

“You okay there, Raggedy Angst?” Roman chuckled, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

Virgil nodded, feeling the color in his cheeks rising and he is praying to God Roman is dumb enough to not notice the way he is avoiding his gaze, “Yea, uh, just a bit tired, didn’t get a lot of, um, anything to eat today?” He tried that, hoping he would believe him.

Thankfully, Roman did, sucking in a breath through his teeth, “Yikes, no sleep and no eating, that is really bad for you Virge,”

Roman grabbed the laundry basket from Virgil and it took all of his strength to not whine as his fingertips brushed against Virgil’s waist. Roman was talking, most likely about his sleep schedule or eating, but Virgil was not there.

Virgil was transported into his own personal 80’s style fantasy dream sequence, where Roman had him backed up against a wall. He had on that smirk that used to make him roll his eyes but now has him weak in the knees. Roman brushed the loose hairs out of Virgil’s face, which made him bite his lip and hold back a gasp.

Roman smiled, “You’re so sensitive,” And then he was manhandled onto the bed, Virgil imagining just how soft those silky red sheets would be against his back, as Roman straddled him and lightly kissed his neck before nibbling his ear, whispering into it, “You want me to show you how flexible I can be?” And Virgil wanted that. He really, really needed that. But he was shaken out of his daydream by Roman, the real Roman, shaking his shoulder.

“Geez, you really are out of it,” Roman crossed his arms, concern all over his face.

“Huh?” It took him a moment to process what Roman said, “Yea, I- uh, might have a nap,” He swallowed thickly, his conscious eating away at him from what he just imagined, “Do you- uh…” Virgil trailed off, attempting to find the words, “Do you always workout li-like, y’know… Without clothes,”

“Not typically, no,” Roman shrugged casually, seeming unbothered by the question, “It is just you were doing my laundry when I normally do my stretching, and I didn’t have any clothes to wear. You are a day early,”

Virgil nodded, biting his lip, rubbing under his nose, “Right well, uh, I am gonna have that nap now. Uh,” Virgil did a two finger salute, causing Roman to raise an eyebrow at the awkwardness, “Sorry, I am tired,” His eyes flickered to the left and right before exiting the room.

Virgil closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment, before groaning, “Well, fuck,”

***

Virgil may have gotten sleep but it certainly was not peaceful. The unwanted thoughts kept plaguing his mind, not even his favorite conspiracies YouTube channel could get his mind off of the golden-toned man.

“So, you’re having anxiety ‘cause… You find Roman attractive?” Remy took a long sip from his coffee before rolling closer to Virgil’s chair, “I dunno babe, this one is on you,”

Virgil spun around, angry, “How is this on me?”

“You should have seen that Roman is hot as fuck earlier,” Remy shrugged, “I look at him and am like ‘congratulations dude, you’re literally a 10’. I am honestly surprised none of you gays had a sexy dream about him sooner,”

Virgil cheeks warmed as he gripped the front of his fringe, “I did not have a…” He looked around, making sure there were no co-workers to overhear, “Have a sexy dream about Roman!” Remy raises an eyebrow and Virgil bit his lip, “Not in… So much detail,”

Remy cackles and pulled out his phone, shaking his head, “Ah man, that’s hilarious,”

“Look, it’s not like I have never thought Roman was attractive before, of course he is, but like, I don’t understand why I am having this… Reaction,”

Virgil and Remy were silent for a while, the the latter spoke up, “Maybe it’s all been like, building up and it just took one thing to make you realise, and that was Roman lewdly stretching out on the floor,”

He nodded, “I guess I do find my self seeking Roman’s company more so than anyone else, and we are like, always talking and texting,”

“So it was just a matter of your dumb brain making you realise you have feelings for him, so you’re not just in denial for the rest of your life,”

Virgil raised an eyebrow, “Well, that’s rich coming from you,”

Remy’s expression flickered from smug to sheepish, but blink and you would have missed it, “I don’t know what you are referring to,” He scratched the side of his face and took a long sip of his coffee while Virgil scooted in closer, placing his hands on his knees.

“Oh really? So, you are just never going to address the absolutely giant crush you have on Logan? How you keep having problems with your coursework that only he can help with? How every time you’re around him you always bring your Louis Vuitton galaxy bag in hopes that he’ll ramble about space?” Remy kept sipping his coffee, avoiding eye contact very casually, “We’re not going to talk about that?”

Remy stopping drinking, smacking his lips together and sighing, “Nope,” Virgil rolled his eyes, crossing his arms, “Do you even want to date Roman, or do you just want to f-”

“That’s a good question,” Virgil cut him off, as one of their coworkers walked by to get coffee from the breakroom, “I’ve been thinking about that, and I am not 100% sure. I know I am attracted to him in some weird, ambiguous way, but I haven’t even seen him since the- since the ‘incident’ so I guess I just have to find out,”

Remy nodded, “Well, good news is, you can find out right now,” He gestured his now empty cup towards reception where the devil himself was standing, dressed in his favorite form fitting red sweater tucked into black jeans. “Mm, he looks so good in casual wear,”

“Remy!”

“What?” Remy smirked, “Getting jealous? I may not want to date him but I am also not blind,” Roman walked over to the two men, waving with one hand, holding a drink carrier in the other one, flashing a classic 1000 watt smile.

“God, I bet he doesn’t even know how beautiful he is,” Virgil muttered to Remy, who just nodded.

“Hey, gorgeous, this certainly is a surprise,” Remy smiled, standing up. Roman set the drinks down before pulling him into a hug. He looked over to the drink carrier, pulling out the frappuccino he assumed was his, and collapsed back into his chair.

“What are you doing here today, Ro? You didn’t tell me you were coming?” Virgil frowned.

Roman leaned against Virgil’s desk, ruffling his hair a bit that was damp with moisture. His curly brown locks looked like that of a supermodel, or a 1920’s Hollywood actor. He sighed, putting on a soft smile, “Well, I got done with my lessons early and was in the area, thought I would surprise the two boys that are hard at work,” He looked around the office at everyone either on their phone or browsing Facebook on their computer, “Busy day, I take it?”

Virgil groaned, “We all just finished our projects for the month, so there is nothing new to work on, so we are just at work for the sake of being at work,”

Remy rolled his eyes, “I hate it here,”

“Capitalism really does suck sometimes. The 40 hour work day isn’t even productive. Studies find that people in typical office jobs can accomplish all their work in 3 hours, and to force someone to be at their job for more than double than length actually can cause a sharp decrease in productivity, or, what was that called, Virgil?”

Virgil was taken aback, “It’s called presenteeism. Wait, you were actually listening while I was rambling about that?”

Roman shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing the world, “Of course I did, why wouldn’t I want to listen to you, Virgil?” He softly smiled at Virgil, placing a hand tenderly on his bicep.

Remy smirked into his frappuccino, trying not to say anything while Virgil attempted to not scream.

Internally, he let out the biggest groan, “Well, fuck,”

***

Was Virgil avoiding Roman? Yes. Was he doing it in a way that was super obvious? Of course. Did Logan scold him for a little bit for taking over the kitchen table with unfolded laundry? Undoubtedly. When Virgil finally calmed down a bit from his gay panic (and regular panic), he tackled the pile of laundry he had been avoiding. Many of the clothes were now wrinkled from sitting out so long, so he had to get out the ironing board and tend to those as needed.

He hummed to the lo-fi beats coming from his headphones, ironing one of Logan’s shirts, beginning to relax, when his headphones were ripped right off his head, just as he was beginning to get lost in thought and maladaptive daydream.

“What the hell?” Virgil looked up and saw Roman holding the headphones on the tip of his finger, an eyebrow raised. He was wearing a show shirt that he cut the sleeves off of as well as most of the torso to make into a 00’s style crop top. “Oh, h-hey Roman,”

Virgil was distracted. Distracted that the object of his fantasies was standing right in front of him, looking a bit annoyed and confused, as well as the fact that he was wearing that particular crop top and Roman always looked so good in white… He was distracted, so he ran over his own finger with the iron.

“Ow, fuck!” He exclaimed, gripping his right finger, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes.

“Oh my Lord!” Roman rushed over to the kitchen and began frantically opening cupboard doors, “Where is the first aid kit, where is it,” He muttered to him,

Virgil breathed out heavily, “Roman, don't worry about helping, I- I got it,” He rushed away, making a beeline for his and Logan’s bathroom. He turned on the cold water and thrust his entire hand underneath the rushing water, the cold mixed with the warm from the burn made for an uncomfortable sensation.

“Okay, what is going on with you?” Roman opened the bathroom door (shit, Virgil forgot to lock it) holding the first aid kit, “You have been avoiding me and been weird ever since I came to see you at work. Was it the fact that I surprised you at work, or something?”

Virgil was not sure if Roman could see the bright blush on his cheeks but he would be a fool not to notice the stutter in his voice, as he pulled his hand away from the sink, “O-oh I really didn’t min-”

“Ooh, that looked really bad,” He commented, interrupting Virgil. He manhandled him closer towards himself and held a tight grip on his wrist and he uncapped the burn cream and liberally spread it across his finger, “I have been burned multiple times before, don’t worry, I will take good care of you,”

Virgil is on fire. He is on fire and he is dead. Roman’s eyes twinkled a bit as he hummed lowly an adage that he did not recognize, but it had the melody of Disney. His lips were parted slightly, thankfully not noticing the long minutes Virgil was staring at them. When Roman dragged a tongue across the bottom one and bit it as he was wrapping the bandages, it took all of his willpower to not say something, instead opting to cover his entire face with the hand not being treated.

“There you are, all finished!” Roman patted down the wrap and kissed the bandages, just to add insult to injury.

Virgil nodded vigorously, “Okay, thanks Roman, bye,” He attempted to move around Roman, but Roman’s wide frame compared to Virgil’s small one made it a losing battle.

“Easy, you’re still being weird, what is going on with you?” Roman gripped Virgil shoulders, and he was avoiding eye contact with the beautiful man in front of him.

Virgil should just say something, tell Roman, rip the band-aid off, and they can get on with their lives after a couple weeks of awkwardness. These past couple days have been absolute torture, he doesn’t know if he can keep it up.

But, his anxiety has something else to say.

“Just, forget about it Roman, I’ll tell you some other day,” Virgil mumbled, if the bathroom hadn’t been so quiet, neither of them would have been able to hear it.

The other man sighed, dejected, and Virgil felt a pang of guilt, “Okay, fine, you are under no obligation to tell me, just know I miss talking to you,” Roman lifted his hand to brush the hair out of Virgil face, and of course, his body had to betray him with a involuntary whine, “and I-” Roman cut himself off, raising an eyebrow at the noise. Virgil wanted nothing more than for the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He is sure he is going to be the first person to actually die from embarrassment.

“Virgil?”

He swallowed thickly, eyes squeezed shut, “Yea?”

A beat. “You like me, don’t you?”

Normally, Virgil would respond with some snark or a belittling comment towards Roman, but his nerves were turned up to 10 and he couldn’t even think straight (more so than usual), so in the vast sea of sassy remarks, there was not one to be found.

“Yes,” He responded, honestly.

There were a couple moments of deafening silence in the bathroom where Virgil thought Roman was going to sigh, disappointed in him or hit him or kill him. All irrational, but all seemed very likely in his anxious state.

“Virgil?” Roman asked again, his voice softer.

“Yea?”

Roman placed a hand on his shoulder, “Can you look at me?”

Virgil sighed, slowly placing his hands down to his side, looking up into Roman’s wide brown eyes. He had on a soft smile. Before Virgil could even register what was happening, he was being lifted up by his thighs, his legs instinctively going around Romans waist and arms around his neck. Roman then pushed Virgil back against the wall, holding him there for a passionate kiss.

At first, he didn’t kiss back, so shocked by Roman’s bold actions that his brain was lagging like a 2006 Chrome browser. Roman began to pull away, but once Virgil’s brain caught up with his body, he pulled himself closer to his partner and kissed back with a passion and fervor that he is sure Roman did not expect.

If this were a movie, the lightbulbs in the bathroom would have burst and the music would have swelled, but instead, all Virgil could sense was the softness of Roman’s lips and the heavy weight lifted off of his shoulders. The feeling of ecstasy made his legs tingle, almost causing him to lose his grip on Roman and collapse onto the tile.

Virgil one the one to break the kiss, resting his forehead against Roman’s chuckling slightly, “So, I am guessing you like me back?”

“Have for a while now, Virge,”

The two of them chuckled, peppering soft kisses onto each other’s faces that would normally make Virgil gag, but now it made his heart swell.

They heard the front door open and slam shut and a sigh came from the kitchen, “Really kiddo?” They heard Patton yell, “You couldn’t get the laundry done before I came home?”

Virgil sighed, frustrated, leaning his forehead on Roman’s shoulder.

Roman chuckled, amused that Virgil was about to get chewed out, “Someone is in trouble,”

He groaned, tightening the grip on Roman’s waist, “Well, fuck,”

A/N: By the way, here is the link to the stretch that Roman was doing. I did my best to describe it, but if you need a visual, here.

#prinxiety #sanders sides #thomas sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #fanfiction #my writing #and that is all the tags

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probably-writing-x · 5 years

Text

Dressing Room Daydream (Part 10)

(So I'm bringing this back for one final chapter! I'm so proud of this series and I hope you like this ending❤️ If you have any questions or comments, please let me know x)

~~Twelve Months Later~~

"Haz! We're going to be late!" You call, shoving on your shoes and checking yourself in the mirror once again.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming, I'm coming," He replies, hurrying out of your bedroom and rushing across the lounge, opting to leap over the couch to get there quicker.

He stumbles forward as his shoe catches on the back and almost falls flat on his face.

"Was that really necessary?" You shake your head, opening the door for the two of you to head out.

"It's always necessary, saved me time didn't it?" He grins, a little breathless from his hurry as he follows behind you.

Your hand reaches out and laces with his, pulling him to keep up with your pace, "A whole two seconds,"

"Two seconds that I can now spend-" He begins, spinning you so that you come face to face with him against his chest, "Doing this,"

As he finishes, his lips press against yours, lasting a lot longer than two seconds but feeling far too perfect to complain.

"Come on, lover boy," You roll your eyes, dragging him towards the elevator, "We have a press day to get to,"

~~~

To say the last twelve months had been crazy was a complete understatement. You and Harrison had completed the show and were quickly recruited for the production of a romantic drama TV show that you two were casted in as main roles. It still felt like a whirlwind but you were happy to run with it - every so often pinching yourself when you were certain it was too good to be true.

But it always was.

You'd now been with Haz for over a year, having lived together for that whole time in his flat with Tom. It was a little unconventional when, a lot of the time, there were Tom's brothers there too and certainly not the living space for all of you but perfectly imperfectly, it worked.

And, now, you and your boyfriend were on your way to a press event solely focused on the two of you as you spoke on the upcoming release of your new show 'Like to be Loved'.

It was all a dream you were glad you weren't waking up from.

~~~

Amongst a busy morning of preparations, you and Haz were now seated to await your first interview of the day. The canvas chairs felt far too fragile after you'd seen what happened to Tom on his panel and you held onto the armrest a little fearfully.

"It's not going to break," Harrison laughs, hand resting atop yours to squeeze it a little.

"Come on, with my luck? I'm definitely falling," You shake your head, glancing around at the setup around you and questioning whether they'd really got the right people to be here. This was far too much of a big deal for you and your boyfriend... Right?

But, as if someone had just voiced your thoughts, the first interviewer arrives and introduces themselves, commencing the first of many.

"So I'm really excited to hear how you would describe this show to people that don't know much about it," The girl smiles, legs crossed and echoing all shades of confidence.

You glance to Harrison for reassurance and he nods encouragingly.

"Well, I-" You start cautiously before finding your feet, "Like to be loved is a depiction of two young people living in the midst of their past. Both of them are plagued by what has happened to them previously and it stops them from seeing what they have in the present. There are a lot of really poignant and valid themes included and, honestly, it's something we've both just fallen in love with,"

Harrison watches you intently as you speak, a light smile of pride kissing his lips, "Yeah, we're really proud of this project,"

The interviewer nods, "So, one of those themes, as you mentioned, is domestic violence and the effects that that has on victims. Would you be comfortable to talk to me a little about that?"

You visibly swallow the lump in your throat and your boyfriend is quick to answer in your place.

"Yeah, so that's the storyline mainly surrounding my character and it's about him escaping the confines of a relationship like that and really coming to terms with living outside of what, really, has consumed him for so long," Harrison explains, "It was a really powerful and important issue for us to convey and so it was really necessary to me that we did it well,"

"How do you begin to get into the headspace of a story like that? I imagine it must be very difficult,"

It is in that next question that you take yourself out of your body and look down on exactly where you were. The last twelve months had completely flipped your life around. You went from being in the darkest place, accompanied only by a man who terrified you, to now being here - with the most supportive boyfriend and friends you could ask for. It felt surreal. So much had changed in what felt like such little time.

And you felt strong now.

"Um, well it's actually something that's quite personal to me," You admit and Harrison's lips part a little in the shock of your statement.

"I'm really sorry to hear that," The interviewer frowns.

"No, no, it was a while ago now and a lot has happened since then. But, when we were creating this show, it became so important to us that the experiences that Harrison's character was having were really authentic and true to experience," You force a smile and feel your whole body tense at what felt like the big reveal.

In your daze, Harrison's hand finds yours over the armrest and it settles there as he continues to chat away in the interview - not quite sure what had just happened.

~~~

Once a few interviews are over, you and Harrison are allowed to reside to your dressing rooms for a while. Oddly, they'd given you separate ones - a trait that didn't particularly suit the past of your relationship.

But, as if he couldn't keep away, there's a signature knock at the door of your room before Harrison enters.

"Hey, babe, can we talk?" He begins, glancing over to where you sat in front of the mirror and pulling up a chair to sit beside you.

You swallow the lump that had reformed in your throat and wait for him to look at you through the reflection in front of you.

"You said you didn't want to mention anything about-" Harrison stops himself, "What changed?"

You take a deep breath and clench your hands like it would stabilise you as you proceeded, "When I started going to therapy, it was a really rocky start. I hated it and all I wanted to do was get back outside to where this blue eyed boy was pacing back and forth waiting for me," You smirk a little to ease the tension, "But, after that, it started working and I started seeing sense in the things he was telling me. One of the things he told me to do was start this,"

You rummage through your bag and pull out a small, leather-look, bounded notebook.

"You have a diary?" Harrison raises his brows, "Am I in it?"

You let out a soft chuckle, "It's not a diary. I don't write in it everyday but it's just there for when I have something I want to say. It's just like a little release. And, when I was waiting for you this morning, I read one of the inserts from it,"

He frowns and waits expectantly for you to continue, never wanting to push you when it came to things like this.

Taking another breath, you start to read.

One day, I'll be able to say that I've healed from everything that has happened in the past. There'll be a day where I'll truly understand that Alex is gone and he's not going to hurt me. I'll know that this can be my life now and I deserve to be happy. But that day hasn't come yet. I still wake up and check that it's Harrison's arm that's around me and not the face I still get sick at the thought of. I still flinch at loud noises or when the boys shout at something in a rugby match. Because I'm still tainted by what he did to me. I'm still bruised by it and it will take a while for that to go away. Sometimes I question whether it's all worth it for Haz - he doesn't deserve to be in love with a broken heart. But I'll get there one day. And I hope he will be too.

The book closes and you set it back down onto the vanity, awaiting any sort of response. Nonetheless, you proceed.

"You see, I read that and I realised how much has changed. A year ago, I was scared of leaving the house and scared of staying in it. I was constantly re-thinking everything I did even though I knew it wouldn't make a difference to how he responded. I was forcing myself to say I loved a guy that I can't imagine loving anyone in the right way. I was terrified every single day, H," Your voice trembles but you let it happen, "And then you promised me in that dressing room you told me one thing. You told me that you'd take the risk of getting hurt if it meant I could get away from him. And it made me realise that I needed to take that risk too,"

Harrison lets the tiniest of smiles onto his lips as he takes your hand into his and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

"It's been a rough year. But I couldn't have made it through a full year without you," Your voice cracks and a single tear stains your cheek, "And, God, that's terrifying, but I know who I am now because of you. And I know I deserve to be loved,"

When you look back at Harrison, he's crying too. It's not out of sorrow like people usually would if you told them what you went through. This was sheer adoration. He'd seen how much you'd changed over the past twelve months. How you'd grown into yourself again. He started to pick up on how you'd kiss him first rather than waiting for him to kiss you. How confident you seemed after the two of you finally slept together - Harrison promising you he didn't care how long you had to wait - but you felt worthy, he made you feel worshipped. He noticed how, eventually, you didn't bother to look over your shoulder when you were walking down the street - no longer fearing the chance that you'd be met with Alex right behind you.

"(Y/n) I-" Harrison begins, sniffing away his tears, "I'm so proud of you,"

You shake your head and silence him with a kiss, "Doesn't need to be said,"

You still got those butterflies whenever his lips were on yours but they no longer moved in panicked flight.

"Come on, you're making me look like a mess!" He chuckles, settling his head onto your shoulder and looking at the two of you in the mirrored reflection.

~~~

After a long day of press, you two finally reside back to the flat where you're met with the Holland brothers - having ordered enough pizza to fill the flat and certainly your empty stomachs.

"Did you think we were bringing back the whole cast?!" You laugh as you open yet another box of pizza onto the counter.

"Are you kidding?" Sam scoffs, "This is all just Harry's order,"

Harry rolls his eyes and hits his brother over the back of the head.

"But, seriously, how did it go today guys?" Paddy asks as he hops up onto one of the chairs at the kitchen island.

You and Harrison smile to each other.

"Really good thank you," You nod, "All of the interviewers were lovely and they all seemed to like the show,"

The boys continue to chatter about how excited they were to watch it whilst Harrison makes his way over to your side.

"Hey, babe, you got a text from your therapist," He comments, going to hand you your phone.

You nod as you take another bite of the pizza, "Okay, thanks, just tell him I'll call tomorrow and sort out a date,"

"You still want to go?" Harrison asks as he types out the message.

You take a deep breath, "I don't think I'm ready to give it up just yet, it helps,"

"And I'm quite enjoying the walks around the gardens," Harrison grins, setting your phone back down.

"You don't have to wait every time, honey," You chuckle.

He shrugs and kisses you quickly on the cheek, "I know,"

As he settles into the seat beside you, you glance around at the group and let a smile dance onto your face. They're arguing about the best song from an album and Tom already has pizza sauce on his top and Harry's already got two slices of two different pizzas sandwiched together. It's this weirdly perfect depiction of messy and you're grateful for your place in it.

You hadn't recovered from what you'd been through. It would take a lot more of the bad days and a bunch more of the good. It would take patience and understanding and commitment. And it would take you learning to love again - starting with yourself. But, damn, you'd made it far already. And, for that, you could be proud.

The playlist changes song and 'Come Alive' blasts through the speakers.

Back to your beginnings - this time having come full circle across a crazy rollercoaster past.

~~~

(Alright, that's it for this series! Thank you for allowing me to write about such a sensitive issue and for reading and supporting it so much❤️ All my love to every single one of you x)

Tags: @imarypayne @sunshine112 @bringmethehorizonandpizza @supernatural-girl97 @vibhati123 @butithasntkilledyouyet @faefictions @carisi-sonny @trap-house-homiecide @spiderrpcrker @tommydaspidey @oneblckcoffee @darlingtholland @fanficparker @xxtomxo @httpfandxms

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