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derangedrhythms · 3 years

Note

May I please ask, do you have any quotes or lines that you know of, based on meeting a loved one under the stars, perhaps even in secret? Or stargazing, maybe? Thank you for reading :D

I couldn't recall anything specifically about meeting a loved one under the stars, but I've included some more romantic excerpts which use star metaphors and imagery. I know this wasn't exactly what you were looking for, but I hope that you enjoy them nevertheless. I also did a compilation on night and stars here.

"But the sight of the stars always makes me dream..."

⁠— Vincent van Gogh

"That doesn’t stop me having a tremendous need for, shall I say the word — for religion — so I go outside at night to paint the stars..."

⁠— Vincent van Gogh

"She stood there: she listened. She heard the names of the stars."

⁠— Virginia Woolf, from 'Mrs Dalloway'

"For me the star-filled sky had always been the most heart-rending, the most disquieting, of sights."

— Nikos Kazantzakis, from ‘Report to Greco’, tr. P. A. Bien

"Look at the stars! look, look up at the skies! / O look at all the fire-folk sitting in the air!"

— Gerard Manley Hopkins, from 'The Starlight Night'

"...I wanted to go on watching the stars, where the most extraordinary things were happening [...] stars were quietly shooting and tumbling and disappearing, silently falling and being extinguished, lost utterly silent falling stars, falling from nowhere to nowhere into an unimaginable extinction. How many of them there were, as if the heavens were crumbling at last and being dismantled."

"As I lay there, listening to the soft slap of the sea, and thinking these sad and strange thoughts, more and more and more stars had gathered, obliterating the separateness of the Milky Way and filling up the whole sky. And far far away in that ocean of gold, stars were silently shooting and falling and finding their fates, among those billions and billions of merging golden lights. And curtain after curtain of gauze was quietly removed, and I saw stars behind stars behind stars..."

⁠— Iris Murdoch, from 'The Sea, the Sea'

"…anticipating a meeting / With the one who became my star,"

— Anna Akhmatova, from ‘Plantain’: Untitled, tr. Judith Hemschemeyer

"Then the river staring up, lovesick for the moon, / is my long night. / Then the stars between us are love / urging its light."

— Carol Ann Duffy, Rapture; from 'Absence'

"He is my life now, my male muse, my pole-star centering me steady & right."

— Sylvia Plath, from ‘The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath’

"A high cold star on a winter's night is the word he feels that she says to him."

— Stephen Crane, The Red Badge of Courage and Other Stories; from 'The Open Boat'

"I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen. Your's ever, fair Star,"

— John Keats

"…the joy of living with you so vivid and present by the dour contrast of your absence; but I am in a queer way, capable of being happy completely alone; living with my god, which is you; like a nun; I talk to you each night before I go to bed, opening the window wide, leaning out, looking at clouds of stars, smelling the wet earth and concentrating hard and completely on you, whatever you’re doing, wherever you are."

— Sylvia Plath, from 'The Letters of Sylvia Plath Volume I: 1940–1956'; from a letter to Ted Hughes

"Let me name the stars for you."

— Richard Siken, Crush; from 'Snow and Dirty Rain'

"If you were a star, / I would gaze by the window till dawn, / And peace would enter my soul."

— Anna Akhmatova, from 'The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova', tr. Judith Hemschemeyer

"…him pressing against / me, his lips at my neck, and yes, I do believe / his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me / like stars."

— Richard Siken, Crush; from 'Saying Your Names'

"But in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. Such a constellation was he to me."

— Madeline Miller, from 'Circe'

"I want / to weave my fingers through your hair / find a nook in your throat / where with a muffled whisper / the heart defies the lips / I want / to mix your name with stars / with blood / to be inside, you"

— Halina Poświatowska, from 'Indeed I love', tr. Maya Peretz

"We had found the stars, you and I. And this is given once only."

— André Aciman, from ‘Call Me By Your Name’

"I will think of you, you / who are so far away / you have caused me to look up at the stars."

— Tess Gallagher, from 'Under Stars'

“If only at the midnight hour / You’d send me a greeting across the stars.”

— Anna Akhmatova, Seventh Book; from Sweetbrier In Blossom; ‘In a Dream’, tr. Judith Hemschemeyer

#compilations #long post #stars

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brothermouse · 3 years

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I'm just thinking about the first Christmas.

Mary feels a new blister forming and curses under her breath, so quiet Joseph can't hear. She fought too hard to come along on this trip to let him see an ounce of regret. She didn't have to come. Any sane person would tell her to just stay home, especially with how far along the pregnancy was. But she would walk hot, dusty roads and be covered head to toe with blisters for the rest of her life it it meant she didn't have to put up with the other women in the village.

They always seemed ready with some sharp catty comment, some new way to say the obvious without saying the obvious. She had been pregnant longer than she had been married, and everyone knew it. They would excitedly mention how big she was getting, almost as if they knew that she felt like an overstuffed cow. They would causally ask when she was expecting and then ask to be reminded when her wedding was, smugly implying that they had already done the math. It might have been better if they just came out and called her a slut. At least then she could yell at them. Then she could fight back. Then she could run crying into the strong, protective arms of her husband and he'd hold her and tell her that both she and he know the truth, and that's all that matters.

But even Joseph was different. Before all of this, he had been kind, loving, maybe a little clueless and awkward, but she found that part of him cute. But now? Now he seemed cold and distant. He didn't touch her anymore. No hugs and kisses like other newlyweds. He barely held her hand as her ever bulging self waddled about the house. He seemed almost afraid of her, like she was made of fragile glass or was some wild animal, ready to bite his hand off if he got too close. To be fair, some days she did feel like a strange beast, but her wild wrath was always meant for the town gossips. Towards Joseph she only felt sadness and grief for the kind man who seemed to vanish overnight.

Joseph, for his part, wasn't afraid of Mary. He was afraid of that thing growing inside of her. That Messiah. 'What even is a Messiah?' he would ask himself, 'What would it even look like?' Question after question after question filled his head and choked his tongue. Would the Messiah pop out, fully formed and armed for battle, before riding to Rome to behead Caesar, slaughtering heathens and gentiles along the way? Would it be like a rabbi, and call him and his wife to repentance for some yet unknown slight against God? Why does a Messiah need a father? Does a Messiah need a father? Doubts filled him and crippled him.

He would steal glances at Mary. She was sweaty and dirty and a little angry-looking. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He wanted to grab her, lift the small delightfully plumped woman over his head and tell her all the ways she made him feel. But what if that broke the rules? What if his own uncleanliness some how befouled her? She was a holy vessel, like the Ark of the Covenant, and he was just...Joseph, the guy who cut wood.

Even without the angels and prophesies, Joseph would have felt unsure. Technically he was a grown man. He had lived the appropriate number of years, gone through the right ceremonies, done everything that everyone says make you a man. But still, whenever he saw those broad-chested, thick bearded men who seemed to have all the answers he saw he gap between himself and them. Real men had the answers. Real men knew what to do when their children were born. Real men could manage to say more than three words to their own wives.

Late in the day they arrive in town. Joseph curses himself. He should have known the trip would take longer with Mary. He should have planned ahead. Mary quietly curses again. Seems the baby didn't like all that walking and is kicking her kidneys in rebellion. She looks at Joseph, hoping he can see her pain, hoping he'll at least acknowledge it.

“I'll find an inn. ” He mumbles to her, knowing that a real man would have scooped her up in thick, strong arms and said “Not to worry, my radiant jewel! I'll have a roof over your head before the stars can grow jealous of your beauty!”

The sun dips below the hills and still no inn. Joseph wants to tell his wife that he's sorry. That she deserves better. That she deserves a real man by her side. One who would wrap her up in the finest silks and build a grand palace around her, wherever she wishes. But the most he can manage is rushing to the next inn, and hoping there's room for two.

Mary is growing concerned. What started as the baby rebellion has turned into all out war. Why didn't she just stay home? Why did she want so badly to spend time with a husband who seemed more concerned with chatting with unhelpful innkeepers than his own suffering wife? If she wanted to have a baby and be ignored by Joseph, she could have done that at home! At least at home she had her cousin Elizabeth to talk to. The contractions were getting closer now. Elizabeth had warned her about this. It was only a matter of time before the baby arrived.

As soon as Joseph wandered in arm's reach Mary snatched his robe.

“It's coming.” she says through gritted teeth.

“What is?”

“The baby!” Mary grunts.

Joseph turns pale. A thousand new questions and doubts fill his mind. “Where-”

“Anywhere!” Mary hisses through the pain. “An ally, a hut, a stable! Anywhere that isn't here!”

They enter a stable, a stubborn cow is woken up and moved to make room. Joseph feels remarkably out of his depth. He always though that when this day came, Elizabeth would be there to handle things and he would help by looking after little baby John. Only a few months old, John was a funny kid with an unparalleled knack for getting bugs in his mouth. Joseph liked John. Would a Messiah eat bugs? Joseph shakes his head back to the present. In a panic he asks Mary what he should do.

Mary meets Joseph's eyes. They are big and brown and filled with concern. They are the eyes of the man she loves. She wants to bask in the warm, manly kindness of those eyes forever, but another contraction cruelly pulls her away.

“Water!” she grunts, remembering what she can from Elizabeth's occasional words of advice, “and cloth!”

Joseph scrambles for the needed materials, but the pained screams of his wife tear at his soul. A real man wouldn't need to scramble for scraps with his wife in pain. In his heart he cries to God. He begs for an answer, just one answer to any one of his endless questions.

Mary lies on a pile of hay, eyes filled with tears, body filled with pain, and heart filled with loneliness. So few people could understand the pain of her soul, and the one person who she wanted most to understand, the one person who was physically closest to her was worlds away. She prays between agonized gasps for relief.

Mary screams to high heaven and Joseph's heart shatters. He can't do anything for her. She deserves so much more than he can give, and he can't even bring himself to give her a competent hand.

“I'm sorry” he gasps. And he runs out of the stable into the street. He shouts and screams and cries for help. A city of strangers huddles in their beds and ignores him. He spies a group of men. Desperate, he rushes upon them, grabs their woolly, sheepskin robes and begs them to help. Through childish tears and snot and sobs he explains his predicament.

One of the younger men huffs. He says they have something important to do tonight. One of the oldest men waves a hand and his young companion and claps an arm around Joseph. “We're used to delivering lambs,” he says, patting Joseph on the back, “But I think we can manage a child, just for tonight.”

In the stable, Mary clutches her belly. She's been abandoned. Her only companion now is an irate cow glaring at her from the the corner. Another contraction comes and she clenches her eyes. Suddenly something grabs her hand. She slaps it away, thinking it's the cow, getting impatient. It gabs her hand again. She opens her eyes and sees Joseph. His big, kind, brown eyes filled with tears. She squeezes his hand back. Suddenly she is surrounded by a small army of strangers.

“They're here to help.” Joseph says.

And they do help. With practiced precision each one fills a task. Water is fetched, clean cloth is produced. Shortly a tiny, pink, screaming baby is introduced into the stable. The cow wanders out, giving up getting sleep in this stable on this night.

The strangers hand the baby to Mary. She is tired. She feels like she's been stretched out a mile. She looks at the baby, wondering if she had been screaming this loud a moment ago. She's about to fall asleep. She shakes off the exhaustion and remembers something Elizabeth told her. Wrap the baby up tightly as soon as you can, so he can grow up nice and tall. She tries to calm the baby while fishing for spare cloth.

Meanwhile the strangers are beginning to leave, but Joseph delays them. He wants them to teach him. He wants to know how to be a man, a father, a husband. He stumbles over his words, trying to get the question right. The strangers are insistent, though. They have something important to do tonight.

Mary has finally got the baby wrapped up, and that seems to have calmed him. Exhaustion is pulling at her eyelids like iron weights. The baby needs a place to sleep. A nearby manger has relatively clean hay. She puts her baby there and lies back for her own long sleep.

Joseph is stumbling over his words as the strangers grow more insistent that they have to leave. Suddenly one of the younger men begins to tremble. He tugs at his elder's robes and points to a corner of the stable. The older man looks at the manger and the babe, wrapped in swaddling clothes, and begins to weep. The rest of the strangers follow suit, some weeping, some praying, some just standing and staring in awe. Joseph manages to eek out one more question, “What's wrong?”

The oldest man wipes the tears from his eyes and answers, “Absolutely nothing is wrong. It's just...well...” he scratches his bald head, looking for the words. “Earlier... when we were watching the sheep...there was this...angel.”

Instantly Mary snaps awake, all fatigue dispersing at that one word. “Angel?”

“Yes ma'am.” the old shepherd says sheepishly, “an angel, and-”

“I've seen one, too.” Mary says. “They're incredible!”

“And terrifying.” adds Joseph.

“And beautiful!” the Shepherd

The strange group spends the next few hours trading stories of their visions and the strange coincidences that brought them together.

While the shepherds and Mary are eagerly trying to explain the strange musical quality of an angel's voice the old Shepherd pulls Joseph aside. Joseph tries to ask twelve questions at once, but the shepherd stops him.

“She doesn't need you to have all the answers.” He tells Joseph, “She just needs you to be there.”

“But, how am I supposed to raise-”

“A day at a time. Children, sheep, men. Everything grows a day at a time.”

He gives Joseph a few more specific points of advice. And the begins to gather up his companions. He explains that the mother needs her rest, and they have sheep to feed. Slowly and reluctantly the shepherds are herded out.

Mary now feels more tired than ever. The baby begins to fuss. Joseph steps in and rocks his son.

He lies down next to Mary.

Haltingly, unsure, she moves towards him. His arm wraps around her and draws her in close. She rests her head on his chest and stares at her little baby boy. Her thoughts turn to the catty gossips of Nazareth. Without thinking she voices her fears, “What will they say when we come back home with a baby?”

Joseph squeezes her tighter, “Whatever they want. We know the truth. Besides, if it gets too bad, I'll bet we can get those shepherds to beat them up for us.”

Mary looks at Joseph, her tired mind trying to grasp what he just said. The joke dawns on her and she beings to laugh. Then as the emotional dam begins to burst the laughter turns to tears, and tears eventually fade into sleep. All the while Her husband holds her in his strong, protective arms.

And that's what I think the First Christmas was like; messy, loud, and full of people who had no idea what they were doing. So don’t feel bad if your Christmas is messy, loud and full of doubt. It puts you in good company.

#christmas #jesus #Nativity #tumblrstake #queerstake

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icollectyoursins · 4 years

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Muhammad Avdol SFW/Not SFW headcanons

Misfortune26 asked for this on AO3 and who am I do deny them!

Like always, I tried my best to keep this gender neutral. Please tell me if there’s any ways I can improve! I’d be happy to hear your thoughts!

DISCLAIMER Please don’t do any of the more dangerous stuff on your own (ie. wax play, fire play, shibari even, depending on how far you go). They can be extremely dangerous and in the case of wax play, there are specific candles you can buy for sexual pleasure. DO NOT USE A REGULAR CANDLE. And with fire play, you must be with a partner if you’re just starting out and, hell, even if you’re experienced. It’s hard to put out a large fire when you are the large fire. Also keep in mind that everyone’s skin reacts differently to different stimulus, always test it safely before you get into an actual scene with fire play. Do your research. It does not take long to go into google and find out the dangers of edge play or any kind of play for that matter. Thank you.

-Sin

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNGINGS: Blow jobs under a desk, wax play, cock warming, massages with a happy ending, light shibari mention, fire play, fun dates with Avdol, brief mention of wine tasting, general wholesomeness with Avdol.

Word Count: 1981

SFW

Avdol is so sweet. He loves energizing or exciting dates, so he’ll likely take you out to a new restaurant with cuisine he’s never heard of and then go to the park or something along those lines; something fun and exciting. Or to festivals! Carnivals too.

He’d ask Joseph and Polnareff where to take you to have more fun, but they only offer romantic things or things that are out of his comfort zone, so he resorts to asking Jotaro, who tells him the aquarium is always nice. Or a walk down the street to find new vendors and such.

He settles on taking you to the aquarium and list off what he knows about fish that he’s learned from Jotaro that he thinks will impress you. You impress him even more by telling him something he doesn’t know. His favourite part is seeing you smile at him. And the stingrays. Definitely the stingrays.

If there’s a tunnel to go through, he will 100% memorize the way the light looks on your skin. The way it compliments your hair and dances in your eyes. Breathtaking. He pulls you into a soft kiss, brushing your hair out of your face and holding you close. Then, he’s glued to your hip the rest of the tour.

LOVES wine tastings. He doesn’t get too drunk, what are you talking about? Giggles every time you smile at him. You just make him happy.

When at home, you share the chores. He’ll do the ones you don’t want to do, and you can do what he doesn’t want to do (I mean, he’s okay to do whatever, but you’ve gotta make it fair, right?)

He loves when you make him breakfast or tea in the morning. Usually, he’s the one to get up early and make things, but on the days when he sleeps in more than you (which is usually on the weekends) you get up and make him some eggs and toast with grilled mushrooms (I hate them, but he looks like a heathen who loves mushrooms.) God, his heart just bursts. He’d walk into the kitchen and wrap his arms around your waist as you’re putting stuff on the plate, peppering your face and neck with kisses.

Like I said, Avdol loves trying new things, and that comes through in his cooking especially which may or may not end in some disasters. He tried to cook a zucchini pasta-thing and… well, you didn’t think they were supposed to be black. Or, that one time he tried to flambe something, which, for someone whose whole thing is fire you’d think would be easy. The first attempt was less than successful, but with plenty of practice, he finally got it and then tried to teach you!

He’s so warm. Everything about him either warms you physically or just warms your heart. He flashes you a smile while you’re talking with friends and you swear you’ve died and gone to heaven.

And on the colder days, he’ll give you his jacket or pull you into a large hug and keep you there until you’re warm. Kissing the top of your head or your cheeks. Or even your nose, if you’ll let him! Kiss him the same way and you will receive the heartiest, most wholesome laugh.

On the couch, you don’t even need to ask, he’ll just pull you into him and kiss you until you fall asleep or start getting a little handsy.

His kisses are so nice. So soft and loving. Addicting in the best way. He’ll always rest his hand on the small of your back, pushing you further into him. He loves to interrupt you while you’re talking because he knows you can’t resist kissing him back. And he loves the look on your face when you lose your train of thought. If you’re feeling brave, pull him in for another one and you might have to make a b-line for the bedroom.

NSFW

He’s usually sweet and soft with you, taking great care in making sure you both get what you want out of it. Gives you the sweetest orgasms you have ever had. His warm hands feeling all over you, caressing you, the soft kisses on your chest and face. The feel of his breath on your neck as he whispers into your ear. If there were ever a man to make you feel loved, it’s this one.

He prefers to be dominant in the bedroom but Avdol will always take care of you. He will always make sure you’re enjoying it and check-in he thinks he’s gone too far. You know that, but sometimes. My god. This man loves to tease you in the loveliest way. His fingers feel so nice on you. Every time he touches you, you feel as though you have no choice but to give in and let him do whatever.

He’s a very traditional man, so I don’t think he’s super into oral, but he’s open to whatever you want. If he’s feeling a little extra, he’ll make you sit under his desk with his cock in your mouth while he’s doing work or something.

Avdol leaned back and look down at your face, sweaty, eyes back in your skull, mouth stretched out over his girth. He runs his hand through your hair and pulls you back a little, watching your eyes focus on him again. He grins, then pushes you back down until your nose is flush with his crotch.

“I’ve got a call with Mr. Joestar in a few minutes. Do you think you can last a little longer?” Through tears, you look up at him with those beautiful eyes, move your tongue just oh so slightly and he’s weak. How can he keep you from what you want? He sighs, letting out a deep chuckle that makes your core buzz with excitement. “You have 5 minutes, my love. Make it quick. You don’t want me to be late, do you?”

You moan as he pulls his hips back before thrusting them in again. You could make him cum in 5 minutes, right?

He isn’t a lazy lover, I swear, but he would love to watch Magician’s Red pound you into the mattress while he, again, does work. He’s a busy man! But watching his stand rake it’s claws down your back and push you further into the bed while you beg for him (Avdol) to fuck you. It does something to him. (He can control the temperature of MR, so don’t worry about burning yourself.)

Cockwarming. He loves it. He can feel you close to him, get some work done and then fuck you all at the same time? He makes you sit on his lap, face buried in his neck while he writes something for Mr. Joestar, or does a tarot reading for you. He’ll pull out literally any card and tell you it means you’ve done something you shouldn’t have.

“Have you been bad, my love?” You frantically shake your head no. “I’m not sure I believe you. Let’s see what the cards say.” You feel him reach forward, cock moving inside you. He then leans back and clicks his tongue. Shaking his head as he talks, “No, no, no. This won’t do at all.”

You whine into his neck, kissing him fervently to try and gain his favour. “Please. I’ve been good. I promise.”

“Shh, shh. I believe you, but…” he puts the card down, “I need more proof, don’t you think?” You lean back to look at him, confused and desperate. He laughs warmly, making a pleasant feeling coarse through you. Then, he stands up, holding on to you carefully, making sure he doesn’t slip out and puts you on the desk. “You can be good, right?”

Loves to tie you up. Gets a nice-looking brown rope and ties your arms so they’re flush against your chest and then ties your legs open. He’s into the more aesthetically pleasing aspects of shibari. Also a fan of tying your feet and hands together so you’re ass is in the air and face in the mattress.

If he’s feeling more tame, he prefers missionary so he can see your face when he hits that spot that makes you wild. He thrusts into you with slow, practiced and methodical moves of his hips.

God, and when you ask him to move faster. Oh, does it drive him wild. On his more sassy days, he’ll just slow down more.

Avdol is a little more hesitant to admit this, but he’s got a thing for candle wax. Tie his arms up and drip it down his chest. Ohhh. He is rock fucking hard. One of the few times he shuts up in the bedroom, normally he’s really talkative, telling you you’re doing a good job, but he just can’t think straight.

But wait! There’s more! He loves to give massages with a happy ending, as well as receiving. Those warm, slightly rough hands rubbing all over your back with some nice smelling oil, down to your ass and then he starts kneading into it. Maybe slipping a finger or two down there.

Look, Muhammad Avdol just loves to make his partner feel good. What can I say? He’s literally almost perfect.

Now, when I got a suggestion for fire play I was a little taken aback. But, after some research, I have learned something about myself and, of course, about Avdol. For starters, I don’t think he would be into whipping/flogging, especially when it’s on fire. It would take a lot of convincing. That being said, if it was safe enough, he would be more than happy to light your hand on fire. Or your ass.

He would make sure you two had taken every precaution to make sure you don’t get hurt and he got a special burn moisturizer, just in case anything happens.

You’re on your knees, naked, waiting for your next command from the man before you. Avdol pours something into a bowl, then adds some cotton balls. He smiles at you, confident and kind.

“If it hurts, tell me. I’ll put it out. The only thing you should be feeling is a tingle.” You nodded your head, understanding what he said. He had gone over what to do if it went out of control since you brought the idea up to him a few weeks ago and both of you had been studying up to make sure you were both safe.

Avdol picks up one of the cotton balls and walks over to you. He holds out his free hand, motioning for you to put yours in it. You do so. He bends down to kiss it before lowering the cotton to your hand, rubbing it around your palm, then putting it back into the bowl. He tells you one more time what to do after 3 seconds.

“Use your other hand and clap, or dust it off. If it gets out of hand, I’ll step in. Now, are you ready?” You nod again, smiling up at him. You were more excited than you should be considering your palm was about to be lit on fire.

He summons Magicians Red, who lets out a screech, then pets your face with a clawed hand. They both smile at you. Magicians Red lights a single finger and brings it down onto your hand.

You gasp at the sensation. Avdol was right. It does tingle. It almost tickles. You can feel the pleasure building in your gut. 3 seconds go by too quickly and you put it out with your other hand.

“How do you feel? Good, I hope.” He examines your hand, checking to see if anything burned. You smile and pull him into a kiss. He gently cups your face before pulling back. “In that case. Turn around.”

#please don't actually fuck on your tarot cards. they don't like it #I wrote this and then completely forgot to write about his chickens #let me know if you wanna see avdols s/o interacting with his chickens.#avdol headcanons #avdol not sfw #avdol x reader #avdol x reader not sfw #avdol #muhammad avdol #avol prompts #not sfw #sfw

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typewriter-worries · 6 months

Text

why does this overfull love fill me with fear?

Talking to God About Heaven from the Bed of a Heathen, Chen Chen

#we have not long to love #chen chen #poetry #literature #dark academia #light academia #classic academia

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trashcatsnark · 3 years

Note

I'm glad you liked my AU, I was kinda nervous that I'm bothering you ':D 1. V is of course allowed to stay with the Aldecaldos with no problems, since they're already a part of the family, but Johnny is only allowed to stay if he 1. will work on jobs with them to earn his keep 2. will do different chores around the camp 3. will behave; he starts a fight or something like that and he's out. Johnny is determined to be on his best behavior so that he's allowed to stay and look after V. After what they've been through together, he couldn't bear to be split from them again, especially not over something so stupid like starting a brawl. 2. He doesn't really socialise much, he's too focused on V. Aldecaldos tolerate him, but he can feel that they are a bit uneasy around him, and he can't really blame them, he's a man who died 50 years ago and was brought back to life, not exactly something you see every day (though I'd imagine they'd warm up to eachother after a post-gig bonfire, with Johnny showing off his guitar chops). 3. Johnny and V live in the same van, of course. Graciously donated by the Aldecaldos, it's their new home and mode of transport when the caravan moves. It's a bit small, but it's managable and slowly starts to fill out with different trinkets, items, postcards and photos from their travels. They usually sit on the steps in the mornings and sometimes look at the starry sky on the roof in the evenings. 4. If V feels good enough to leave the van, Johnny is always near, like a shadow. Just a local oddity, a merc who died and came back to life twice and a world-famous terrorist rockerboy that now watches over them in pretty much complete silence and a permanent scowl on his face, nbd. 5. Johnny usually keeps his hair tied, partially because it's more practical and he hates having a swety neck, and partially because it fucks with his facial features and he's harder to recognise by bystanders like cashiers. 6. V is in no condition to drive, so Johnn usually does it when the caravan has to move. V either chats with him to keep him company, reads him books or screamsheets out loud or does crossword puzzles with him. 7. Johnny sometimes missess the fact that he can no longer feel what V is feeling, mostly because it would make the whole "caretaking" thing much easier for him, just letting him know what V needs without words. Now he actually has to guess or ask, and he doesn't know which is harder. He looks at V and feels like he should be able to do more for them, but he has no idea what that more would actually be.

Firstly, never worry about bothering, I absolutely adore how many asks and messages I’ve been getting lately! I may be slow to reply sometimes but I’m honestly just am really happy to see people wanting to read my dumbass replies, if anything I worry about giving bad replies since I am the “queen of fuckups” as Johnny has so elegantly dubbed me and my V before.

Ahhhh, I love it so much, firstly I love bitchface Johnny always lurking over V because he’s a protective heathen. V just has to be like, yeah, no he’s really a sweetie though...well, okay no he’s kinda an asshole, but like he’s my asshole so it’s fine. And the rule of Johnny, please behave, and he’d try so hard but you know there’s a part of him that’s always like that son of a bitch looked at V the wrong way and i want to punch him but god damn it, i cannot and will sit here consumed with internal rage for the rest of the night

Also ponytail Johnny owns my whole soul. my V wakes up to him in sweatpants and hair in a ponytail once and is like shit I died and gone to heaven. I like to imagine if anyone still is ever like wait... “are you Johnny Silverhand?” he just gives a completely vague non-committal response of like “who knows.” (I also love ideas of him being like Tony Hawk in that he’s never fully recognized or people assuming he’s some fanatic who just runs around dressed like Johnny Silverhand like Elvis Imposters or him more often being confused for Keanu Reeves since he exists in universe)

Johnny pulling a here’s Wonderwall at the campfire just for the joke of it, sometimes when he’s in a really good mood he’ll take requests (tho mostly just V’s, if anyone really for sure wants to hear him play something specific they know to ask V to ask for it)

Living in a van, I imagine it majorllllly reminds Johnny of band days, touring, he’ll tell V all his stories of living in a van with Kerry, Henry, Denny, and Nancy for months at time. Having to listen to Henry and Denny fight the entire damn time, nearly puking when they’d had to listen to the two make up. Nancy losing her mind trying to reign in her feral children of bandmates, at times just choosing to drive instead of stay in the bus because you can handle so much. Kerry constantly stealing Johnny’s pants. Johnny bringing people back to the bus and later getting yelled at because he inevitably left...evidence of it on something that didn’t belong to him. (sometimes accidentally and other times, well, Kerry deserved it) Having to share a bathroom with them all and threatening to piss on Kerry’s bed if he didn’t hurry it the fuck up. He has a billion stories, that he knows V already knows, but they still wanna hear em, so why not.

I also fucking live for Johnny and V just hating the fact they aren’t linked the way they were before. They actually have to talk, god the horror. I definitely imagine my Johnny and V following the separation occasionally find themselves having to tell the other person “we have to use our big girl/boy/person words, now” They’ll catch the other staring off into the distance and be like “you just were trying to talk to me through your mind rn werent you?” or V will be thinking things to Johnny and be like “why are you ignoring me???? wAIT I HAVE TO TALK” They feel this distance that they never knew existed before.

I know in your AU V probably wouldn’t be up for it, but when they would be or any V and Johnny with nomads verse; part of me feels like Johnny would be torn on wanting to pilot the Basilisk with V. Because half of him is worried about the claustrophobia of it, he hates cramped dark, closed in places. But fuck fuck fuck, he wants that neurological link with V. He wants it. And if they do it, he’ll feel so at peace that he finally has his person back in the deepest sense of it, that he forgets all about being stuck in that coffin.

I also majorly think, while not as severe as the one between the twins in the beat on the brat fights; they don’t wanna be the same person. But they do want some form of neural synchronization implants. I imagine they might have something where they can read each others minds, it do be the future, just something that lets them always feel connected. Vik looks at them like they’re stupid, you fought to be separated and now you just wanna climb back into each other’s head.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #johnny silverhand #silverv #Anonymous

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womancorpse · 8 months

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Chen Chen, "TALKING TO GOD ABOUT HEAVEN FROM THE BED OF A HEATHEN", When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities

#chen chen #when i grow up i want to be a list of further possibilities #quote #quotes #poem #poems #poetry #currently reading

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prettyyoungandbored · 4 years

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You and I {DouglasBooth! Nikki Sixx} Chapter Twenty-Five

Pairing: Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx x Reader

Summary: There was time when all Y/N and Nikki had were themselves and Nikki’s dreams of creating the next great band. What happens when the dream comes alive?

Taglist: @gothpanda @itsharleyalb @fearless2tobeme @toadspleenn @tiktokviralsensation @fandomshit6000 @cosmicsskiess @tashy-bear @versaceismehoe @thissongitsaboutyou @prettysureimgayxo @divaanya @yoinks-i-dont-feel-so-good @evrsncnewyork @technicallyvirtualmilkshake @keepcalm-and-beyou @itsametaphorbriansblog @tarahell @scarecrowmax @queen-introvert @toadspleen @hi-my-name-is-riley @okj232 @tayrae515 @keepcalm-and-beyou @bella-0104-123 @kickstartmyheartmc @danknena @gerardwayisbae127 @emmygremlinturtle @marvelismylifffe @twistnet @youtubelover027 @lululovesgwtw @iluvmesomemarvelndc @shamelessobsessions @lovesick-heart0 @filledwithanxietyandnuggets @walking-disgrace @feminismercury @lauraurietaylor @orangedeath @oh-well1 @teller258316 @misha-magixx @savanna-1 @samanthadegaro @k–i–a @allmyheart2 @emmaelizabeth2014 @freddiessmallnipples @obsessivesky @myshakespeareandarling @kitten-overdose @waywardprincess666 @studyingthemind @valentines-in-london @anotherhopefulgirl @dark-princess99 @tryingnottocutyou-k @littlelunaticfringe @knockemdeadgirl @xrosegoldwolfx @brooklynbetty @lovesick-heart0 @kellysimagines @lauravic @sharon6713 @6trash6queen6 @shawnsstxtches @crystalbaby12 @littlelunaticfringe @helenaellie @fuckyeah-motleycrue @motleys-girl @hannahmmarie2016 @babygal-babygal @la-sorciere-fleur @thekidbakerinthetardis @natalielivesformusic @unknownoblivion @d34d-0n-th3-1ns1d3 @kawennote09 @leatherandheels @kayladurin @jelitka @mygxzita @universal-scorpio @wonderwoman292 @unknownoblivion @falcon-arrows@glitter-rian @okiegirl24@acid-flowers @anyasthoughts @haileynicoleseavey17 @hailey-the-heathen @sharon67136 @jeffreydeanmorgan1 @livingmybestfictionallife @nowisours-nowisforever @imagines-4-fangirls @sinningsixx @kingniazx @kaitieskidmore1 @nikki-sixx-is-daddy

A/N: Read the note at the end.

Previous chapter

Y/N sat in the hospital bed staring at the wall in front of her. Nikki sat beside her holding one of her hands in his. He was thankful not only for Dr. Kelly’s calm and reassuring demeanor, but that she was able to get Y/N an epidural so that Y/N went from screaming and cursing everyone out to basically buddha.

“You know I’m not actually going to have your balls snipped, right?” she said, turning to him.

Nikki grinned, holding back laughter. “I do, yeah.”

She drew a long sigh. “So you actually got the band back together?”

“Yeah, I did.” He pulled his lips back. “I wasn’t ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“To lose the guys for good, to say good bye to Mötley Crüe.”

Y/N smiled as she pulled her hand back to stroke his face. “Well, I’m really happy you guys are back together, even if it’s on the day our child is born.”

“And I’m sorry I took longer than I said I would.”

She waved her hand. “It is what it is.”

“But you’re gonna hold it-.”

“Oh, I’m gonna hold it against you for as long as you live.” Y/N sighed as her head fell back against the pillow. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can.”

“You don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t have to.” He held her hands in his. “There’s not a single doubt in my mind you can give birth and be best the goddamn mother to our child. You moved to Los Angeles by yourself. You lived in a shitty neighborhood. You lived with four of the most fucked up individuals in a cramped apartment and you took care of each of them. You worked and toured with a rock band. Fuck, you went on tour with Ozzy fucking Osborne.You wrote songs for bands and artists. You dealt with my drug habits. You have done and been through so many things you were not prepared for and look where it got you.”

One of his hands let go of hers to stroke her hair. “Besides, I’m going to be with you every step of the way. You and I are a team. Always have been and always will be.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears as she pursed her lips back. “Jesus Christ, Nikki,” she laughed, wiping her tears. She leaned over and gently pecked his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The sound of the door opening caused the couple to jump, believing a doctor or nurse would be hurrying in to get her started on pushing.

Instead, Tommy waltzed right in with Vince and Mick not too far behind. Tommy lowered the surgeon’s mask, revealing his devilish grin.

“Alright, Mrs. Sixx, you ready to push?” Tommy greeted in a deep, phony voice.

Y/N blinked. “Let me guess, you’re the one they call Doctor Feel Good?”

“I could be.”

She rolled her eyes. “Remind me to never ask you to babysit.”

Tommy snapped his fingers. “Well there goes my gift to you guys.”

Just then, the nurse poked her head in giving a warm smile. “How are you guys doing in here? Everything ok?”

“We’re doing ok,” Y/N answered.

Tommy stared at the blonde, lust in his eyes. “You’re their nurse, huh?”

Y/N threw her hands up as Nikki watched amusingly. The nurse blushed, desperately trying to hide her smile.

“I’ll check in on you guys later,” she said, closing the door.

Once she was gone, Tommy whistled. “I’d like her to be my nurse.”

He then made his way toward the door. “I’ll be back to check on you guys later.”

The second he closed the door, Y/N turned to Nikki. “Well there goes our nurse.”

“You doing ok?” Mick asked.

“The epidural helps,” Y/N smiled. “I’m glad you guys are back together again. I think the world could use some more Mötley Crüe.”

Mick raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know about that.”

Just then, Vince stepped up. “I do. I think the world is ready.”

“And what about you?” Y/N asked, tilting her head. “Are you ready?”

Vince nodded when he realized something. “I actually have a present for the kid.”

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a stuffed brown bunny with a yellow bow around its neck. Y/N’s heart melted as she accepted his gift. “Oh Vince.”

“Skylar really loved her bunny,” Vince choked. “I figured your little one will too.”

Y/N smiled as she took Vince’s hand. “I love it. Thank you.”

Nikki stood up and patted Vince’s shoulder. “We appreciate it, man. It’s perfect.”

Vince smiled, trying to fight back the tears that came with the memory of his little girl. “It’s not a problem.”

Mick sighed. “Well, we’ll leave you guys to it. We can’t meet the little rugrat.”

He motioned for him and Vince to head out as Nikki and Y/N watched them walk out the door. Once they left, Y/N put the bunny on the table next to her.

“They know the baby is coming on tour, right?” Y/N asked.

“Let’s hold off on telling them.”

___________________________________________________________________

A few hours later, just after midnight, as Y/N and Nikki watched a rerun of “The Twilight Zone” on the television, Y/N sat up and whimpered and clutched her belly. Nikki grabbed the call button, pushing it over and over until the nurses came in followed by Dr. Kelly.

“It’s time, Y/N,” Dr. Kelly said. “You ready?”

Y/N looked to Nikki, who gave her a reassuring smile. She nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

Minutes later, beads of sweet trickled down her face as she pushed. Her hand squeezed Nikki’s, as she closed her eyes tightly, pushing harder.

“You’ve got this, Y/N,” Dr. Kelly assured. “Keep pushing.

Y/N gave one last push before crying out, “I can’t do this!”

“Hey, hey, hey look at me,” Nikki said. Y/N turned to him, her eyes filled to the brim with tears. “Remember what I told you? You can do this. I know you can.”

She nodded and closed her eyes, pushing once again. No matter how much she wanted to give up, no matter how much pain she was in, she pushed and pushed and pushed until she heard the sweetest sound.

Their baby was crying.

Nikki kissedY/N. “I am so proud of you.”

Dr. Kelly gently cradled the baby, lifting it up. “Congrats Mom and Dad, it’s a girl.”

“Oh my god,” Y/N whimpered as tears fell down her face.

Nikki squeezed her hand, unable to fight back tears.

Dr. Kelly cut the umbilical chord and handed the baby to Y/N. Y/N cradled the her in her arms as the baby wailed and wailed.

“She’s beautiful,” Dr. Kelly marveled. “Congrats you two.”

“She really is,” Nikki agreed, his thumb stroking his daughter’s head.

When Y/N handed the baby to the nurse so the nurse could measure her, Y/N grabbed Nikki’s hand.

“We really did it,” she said.

He nodded. “I told you you could do it. Never doubted it for a second.”

An hour later, they finally had the baby and the room to themselves. Nikki laid beside Y/N in the bed as Y/N cradled their newborn daughter who was fast asleep.

“She’s perfect,” she whispered.

“She really is,” he agreed as he stroked his daughter’s head. “What are we thinking for in terms of names?”

Y/N lifted her head up. “I was thinking Odette. It was my grandmother’s name and I always thought it was such a beautiful name.”

“Odette Sixx,” Nikki said aloud, thinking about it. He smiled. “It’s perfect.”

Just then, the blonde nurse from earlier entered the room with two styrofoam cups and a styrofoam to-go box.

“One of your friends from earlier stopped by to give you this,” she said putting it on the tray beside Y/N. She then pulled out a note from her pocket and handed it to Y/N who handed it to Nikki.

Nikki opened it and read it aloud.

“ ‘Your friends stopped by for some food and told me about the baby. Figured you two would want your usual late night snack - two Cokes and some buttered white toast. Glad things worked out for you guys. Stop by sometime with the baby. Love, Dottie.’”

Y/N smiled. “Oh how sweet of her.”

“Right on time too,” Nikki said. “I’m starving.”

The nurse put the tray in front of her and Nikki. Y/N set the baby down in the hospital bassinet right beside the bed as the baby continued to sleep.

Both Y/N and Nikki began digging in to their toast.

“I forgot how good Donny’s bread was,” Nikki said taking a sip of his Coke.

“This was heaven for us back in the day,” Y/N added, her mouth filled with food. “We’d go to one of your shows and then go to Donny’s and get this. Always the perfect way to end the night.” She eyed Nikki. “And this is the perfect way to end a perfect night.”

She leaned her head on Nikki’s shoulder as he kissed the top of her head.

__________________________________________________________________

When Y/N fell asleep, Nikki held his daughter in his arms as he looked out the window. He pointed to Donny’s off in the distance.

“That’s where I met your mom,” he whispered to his baby girl. “First time I saw her I couldn’t look away...and neither could she. She’ll tell you she played it off well, but that’s not true.”

Nikki’s went up from Odette to the view of the city. “She loved me when I had nothing, loved me when no one else did. Even we had nothing, I always had her...and I always will.”

His eyes then fell to the familiar telephone pole. He swallowed hard, remembering the time he used it to call his father only to be rejected. He glanced down at Odette.

“You will always be loved,” he told her, softly choking up. “I will always love you, no matter what. When you need me the most, I’ll be there. I promise you.”

He had no idea, but Y/N had heard his declaration to his daughter and smiled to herself.

_____________________________________________________________________

*Two Years Later*

“Five minutes, Sixx!”

“Thanks,” Sixx called out to the stagehand on the other side of the door. He turned to Odette who was playing with her favorite stuffed bunny in her lap. “Time to go to your, Mom.”

Y/N held out her arms as Nikki handed Odette over to her. “You have the headphones, right?”

“I do,” Y/N sighed. She then winced, placing her hand on her pregnant stomach.

“Everything alright?” Nikki asked, placing his hand instinctively over her stomach.

“Yeah, just your son is kicking me. Why he does this every time you’re about to go on stage is beyond me.”

He chuckled. “I think he’s gonna be a musician.”

“God help us if that’s the case.”

Nikki leaned down to Odette. “Give Daddy a good luck kiss?”

Odette giggled as Nikki peppered her with tiny kisses. He then went up to Y/N and kissed her. “I’ll see you out there?”

“Right by the stage,” Y/N assured.

He gave her one last peck. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

He then walked out as Y/N put Odette on the makeup table and put the headphones on the baby.

“You ready to go?” she asked.

The baby chortled, smiling widely. Y/N picked her up and held in her arms as she headed out.

She and Odette stood by the wing of the stage. The crowd roared in applause as the lights hit on the boys and the introduction to “Shout at the Devil” began to play.

Odette reached out to her daddy, smiling. Nikki looked over and gave her a little wave.

Most babies wouldn’t be able to handle the music, but Odette Sixx was not most babies. She loved it, smiling at her dad and their friends as they played. Y/N smiled, watching her daughter have the time of her life.

She also loved how her soon-to-be son also kicked the second he heard the music play.

________________________________________________________________

*2015*

“Do you think the message within songs you wrote all those years ago still hold up today?” the female reporter asked.

Y/N nodded her head as she took a swig of her water. “I’d like to think so. I mean, there will always be a million different ways to talk about love or heartbreak or anger. The wording of it just may be different, that’s all.”

Y/N was thrilled. 30 years after her disastrous Rolling Stone Magazine interview, a reporter with the magazine wanted to do a redo. So far, the reporter was asking all the questions Y/N wished she’d been asked.

“Mom, you’ve gotta come out here!” Odette exclaimed.

Y/N sent an apologetic look to the reporter. “Give me one sec.” She then turned to her 20-year-daughter. “Are you and or your brother hurt?”

“No.”

“Is your dad hurt?”

“No but he needs you right now!”

“He’s in the middle of performing. What does he need?”

“It’s an emergency!”

“Can’t the stagehands-.”

“He needs you, Mom!”

Y/N sighed and got up from the couch. “Excuse me one second.”

“Actually you should come with us,” Odette told the reporter.

“Odette-.”

“Just come on! Hurry!”

Y/N followed her daughter through the hallway and to the backstage area. The reporter followed close behind.

“I apologize for the interruption,” Y/N said, looking over her shoulder. “Do you have kids?”

“Not at the moment.”

“They get less cuter when they get older.”

Odette whipped her head. “I beg to differ. Ryland and I are still pretty damn cute.”

“Language!” Y/N snapped. She turned to the reporter again. “Like I said, they’re less cute when they’re older.”

The reporter chuckled as Odette rolled her eyes.

The cheers of the packed crowd got louder and louder as Odette brought Y/N to the wing area.

“So tonight is a very special night,” Vince said to the crowd. “It’s our good friend, Y/N’s birthday.”

Y/N rolled her eyes as the crowd roared in applause. Vince motioned to Nikki. “Bring your wife out here, man.”

Odette pushed Y/N to Nikki, who extended a hand out for his wife. The crowd cheered loudly as Y/N got on stage. Her stomach twisted into knots, face turning red as Nikki kept one arm around her waist. She kept her eyes on him afraid to look at the crowd.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered to him.

“You’ll see,” he said, pecking her cheek.

“Let’s all sing her ‘Happy Birthday’, ok?” Vince told the crowd. “One, two, three..”

As Vince, Mick, Tommy, Nikki, and the crowd sang ‘Happy Birthday’, Odette wheeled out a large cake with ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY Y/N’ written on it.

Y/N’s face turned every shade of red as Nikki kissed her cheek. Once the crowd finished singing, Y/N kissed Nikki, hugged her daughter, and blew out the candles. The crowd cheered.

“While that was a great surprise,” Nikki said into the mic, “we do have one more surprise for you.” He turned to the crowd. “This next song was written by my lovely wife years and years ago. We told her to go get us breakfast because we had been in the studio all night and instead, she came back with this amazing song. Here to help us play it tonight, ladies and gentleman put your hands together for my son, Ryland!”

Ryland walked on the stage with his guitar, giving the crowd a wave. He gave Y/N a side hug. Y/N kissed the top of her son’s head as Nikki gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“You ready?” Vince asked.

Ryland nodded.

“One, two, three...”

The 18-year-old then began to play the opening guitar solo to “Shout at the Devil”, causing Y/N’s heart to drop to her stomach. She slapped her hand on her mouth, proud tears escaping her eyes.

The rest of the band joined as Vince handed Ryland the mic, Ryland belting out the first verse.

He's the wolf screaming lonely in the night He's the blood stain on the stage He's the tear in your eye Been tempted by his lie He's the knife in your back, he's rage He's the razor to the knife Oh, lonely is our lives My head's spinning 'round and 'round But in the seasons of wither We'll stand and deliver Be strong and laugh and

The band, the crowd, Odette, and Y/N joined in to scream “SHOUT, SHOUT, SHOUT, SHOUT AT THE DEVIL!”

Once the song was over and the crowd erupted in thunderous applause, Y/N grabbed Ryland and hugged him tightly before going over to Nikki.

“Happy Birthday, babe,” he mumbled.

She caressed his face and kissed him deeply as his hands fell to her waist.

They’d come a long way from those days on the sunset strip, but not a second went by where neither Y/N nor Nikki weren’t grateful for them. Nikki had gotten the family he’d always wanted and Y/N had gotten the life she’d dreamed of and more.

And if it were to all come crashing down, it would still be ok. Nikki and Y/N had each other and at the end of the day, that’s all that mattered.

_________________________________________________________________

From the bottom of my stupid heart, thank you for every like, reblog, comment, and message. I started this story over a year ago during a really difficult time in my life and it’s because of this story I met so many amazing people. It is because of your love and friendship that I am where I am today and I owe so much to you.

The series isn’t over yet. I will still do side shots of Y/N and Nikki so if you have requests, send them my away.

Thank you again. I love you all.

#nikki sixx x reader #douglasbooth!nikki sixx x reader #the dirt fanfiction #the dirt fanfic #the dirt imagine #motley crue fanfiction #douglas booth fanfic #douglas booth x reader #tommy lee #vince neil #mick mars #motley crue #nikki sixx imagine #nikki sixx fanfic #nikki sixx fanfiction

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superprincesspea · 3 years

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Chapter 9: Easy Rhythm

Masterlist

For her second lesson, Rollo took Edithe to a meadow far outside of Kattegat’s walls and the walk was pleasant in the sunshine. Out here it was just the two of them and, after yesterday, she preferred it that way.

Watching Rollo fighting the other Viking had served as a stark reminder of how barbaric his people were. Her father would have never allowed such senseless violence to take place in her village. While here in Kattegat, everyone was clearly prepared to fight for their lives over any dispute which wounded their pride.

Perhaps that was why her people were slaughtered and his were still standing.

She watched him, his eyes carefully scouring the treeline before he pulled his tunic over his head and threw it to the long grass. By now she was becoming all too accustomed to the sight of his bare chest and hardly batted an eyelid at it.

At least, that was what she told herself.

Carrying his weapons he moved across the field several paces before stopping and standing directly in line with her. Silently they watched each other, armies of one, holding down their line with the battle ground stretching between them.

Anticipation shivered along her spine, prickling the hairs on the back of her neck.

What was he doing? What was he waiting for?

After what felt like a long pause he held up his sword and beat it against his shield. Wood clattering with wood, a hollow sound on its own but it seemed to reverberate around the meadow and a scattering of birds fled to the trees.

Was he trying to frighten her? She held her sword a little tighter.

Then he began to chant, his heathen words and the clattering sword growing faster and louder. His rhythm was hypnotic, intensifying until his voice was thundering in her ears and her heart was pounding in her chest.

He was the stuff of Christian nightmares, a wild barbarian man. Tall and brutal, tattooed and fierce. Edithe couldn’t take her eyes off him even if she wanted to.

Suddenly he stopped and the tightness in her chest loosened. Why had she been holding her breath? She felt foolish now. What did she think he was going to do?

“Edithe,” he called, hitting his sword against the shield a single time, encouraging her to do the same.

She glanced around the empty field, her palms slick with nerves. Even with only Rollo there to watch, she felt strangely inhibited. It was immodest to draw such attention to herself. But he was Viking and had no regard for modesty.

“Edithe,” he repeated, encouraging her again.

Carefully, she tapped her sword to shield and he laughed, even from here she could see the way his eyes wrinkled with pleasure.

So she hit her shield again, louder this time.

“More,” he urged, unrelenting, until together their drumbeat pounded fiercely to the tune of his foreign song. The same words over and over, and after a while, she chanted it too.

“Up unto the overturned keel,

Clamber with a heart of steel,”

Their voices and the endless rhythm consumed the meadow, frightening away any creature who dared to approach their battle cry.

“Cold is the ocean’s spray,

And your death is on its way.”

Now her heart didn’t beat with fear but with excitement. All her life she had been encouraged to be gentle and obedient, quiet and thoughtful. Now she was shouting so loudly her voice could reach the very heavens. Perhaps it was immodest, but she revelled in the freedom of it.

“With maidens, you have had your way,

Each must die someday!”

When they stopped an eerie silence filled the meadow and laughter wanted to bubble freely from her lips. But she held onto it fiercely. The joy she found belonged to her, and she would not share it with him.

On silent steps, he broke from his line and began to circle her, a large circle at first but with every movement he drew closer. Crouching like a beast stalking its prey, while she stood stiff and unsure of how to hold her body, or her weapons.

Should she strike? Should she run?

Fast as lightning he slapped his sword against her rear and she yelped, quickly turning to face him.

How dare he? She seethed.

Anger fuelled her arm, her sword lashing forward to find reprisal. But her attack was surprised by his shield. The heavy impact jarred in her hand, forcing her grip to loosen and allowing her sword to fling uselessly across the field.

Cradling her hand she moved to retrieve it but the tip of Rollo’s sword pressed into her neck, halting her and proving just how quickly she could be bettered by him.

He laughed at her, his words teasing and playfully spoken yet they annoyed her just the same.

“Heathen,” she hissed and Rollo’s smile only grew brighter.

He retrieved her sword and reached for her hand, taking the time to carefully clasp her fingers around the hilt until she was holding it with more authority.

Then he moved behind her and when his arms snaked around her waist she jumped, trying to get away from him.

“No,” he laughed, holding her firm.

One hand controlled her arm, showing her how to ready her sword and swing it easily left to right. The other rested on her hip, steading her as his leg inched between her thighs, spreading her feet into a better stance.

“Good,” he praised, his lips so close to her ear that her heart skipped a beat.

She was now well aware of the way her body moulded to Rollo’s, his movements controlling hers, showing her how he danced in battle.

If she had been a man, would he have shown her this way? With his chin resting on her shoulder, his beard tickling her cheek? Certainly not.

He was taking liberties and she was not here to be his plaything.

This time when she pulled herself from his arms she did it with greater force and he allowed her freedom, smirking with mischief.

Despite his questionable methods, she composed herself far better than before and, when his sword clashed with hers, she held it steadfast.

Rollo praised her, his smile never ending.

“One day I will wipe that smile from your face,” she promised. But he seemed oblivious to her curses and the scowls she gave whenever their eyes met.

Why did he have to take so much pleasure in teaching her? It only dampened her own enjoyment and she’d intended on finding pleasure in learning how to wield a sword. But if he enjoyed it, then she must hate it. There could be no in between.

Frustrated, she grew tired of defending herself from his slow, deliberate movements and lunged forward to attack.

He jumped away, narrowly avoiding the edge of her weapon before rewarding her effort with another sword slap to the rear.

She shrieked, pain smarting across her skin. Now she was even more determined to land at least one blow on his stupid, smirking, arrogant, heathen head. Or anything else she could hit.

She threw her shield down and grasped her sword with both hands. But it was like chasing the wind and every swing she took only brought her more humiliation and again his sword slapped her rear. Tomorrow she would be purple with bruises and he would be the same smirking heathen as before.

“I hate you!” she seethed, lashing out and missing him again.

Rollo chuckled, throwing his weapons down, his arms spread wide. He was toying with her, inviting her to try him once more. But she was in no mood to make herself look like even more of a fool. She was sore and tired and couldn’t stand the thought of making him laugh again.

She picked up her shield and began marching back towards Kattegat with purposeful strides. But with every step, she regretted being so hasty in finishing their day's lesson. Back home, she was never such a slave to her emotions, but with Rollo, it was almost impossible to contain them.

Tomorrow she would do better. She had to if she wanted to learn anything.

Luckily the next day was far more tolerable. Thanks entirely to the fact that Rollo was stung by a wasp almost immediately after they arrived in the meadow. Edithe praised God for little mercies while the big heathen cradled his sting like a child.

This time it was her turn to laugh and tease at the red lump which swelled in the centre of his chest.

“Perhaps you should wear more clothing?” she mocked, feeling smug.

He didn’t understand her words but he sulked at her lack of sympathy and that only made her smile more. Feeling in such high spirits she hardly noticed when his brooding turned into playfulness or the way his hands lingered on her body every time he found cause to touch her.

Out in the meadow, it became surprisingly easy to forget she was in Kattegat and over the next week they settled into an easy rhythm.

Rollo took her to train in the mornings and left her with Haedde for the afternoon. In the evening he’d return home and they’d sit by the fire eating supper while he talked about a number of different things. Ragnar, fishing, the God’s.

As each day passed she understood a little more of what he said but she tried not to reply or add to the conversation.

Spending time together fighting was one thing, spending time talking in the evenings was something else. Though she could not force him to leave his own house, she wouldn’t encourage his company either, even if his anecdotes sometimes piqued her interest.

When it was time to go to bed he’d strip his clothes and she would bury her face in the mattress, her eyes squeezed shut. Each night she wondered if he would reach out to violate her, but each night was the same. She’d fall asleep and wake to an empty bed and the smell of food cooking over the fire.

Except today. Today she woke at dawn and Rollo was still sleeping, his naked body spread across the bed for all to see.

For Edithe to see.

Immediately her curiosity sought only one thing and she gasped at the sight of it, squeezing her eyes shut before intrigue compelled her to look again.

A dull throb tightened in her stomach and slowly she sat up for an even better view.

His manhood rested languidly against his thigh and, though she had no basis for comparison, she thought it seemed too large to be tolerable.

Still, despite this, sinful thoughts consumed her. She was only human, she told herself. She could not control her imagination. It was natural to look and wonder and…

Under her scrutiny, it seemed to lengthen in size and thickness. Alarmed, she turned to see if Rollo was still sleeping only to find him awake.

Watching.

His eyes burning into her.

Catching her in her hour of sin.

God save her .

She tumbled from the bed in a heap before running from the bedchamber and slamming the door shut.

Her cheeks heated to unstoppable proportions. Mortified and angry at the stupid, naked heathen she shared a bed with.

“Why must you always be naked?” she shouted through the door but she didn’t want an answer to her question. She never wanted to see him again.

#Rollo #Rollo OC #Vikings #Fanfiction #Vikings Fandom

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xbellaxcarolinax · 4 years

Text

Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 13- Wessex

Pairings: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 2877

Warnings: None I don't think.

AN: I hope I don't disappoint anyone with how this chapter starts 😅😅 Slooooow Burrrrrn.

12- Northumbria

...

Her head hurt.

It was a pounding that rattled the side of her temple that seemed intune with her heartbeat.

She couldn't sleep.

Whenever she closed her tired eyes, Bjorn's bloody knife tortured her. It was one of the many more tragedies she knew was to come.

She would be lying to say her lack of sleep that night had nothing to do with the heathen nestled within the furs beside her. Like her, he did not rest easy. He was in pain, she could hear it in the small grunts mutterred in his sleep. She was almost sure that his brows were knitted in that look he couldn't hide on particular days when he struggled with pain.

Sighing internally, she removes herself from the comfort of the furs to light a candle, bringing it up to the bed. Ivar's broad back was suddenly illuminated, his muscles expanding with every breath he took.

She watches him for a while, wondering how the Ivar in the daytime was the same one that slept fitfully beside her. He looked harmless, curled up on his side with bedridden hair. He even pouted in his sleep. It was almost enough to make her smile, but she refrained from doing so.

His legs were exposed from under the fleece, heavily covered in thick trousers. Sometimes she wondered what his legs might look like underneath all that fabric. Thin and frail, perhaps, from lack of use. For obvious reasons, she was never to be near when he bathed or dressed, his legs being a vulnerability that he didn't want her or anyone else to see.

Artemis didn't blame him.

Carefully, and with subtle movement, she crosses her legs bringing the flame to hold between her hands. She supposed she had Ivar to thank for...whatever it is he did for her. He was being uncharacteristically kind, though she knew the only reason was his newfound use of her. She had much more to offer than the average slave, and now there were certain expectations of her.

She must serve this heathen army, the people who will continue to murder others that she was connected to through Christ. But even so, Ivar treated her in the best way he could. Somehow, he came to tolerate her.

She brings a hand to the golden cross hidden in her bodice, tugging at the string that kept it round her neck. It felt so much more significant to her now than it did before. Her traitorous thoughts caused her cheeks to blaze like a bad sunburn.

Her eyes lingered over him once more before sliding from the bed and onto the moist ground. She needed to pray and ease her mind, and perhaps she would receive an answer. She begins to recite.

"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth at it is in heaven,"

Ivar's eyes snap open at the intrusive words, hand already gripping the hilt of his dagger under his pillow. He looks out over his shoulder, immediately noticing the empty bed side before rolling his body over to the other side. Pushing the furs aside, he peers down over the edge of the bed to find his thrall on her knees in a Christian prayer.

He blinked his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the candle beside her, getting a better view of her muttering lips. It took him a minute to realize her babbling was in Greek.

"Give us this day, our daily bread, and-"

"What are you going on about?" Ivar interupts, sitting up on his elbows to rub the sleep from his eyes. Artemis looks up at him as if she were caught stealing something of value. He notices the dark hues under her eyes.

"Were you praying?" He asks in exaggerated disbelief. He's never seen her do that before.

"...Yes."

"Why?"

"I could not sleep." She replies sheepishly, lowering her hands to her knees to scrape at the fabric in her nervousness.

"And so you decide to pray," Ivar replies flatly, rolling his eyes before flopping back onto the bed, "After all that I have been teaching you?" The whole journey to England was spent teaching her of his gods and their stories. Clearly a waste.

"I have been learning," She insists, bringing her hands to the edge of the bed, shyly leaning in closer to him, "But I am still a Christian." Ivar sucks his teeth in utter displeasure.

"Perhaps you are delusional," He mutters, "A delusional girl who believes in fairytales." She wastes no time in moving away from him. She wouldn't say that his beliefs sounded like fairytales, though it threatened to leak from the very tip of her tongue. She decides to occupy herself instead, standing to light the candles around the tent as a distraction and to put much needed distance between them.

"What were you praying for anyway?" He asks curiously, stretching his upper body as he watched her move about. As usual, Artemis takes a moment to respond, until finally going over to the candles at his bedside , lighting the up wicks. The flames immediately lit up her sour features.

"Wisdom." She reveals.

"Wisdom." He repeats.

"Yes." Artemis lowers herself again onto her knees, leaning against the makeshift bed. She refused to look at him, merely staring into the little flames as she often did. Ivar teasingly pokes her temple with little force, just enough to make her head sway.

"You have many things running rampant in there, hm?"

"It seems I am plagued by my own thoughts." She agrees dully.

"What worries you so?" Ivar demands, "Do I not treat you well?"

"Of course, you treat me well," She drags her her eyes to his, "And I am grateful, but I am afraid these are matters of the heart." Ivar purses his lips, his mood quickly souring.

"Matters of the heart?" He chuckles darkly, "Is it Arvid's marriage that ails you?" He then snorts unbecomingly, crossing his arms as he feels jealousy's grip around him like iron chains. She looks at him with an odd expression that he couldn't read.

"That is far from the torment that ails me."

"Then what is it?" He demands again. He watches her struggle to form her words, a hint of fear rising in her eyes at exposing herself.

"My path," She says, "My path is uncertain."

"The gods led your path right where we need you," He grunts, "You have purpose here with us."

"To support those who have forced me into slavery?" She was over stepping her boundaries again. That annoys him.

"Your purpose is to aid our army. Your purpose is to aid me," His words were forceful, "We have discussed this already, Artemis."

"Of course, Prince Ivar." She replies bitterly. She was just a tool to be used. Perhaps she should be grateful. Her use would not be in bed like so many others have been subjected to.

"Yet, you are not pleased." Ivar notes with a tired sigh, running a hand through his thick hair.

"With respect, Prince, it pleases no one to be a slave."

"Freedom is earned," He stresses, "And you have not yet earned it." Ivar notices the weak sunlight filtering into the tent, hearing the sounds of warriors waking and mingling within the camp. It was nearly sunrise. He removes the fleece blanket from over him, swinging his buckled legs to dangle off the edge of the bed.

"Help me dress. Go to Arvid and see to whatever needs to be repaired. We leave to Wessex by midday."

...

Men were childish.

Arvid was in no talking mood, still fuming over the events of the previous day. She'd try to make simple conversation but found it difficult to engage him, so after a while she left him alone with his thoughts after completing her duties.

The rest of the morning was spent preparing their departure, and by noon they marched towards Wessex.

The journey was short, and the warriors passed the time by singing some kind of folk song she didn't really understand. After a long debate, Ivar allowed her to travel alongside Helga and Tanaruz. She was happy to sit beside the older woman and the young girl on a horse drawn cart led by Floki.

Helga recounts the stories of the Valkyries, warrior women that take men fallen in battle into Odin's hall in Valhalla to dine with him. She tells them of Freyja's beautiful fields, where fallen men also reside. The story was odd when comparing it to heaven, but it was still an intriguing tale to keep them entertained. Artemis attempts many times to translate them to Tanaruz, but the young girl hardly cared, her unfocused eyes glaring at the passing dirt road.

It was quiet when the army reached their destination. There was no Saxon army that greeted them, nor a single warrior to face.

King Ecbert's settlement was completely deserted.

Walking in through the gates was too easy, and all the warriors braced themselves for a possible attack, but none came. Bjorn cautiously enters, sending a few men to scout the perimeter, but once they returned safely, it was known they were victorious in a battle they had no need to fight.

Suddenly, an old man emerged from some part of the settlement. He held his hands up in surrender, yet he appeared at peace, accepting his fate.

"It is King Ecbert!" Bjorn yells, pointing his axe as did the men surrounding him.

Artemis scans her eyes over the so called king, wondering if all western kings were this unkempt. He wore a simple shift, long and dirty, as was his gray hair and long beard. He walked towards them with a strange smile on his face. She had never seen a proper king in person, only a portrait of the Emperor once in all his glory, the complete opposite of how the English kings have presented themselves. With no need for a fight, King Ecbert was easily siezed.

The Ragnarsons all headed inside the settlement with Bjorn leading the way as the old king stumbled along with them. Many entered the hall, warrirors stomping with glee as they held torches in pursuit of destruction. The scent of smoke and burning filled the air.

"Go on with the other slaves," Ivar tells her, "A feast must be prepared." He grins, disappearing with the rest of his brothers.

She did as was told, moving to place pitchers of ale and platters of bread and meats on makeshift tables. Then she waited, digging her boots into the earth in boredom until she heard whispers among the crowd. Turning to the source of the whispers, Artemis's face pales.

Floki walked with his beloved Helga in his arms, her lifeless body hanging off him like a rag doll. Her heart began to thump uncontrollably at the sight, immediately noticing the blood that coated his hands.

He walked a distance, and she sneaks away to follow him in haste, only stopping to watch as he decided on a spot at the nearest hill. Gently, he places Helga under a tree as he began to work on digging her grave. She watches for a while, waiting for Floki to have a moment to mourn his wife.

He cries, carefully placing his wife's body into the pit that he had dug for her, and once she was made ready with the little items she had brought with her, he began to sob.

Artemis's eyes swell with tears until she couldn't hold on to them any longer, pouring down her cheeks in salty streaks. She wipes them away furiously, angry at the turn of events. Helga was with her just moments ago.

Nothing good came from coming to England, only fear and broken hearts.

She continues to wait until she deemed it appropriate to approach the mourning man. Quietly approaching the scene, she kneels beside Floki. She glances at him but he doesn't utter word, nor make any indication of acknowledging her presence. He only stares at his dead wife who looked quite comfortable in her new home. Artemis notices her skin had already changed from its healthy glow to a sickening gray, her body quick to deteriorate.

The wound was over her heart, quickly patched over by Floki in haste to stop the blood. Artemis did a sign of the cross, to which Floki says nothing, just glares down at his wife's grave with balled fists.

"I will pray for her soul," She says to him, shifting her hair to get access to the small golden drops on her ears. Helga had always admired them, and so she decides that Helga should be the one to keep them. Cautiously, she leans forward, glancing back at Floki who still did nothing but watch her movements closely with those beady eyes.

She carefully places the earrings beside each ear, bringing a hand to Helga's cold cheek, as if her warmth would bring life back into her. She sniffles, mentally reciting a prayer, before standing and dusting off her knees.

"May she rest in peace." She says, quickly wiping her eyes and turning to head back to the settlment.

"Christian." Floki calls out to her, and she stops in her tracks, meeting the eyes of the grieving man.

"It was Tanaruz," He growls out, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Artemis takes in a shaky breath.

"Where is she?"

Floki snorts, releasing a hysteric giggle that emphasized his vulnerability. He then sighs, pressing the heels of his palms onto his black lined eyes before answering.

"She took her own life with the same blade." Artemis says nothing, choosing to look up towards the fading english sun.

Tanaruz was such an ill fated Moorish child. In her melancholic ruse, she murdered the one person that had a gentle heart.

Helga was in the hands of the Lord now, or perhaps, in Freyja's lovely fields.

...

The crowd was boisterous, men and women clinking their cups of ale in joy. Artemis watches them solemnly. There was no room for celebration, not in her mind. She watches with heavy eyes at the festive scene before her.

She tried to distract herself with Prince Sigurd's lute playing, the rhythmic tune celebrating the death of a king laying in a pool of his own blood that leaked from his wrists.

The brothers had their celebratory meal, quite satisfied with themselves. Whatever they had sought out to do was successful.

Floki was not there to share in their merriment, to no surprise. The reckless man continued to mourn on his own. Arvid sat beside his wife, though his eyes searched for someone in the crowd. When he finally finds Artemis, he offers her a gentle smile, an attempt to an apology. He raises his cup to her, a symbol of friendship. She smiles back at in return, nodding her head in acknowledgment.

She watches him place an arm around his wife, and she smiles up at him lovingly. It was a lovely sight, and although Artemis felt the smallest feelings in her damaged heart for the young blacksmith, she was happy for their union. Alfhild was a good woman.

Bjorn suddenly addresses the crowd, reminding them of his fathers dream. He goes on to inform them that he would not be going to push that dream forward as his true calling was to return to the Mediterranean.

Artemis interest is peaked, watching as Bjorn gave Halfdan an embrace once it was decided that he would join in the voyage. If they were to return to the Mediterranean, would Crete be part of their plan?

The commotion happened suddenly, an argument between Ivar and Sigurd. It was nothing new of course, but she was not following their discussion to know where their harsh words stemmed from. Ivar's brow twitched in that familiar way, the angry way, and even from quite a distance Artemis could see his hand moving towards his most favored axe.

"-You are crazy. You have the mind of a child." Sigurd's spits, standing up in a show of defiance. Ivar growls, nose flaring and brows arched. The bickering continued.

Ivar didn't wish to settle down and plough land like a farmer, he wished to raid, pillage bigger cities and conquer them, but most of all, he wanted to take charge and be a leader, something Sigurd was clearly against.

Ivar was such an ambitious youth, an impulsive one too, for in mere seconds he took his axe and hurled it, lodging it in Sigurd's ribs.

A deafening silence spread over the entire settlement, all eyes watching as Sigurd dropped to his knees. Despite the pain he must have suffered, he found the energy to rip the axe out from his skin and tossing it aside before falling over. The madness that would ensue was inevitable, and the look on Ivar's face expressed it all.

It was the second death of the day, though most had not realized it. Ubbe and Hvitserk kneeled down beside their brother, immediately mourning his death.

Artemis watches in stunned silence, her hands trembling at her sides. Ivar's eyes caught her own, revealing nothing but remorse.

...

#ivar #ivar imagine #ivarfanfiction #vikings #ivar lothbrok #ivarxofc #vikings ivar #hvitserk #alex hogh andersen

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