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ichayalovesyou · 3 years

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~Act One: In Denial of Pon Farr~

Blood Moon~by Saint Sister, Madrid (Album)

“To return home, and take a wife… or die.”

Spock is feeling anxious and unusually lonely, more resentful of his complex heritage than usual. Feeling rejected, but not by Jim, he finds his thoughts wandering to T’Pring. Who he feels deep resentment toward, she hasn’t contacted once him in the two decades he’s been gone from Vulcan. He has yet to realize it is the beginnings of Pon Farr.

“I am sure, you craved me once before. When I think of all the fruit I’ve found, and how easily you left it on the ground.”

Evening On The Ground (Lilith’s Song)~by Iron & Wine, Woman King (album)

“I hoped that I would be spared this.”

Spock’s yearning and loneliness transforms into anger and frustration. He knows Pon Farr has begun, and he hates it. He has no desire to return to Vulcan, worse still, he loathes that he yearns for someone who he does not know. Worse still, she’s not the only one he’s longing for…

“We were born to fuck each other one way or another but I’ll, only lie, down by the water side at night”

I Want You (She’s So Heavy)~(Originally) by the Beatles, performed by the Cast of Across the Universe, Across the Universe (Album)

“How do Vulcans choose their mates… Haven’t you wondered?”

Spock cannot bear the tearing between Human & Vulcan halves that has come ferociously to light under the stress of Pon Farr. His duty is to that man on the bridge, but the call of Koonut Kalifee is only getting louder. He has no desire to burden Jim with horrible display of emotion. Yet desire is quickly becoming all that he can think about.

“I want you, I want you so bad, it’s driving me mad, it’s driving me mad.”

~Act Two: Blood Fever, The Nightmares of Plok’tow~

Howl~by Florence + The Machine, Lungs (Album)

“To have their logic ripped from them, as this time does to us.”

The first, foreboding rumblings of Plok’tow have begun. He dreams of a hunt, he’s chasing someone, he does not know who. Each time the blood of this faceless, slaughtered, ravaged victim is a different color, every time he turns around, green, red, green, red, green, red, green, red…

“Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins, I want to find you, tear out all your tenderness.”

The Horror of Our Love~by Ludo, You’re Awful, I Love You (Album)

“It strips away our veneer of civilization.”

The dreams are getting worse, more violent, detailed, intense. He knows his quarry-

Jim.

He tears his captain apart in a thousand visceral, grotesque ways, physically, mentally, no love, no hate, no want, just blinding hunger. And the most frightening part, he enjoys it. He begins withdrawing from Kirk, for fear of what may happen should dreams threaten to become reality.

“Carnivorous and lusting, I’ll track you down among the pines.”

Become the Beast~by Karliene, Become the Beast (Album)

“It is the Pon Farr, the time of mating.”

The last of his Blood Fever dreams occurs after Kirk confronts him about his behavior. This one is, much to Spock’s relief, not violent. The lyrics are spoken through the faces of fellow Vulcans- T’pring… childhood tormentors… Sybok… his cold and disapproving father… T’pau… Surak… himself.

The rage and hunger has cooled into ice rather than fire, for now.

“Do I terrify you? Do you feel alive? Do you feel the hunger? The desert howl inside?”

The Woods~by San Flemin, Jackrabbit (Album)

“You humans have no conception.”

When James Kirk grabbed the shiv from Spock’s hand in their confrontation, a shard of Spock’s Blood Fever came with it. Spock was spared a nightmare this final night, but not Jim. The dream even dared to be pleasant initially, alone together in the woods. Before the arena of Koonut Kalifee erupted violently around them, as did Spock. Yet, before Spock could deal the final killing blow, Kirk found himself sinking into the sparkling sands below. He startles from his slumber, feeling suffocated.

But he does not remember how, or why.

“The nights are lovely dark and deep, but I’ll appear when you’re asleep. You’ll wake up with a sudden hurt, your mouth and nose all full of dirt”

~Act Three: Kalifee, the Death of A Friend~

Take Me Down~by Brother, Pax Romana MMV (Album)

“I’ll get you to Vulcan somehow…”

All Jim knows is that Spock is getting worse, and that he needs him. Not knowing, and not daring ask whether the shiv was meant for himself or Spock haunts Kirk, as does the ghost of his forgotten dream. He does not know what will come of this wedding. Only that he will do whatever it takes to make certain Spock lives. No matter what, it’s a race against time.

“The powers that be, the powers that run you through, I’m taking a stand I know what it comes down to, God knows I do.”

Hunting Grounds (feat Joe Cotela of Ded)~by In This Moment, Mother (Album)

“He is deep in the Blood Fever, he will not speak with thee again.”

Kalifee has begun, Spock has completely lost himself to the Blood Fever, and Kirk must fight for his life. He finds himself outmatched by the environment, and by Spock’s rage. He knows two things, he has no desire to die, but he cannot, under any circumstances, kill Spock. (I imagine this duet could be as seen as Maria Brink=Kirk, Joe Cotela=Spock)

“Like a predator sink my teeth into your neck.”

Die Today~by The Txlips Band & Guitar Gabby, Queens of The New Age (Album)

“Kill Spock? That’s not what we came to Vulcan for is it?”

The Kalifee has been an intense drain, Kirk knows, deep down, that not even the “Triox Compound” could save him in this fight. He feels his life flash before his eyes, he bears no ill will toward Spock, he’s not in control of himself. He reflects on their relationship, and how much it has meant to him, and accepts, that for Spock to live, he has to die.

It was worth having known him, saving a friend isn’t the worst way to go out…

“If you die today, if we die today, at least I’d be in your arms.”

Pearl Diver~by Mitski, Lush (Album)

“You may find, that having, is not so pleasing a thing as wanting.”

Spock is absolutely distraught, he’s disgusted with himself, he loathes every single Vulcan he’s ever known, but most of all he is angry with Kirk. That he had to be the moth to his flame. How dare he want to get close to him! How dare James Kirk ever have the stupidity, the courage to love him?! The wanting had driven Jim to his death, and himself to murder. It was illogical, and he will never, forgive either of them for it. Curse having, curse wanting, and curse himself too.

“But hunter you were human don’t forget it and go safely. And I? I’ll live without you, though the struggle will be daily.”

Sweet Dreams~by JOSEPH, I’m Alone, No You’re Not (Album)

“I shall do neither, for I have killed my Captain, and my friend.”

Spock languishes in the agonizing hours between the Kalifee and confronting Bones about what must be done. He prays for a short and cruel life… and dares ponder the question, do Humans have Katras?

“I’ll return to my sleepless night, dreaming with my eyes open, watch the shadows play on the ceiling.”

[The final act is a little on the smutty side, here’s a read more just to be safe.]

~Act Four: The Need is Met~

To Be Alone~by Hozier, From Eden EP (Album)

“I shall offer no defense, their is no excuse for the crime of which I’m guilty.”

Though overjoyed and relieved that Kirk is alive, Spock continues to anguish over the reality that had Bones not intervened, he would have killed him. Jim knows better this time, he will not let Spock continue down this path. A tender and honest conversation puts salve to Spock’s fears. In any event, while the Kalifee burned away the Blood Fever, it becomes clear the needs of Pon Farr still remain. Kirk suggests, delicately, to put a new Bond in place of the old.

Spock accepts.

“You don’t know the hell you put me through, to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you, to feel your weight in arms I’d never use.”

Mermaid’s Calling #2~by the Cast of The Lure, The Lure (Album)

“The ancient drives are too strong, eventually they catch up with us.”

The thrum of Bonding needs no words, it is not just a joining of minds, but of bodies as well. They complete one another, no thoughts, no voices are required. They soon find that the physiological differences between them can be more than a little… fascinating.

“…”

The Deep~by PHILDEL, Wave Your Flags (Album)

“One touches the other, in order to feel each other’s thoughts.”

The tangible, physical world of course has it’s pains and pleasures, to be joined physically is one thing, to be joined in soul and mind alongside those sensations is a different ordeal entirely. If this, completeness, is what it means to be Bonded, Kirk now understands why Vulcans go mad over it.

“Give me a sign ‘cause it runs through my mind like your heat, caught in the web you’re so easily lead to the deep.”

The Mermaid~by Kate Rusby, Life in A Paper Boat (Album)

“In this way, our minds are locked together...”

Unbeknownst to anyone else in the universe, James Kirk & S’chn T’gai Spock are now Bonded, and neither has ever felt less alone. For once, it does not matter to Spock that he is of two worlds, here, he is home. For once, Kirk does not feel as though he is forced to live the Enterprise’s life, this time, she helped him live his. A shining, blissful moment in the vast, expansive sea of stars that they have devoted their lives to exploring.

For them, the journey itself, is home.

“In peace now, the sea it comes, and peace now, in her arms where I’ll be love, sleeping in the sea.”

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aliceslantern · 5 years

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Beyond this Existence, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 4

Summary: After Xehanort's death, Demyx finds himself unexpectedly human in Radiant Garden. With nothing but fragments of his past and a cryptic statement from Xemnas, he's left to figure out who he is. When Ienzo asks for his help with a project, the two find common ground, but the trauma and secrets in both of their pasts could tear it apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Older!Ienzo), post-KH3 canon compliant

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

They spent the rest of the afternoon preparing the space. Full of dust and dirt, Ienzo insisted it needed a good cleaning before anything else. While Demyx swept and mopped, Ienzo came back with a small cart of books, left, and came back with more.

“For how insistent you were with the cleaning, I figured you’d be helping me,” Demyx said.

“It’s more efficient if we split our labor,” Ienzo said, but there was a hint of a smirk on his face.

Dilan and Aeleus carefully maneuvered the old piano into the space. Ienzo kept bringing books; so many books.

“I hate to break away from my work once I’ve started,” he said. “I’d rather be overcautious with materials than not.”

Demyx studied the old upright. The varnish was scratched, and the whole thing was wobbly on its wheels. He bolstered the sides with a few blocks of wood. The old keys were real ivory, but worn and discolored from their years of neglect. He pressed the first key he saw and flinched at how out of tune it was. This was going to be harder than he thought.

For hours he stood over the piano back with a pair of pliers, trying to get the thing into something resembling key. The wire inside was brittle, and he had to turn millimeter by millimeter, so as to not break any of it. Demyx expected Ienzo to run off, but instead he watched; occasionally up close, his long silver hair nearly touching the wires, occasionally in a chair, with a book open in his lap.

“You must have a very good ear,” Ienzo remarked quietly. “To tell such minute differences.”

“Well, I would hope so.” His arm was starting to cramp up, but he couldn’t switch hands because the cut was too tender to take the repetitive motion strain. It had been a long while since he’d had to let a wound heal naturally. It seemed to be taking forever. “We wouldn’t have to to all this if I just had my sitar.” He twisted the last wire into place and rolled his shoulder to try and loosen the tension in his muscles. “That’s about as good as it’s going to get.”

Ienzo touched a key experimentally. “Much better.”

“Still a bit flat, but I was afraid to pull much harder, especially on the higher notes. I doubt there’s any spare piano wire hanging around. It’s not exactly a commodity.” He played a chord. “It’s bearable, at least.”

He nodded. “Shall we get to work, then?”

His expression slipped. “Now? Don’t you want to take a break first?”

“Why? There’s still so much of the day left.”

Demyx rolled his shoulders again. “My arms kinda hurt.”

Ienzo sighed. “I could do with some lunch.”

After some sandwiches, they returned back to the study room. The books were spread in uneven piles. Ienzo frowned. “I didn’t realize I left these so… disorganized.” He started picking up books and arranging them.

Demyx sat back down at the piano. The bench creaked slightly. He started with a few basic scales, trying to remember how it felt to play piano. It felt off, wrong. He longed for the smooth steel strings of his sitar.

Ienzo raised an eyebrow. “You look uncomfortable.”

“Just trying to warm up.”

Ienzo kept shifting the books back and forth. First, he organized them by color; then alphabetically (if the letters he was mumbling meant anything); then chronologically by subject. It was making Demyx anxious. He slipped in his scales. His left hand was aching and he flexed it. “Is your wound bothering you?” Ienzo asked.

“Just a bit stiff,” he said, and forced a smile. When at last the scales were coming naturally, he turned to the yellowing text. Ienzo pulled his chair close to the piano bench.

The piece was hard to sight-read. While of course Demyx knew how to read and write music well, for him it was usually an afterthought when his pieces were finished. It was always a bit harder to get into if it were on paper. He was confident he could have played this for the first time fairly well on sitar, but he found himself stumbling again and again on easy passages. And this was just the master score; this wasn’t even reading into the section delineations. His face burned with embarrassment.

He played through the first movement sloppily and then pressed his hands between his knees.

“It’s lovely,” Ienzo commented. “But--rather sad. I wonder what it means.”

Demyx had been focusing too hard on the technical bits to notice the emotion in the song. “Could just be what was on their mind when they wrote it.”

“Perhaps. We’ll know more when I translate. Keep going. I’ll try to remember the rhythm of the sung phrases.”

He did so. The second movement was even more complicated than the first, until it seemed like every second note Demyx played was a mistake. That wasn’t even counting for botched phrasing. What kind of meter was this? He checked quickly; at least the numbering wasn’t ancient. 29/16? Fucking hell. That made no sense at all.

Third movement. Ienzo was leaning forward slightly, his head bowed, listening intently. It seemed like he wanted to hear all of it; and there was a lot of this score, hundreds of pages. There was just no way. A thin film of sweat broke out across Demyx’s body. He was used to music being relatively effortless, but this was taking all of his concentration.

Fourth, then fifth. Demyx cursed whoever had written this for their inconstant use of meter and the tricky keys and accidentals. He was halfway into the sixth movement when his left hand started to ache, then hurt; and far into the eighth when Ienzo’s stupor seemed to break and he seized Demyx’s shoulder.

“Stop. Your hand,” he said.

Demyx turned his palms over. His wound had split open and was bleeding, leaving faint reddish smears all over the keys. Ienzo grabbed one of the cleaning rags and tightened it over the first soaked bandage. With another, Demyx started cleaning at the ivory, discordant notes ringing out.

“Leave it. You probably need stitches,” Ienzo said.

“It’ll get stained if I don’t,” Demyx said. There was a weird undertone to his own voice.

“That’s all right.” Ienzo stood. “I’m going to get a first aid kit. Put pressure on it. About that much.” He squeezed Demyx’s right hand to demonstrate.

He put pressure on the injury. He realized his head was positively pounding, in time with his pulse just like his hand. He was sweaty, weak; he had no idea why. And for some reason the feeling of Ienzo squeezing his hand wouldn’t go away.

Ienzo returned quickly with a small black bag. He knelt down in front of Demyx and took the offending hand. “Bleeding seems to have stopped. I suppose i must have misjudged how deeply the wound ran the other night.”

“Even did too,” Demyx said weakly.

“That’s odd,” Ienzo said. “I usually trust his judgement with these things.” He unwrapped the bandages and dabbed on more of the stinging salve. He pulled out a curved needle and what looked like thread. “I’m sorry, this will hurt. But it won’t heal correctly otherwise.”

Demyx braced himself and shut his eyes. He tried not to flinch away when the needle bit his skin, but the pain was sharp and intense.

“Steady,” Ienzo said.

Each stitch seemed more painful than the last. He bit his lip but couldn’t stop tears from running down his face. Finally Ienzo was done, and rewrapped the wound. His hand was throbbing, and he could barely move his fingers without causing more pain.

“Nine stitches,” Ienzo said. “Rather auspicious.”

“It fucking kills.”

“I can’t see how it would be… pleasant. Nonetheless, I think you should let your wound heal before we continue.” He sat down next to Demyx. “Of course, I should like to do some translation work. If it’s all the same to you, I can translate, and you can rest. For today… i think this is enough.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” he said dryly.

“I am curious, though. How many instruments can you play? I shouldn’t have assumed your mastery of piano, though you are rather skilled in that regard.”

His question caught Demyx off guard. He exhaled. “Well, I mean I don’t really know. Sitar, obviously. Stringed instruments tend to come really naturally to me. I don’t have much experience with brass or woodwind, but if I looked at it for a little while, I could probably pick it up. It just seems to make sense to me. You know?”

“Fascinating,” Ienzo said. “So you’ve no formal training?”

“Not that I can remember. I mean, some one must have taught me how to read and write music.” Thinking about it was making his headache worsen.

“What else can’t you remember?” he asked. His expression had become troubled.

Demyx whistled. “Well, I mean, a lot, really. My past is… kind of blurry.”

“That’s… peculiar.” He crossed his arms. “Did you remember your past as a Nobody? The first time you were one, anyway.”

Something hot surged inside of him, and he was nearly sick. His vision started to go gray at the edges.

“Demyx?” Ienzo asked. “Are you alright?”

He crumpled and fell forward off the bench. He was conscious just long enough to see Ienzo’s shocked expression.

“...checked his blood count. Everything is normal but the sugar and iron were low. I’m sure that explains the fainting. What you consider a trigger is no doubt a coincidence.”

The headache was gone, but his skull felt weirdly warm. Someone had put him in bed, tucked the covers around him. The weight was comforting.

“I’m not so sure. He had mentioned something about lacking memory. Why is it that when I tried to prod, he had this reaction?”

“Ienzo, you know as well as I do that Demyx has a bit of a flair for the dramatic. Perhaps he just wanted some attention. Your worry is misplaced.”

“...Even, do you have all your memories?”

“Of course I do! I think I would know if that were not the case.”

“How odd. How odd…”

“His heart is not yet complete. That may have something to do with it.”

“I’m going to take a look at my notes regardless.”

“Still, this brings up the matter of our diet. I had suspected it is somewhat lacking, too high in carbs. Perhaps we can go down to the marketplace and find something more nutritious…”

The voices trailed off. Demyx sat up. He felt a bit sick to his stomach, and his first inclination was to sink back under the covers and sleep. His eyes caught the little plant on the windowsill. Some of the petals were browning at the edges. Demyx touched the soil; it was still moist from the last time it had been watered. It get getting plenty of light. What was wrong with it?

His door creaked open. Ienzo came in, carrying a glass of water. “Oh good, you’re conscious. How are you feeling?”

“...Weird,” he said. “I don’t know why that happened.”

“You’re a tad anemic. And your blood sugar was low.” He pulled two small bottles full of pills out of his coat pocket. “Even recommended you take some supplements. And I brought some mild painkillers for your hand. No doubt it’s several weeks’ of malnutrition catching up to you. I’m sure it was hard to come by good food when you were hiding.”

Demyx took one of each of the little pills. He found he was surprisingly thirsty, which was a feeling he’d had to get used to ever since he lost his powers.

Ienzo looked towards the window. “That’s a lovely illumina plant. Where did you get that?”

“Oh. Someone at the marketplace gave it to me. Aerith, from the restoration committee.”

“Ah, yes. That makes sense. They’re a good group of people. I’ve been keeping in touch with them about Sora.” He reached over and touched one of the browning petals. “You needn’t leave this in direct sunlight, you know. They grow at night.”

“Did you study botany, too?” Demyx asked.

Ienzo suddenly looked a bit pained, but in just a second he had masked the emotion with a neutral face. “Not quite. A specialty of my parents’.” He took the plant off the windowsill and placed it on top of the dresser, out of view of the window. “Can I see your stitches? I want to make sure you’re healing properly.”

Demyx offered his hand. Ienzo unwrapped the bandages and studied the wound.

“That looks much better. I should be able to remove them in a week or so. You just need to keep it covered and clean.” He began rewrapping. Demyx had never really noticed his hands before, especially since they weren’t in gloves; the fingers were long and graceful and cool against his overheated skin. When he let go, Demyx found himself again feeling the imprint of the touch like it was still there.

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

Ienzo shook his head. “That’s quite alright. I forget that you’re still adjusting. You should use the rest of the day to get some rest.” Not that there was much left; the sky was turning pink. “I’m going to go and see what translation work I can get done while there’s still good light. Aeleus is making stew. I’m sure he’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

Demyx watched him leave, his eyes lingering on the doorframe perhaps a moment longer than was necessary. Ienzo was completely different than Zexion. If he had passed out while helping Zexion, no doubt he would have just scowled and walked away. He surely wouldn’t have checked on him, or tried to save his houseplant, or touched him at all.

Demyx couldn’t help but wonder if he were changing too; but he knew less about himself than Ienzo ever had. Was Even right? Were his lack of memories just due to an incomplete heart? More importantly, did he want to remember?

#beyond this existence #demyx #ienzo #zemyx #demyx/ienzo #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts 3 #post-kh3 canon compliant

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huffle-puppy · 5 years

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The Stars That Bind

@drew-winchester, I promised two things--that I’d write something happier, and that I’d write this scene. This is about as opposite in tone from my previous fics for you as I could get, which is a happy thing! (And I’m glad to be writing of happiness--I’ve had a rough few months with school that have blessedly finally evened out; else I’d’ve gotten this out to you sooner.) Enjoy :3

Khadgar woke up with a weight over his chest. His eyes darted open, quick and anxious that the Legion was attacking again and somehow had made it into the city--

Perry’s lips met his, soft and full.

He lay there a moment, disoriented but quickly returning to the present, before wrapping up his beloved in a tight hug, kissing her back tenderly.

The morning light strode in upon them from behind the curtains, casting a soft glow about her. She pulled back slightly, folding her hands over his heart and setting her chin on them, bright eyes and sweet smile bathing his face in radiance.

“Good morning, Sun,” she murmured, voice a quiet song against his ears.

“G’morning, Stars,” he replied, stretching and yawning and settling back, hugging her close again. “What’s… time?”

“It’s something the Bronze Dragons know a lot about, dear.” Perry giggled and kissed his chin. White stubble prickled against her lips, and she nuzzled against it, scrunching up her nose. “You’re getting to be a cactus.”

Khadgar sighed, a smile playing at his lips. “I can shave.”

Perry laughed. “I don’t mind you being my Cactus-Mage~!”

She kissed his chin again and moved back out of his arms. Khadgar sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, pausing looking her over. She was already dressed to go out, leather armor worn and heavy. Reliable, thick and not made for showing off the person beneath, but still…

“Are you staying in bed all day, my love?”

Khadgar blinked and shook his head slightly. “Hm?”

Perry smiled softly, tucking a white strand of hair behind one elven ear. “Are you staying in bed all day? You paused, looking at me.”

He blushed lightly. “Of course I paused, looking at you. Why wouldn’t I pause, love?”

She giggled, a dash of purple rushing over her pink features, but gave no reply. He smiled and hoisted himself up out of bed, cleaned himself off, and dressed to go in robes that had seen so much conflict.

“So, where to?” he asked, meeting her at the door.

Perry’s smile faded. “Darkshore. Even with-- Even with things settled, and Deathwing finally gone--”

“There’s still so much to do,” Khadgar murmured.

She nodded, face set in determination and courage. His heart moved faster, looking into her eyes, and he took a breath to steady himself, nodding back. They would do as much good as they could, today. And-- perhaps--

Well, perhaps it was time.

There was, after all, something waiting in Ashenvale he’d set up. The elves there were patient; they’d still be waiting, surely--

Khadgar summoned a portal around them, and moments later it crackled and crept away again to the ether, and they stood huddled together against the Lor’danel winds.

The shoreline bathed them in what should have been a resplendent serenity. The water broke along the edge of the town and down the sandy beach for miles, waves cresting and filling the air with sighs of power before they receded and another took their place. The trees seemed almost to hum against the wooded edge of Lor’danel, and the occasional wisp darted too and fro merrily. Animals wandered in curiously to be greeted by the tall, friendly populace, and beyond the ocean’s edge, far out into the water--just a bit too far to comfortably swim--the massive tree Teldrassil stood, looming, a pillar to the everlasting victory of nature and nurtured hope. Home of the Night Elves, Perry’s people--

His beloved, Khadgar noted, maintained her brave demeanor, yet the occasional small fidget in her fingers let him see a tired anxiety beneath. Perry was, after all, as small as he himself was, compared to the tall elves, and, though they for the most part seemed quite polite, he knew every race to have some inborn judgmental streak. He himself had worked hard to turn off those thoughts when working with Orcs, and even then some residual murmurs rumbled about.

“Anywhere specifically you had in mind, my dearest?”

He took her hand in his, warm and strong, and the fidget ceased as she glanced back at him. Her brief, sweet smile lit up his soul.

“There’s a refugee camp a few miles down the road,” Perry said. “They were hit hard after Auberdine collapsed. The elementals and cultists in the area were taken care of, but I’m sure they could use all they help they could get, right now.

Khadgar nodded, found the Saber-Keeper in the town, and chartered a ride down the shoreline to the Auberdine ruins. Perry was delighted to climb on the back of the large saber cat, and Khadgar, who had far less experience with them, tried to remain as pleasantly calm as possible. If he could deal with the Legion out in Outland, it was absolutely foolish that a giant cat would scare him!

Especially considering that Perry, being a druid, could turn into a (albeit smaller) cat with just as ferocious claws and fangs.

Although, perhaps he should be frightened. She was, after all, the last person he ever wanted to make angry…

Perry giggled as he hugged her waist tighter. “It’s just a big lovable kitty, Khadgar!” she called back against the wind rushing around them. He said nothing, smiled, and hugged her tighter still.

Soon enough, they got to the ruins of the once-great Auberdine. Khadgar looked on in sorrow at the great devastation wrought upon the town; buildings fractured and sunken into the ground; water and sand consuming the foundations; massive jutting cracks of earth spearing upwards, carving through the old town roads and homes.

Perry looked on with him, pain inexpressibly quiet in her eyes, before turning back to the saber and thanking it for taking them this far, petting its long mane and making it trot over to Khadgar and poke its fluffy head under his hand. The mage started, looking down at it quickly, then chuckled and gave it a suitable reward of scritches before it trotted back to the road and took off back to Lor’danel.

“Let’s find this camp, then,” Khadgar said. Perry moved over, taking his hand and squeezing it tight, and together they walked on past the Auberdine ruins.

The camp didn’t take too long to find; off the main path leading out from the town, by the road’s sign-post, a large area of grass had been trampled down. Upon it, tents were erected from tarps that had seen better weather and the straightest fallen branches the elves could find. Against the back edge, a caravan was parked, and from it, various clothes and medical supplies were being distributed and stored away again. A scarce number of refugees huddled together against the winds, barely fifty by Khadgar’s count; less than half of the town’s populace. However, he knew, trying to shine hope back on that bleak thought, that any in better shape would’ve already made their way up to Lor’danel.

Dentaria Silverglade, a Priestess of the Moon, pale skin accentuated by her white satin robes, looked up from one of the refugees on the ground. She stood, taller than either the human or his elven lover, but nonetheless bowed in respect.

“May I help you two?”

“That’s what we wanted to ask you,” Perry said softly. The elves of the camp watched the newcomers wearily, but Perry’s gaze stayed focused on the Priestess. The taller woman blinked, then smiled.

“Help would be appreciated,” Dentaria replied. “I fear the tasks will be menial and few; we have most of what we need. Nonetheless, we would not turn down your offer.”

Khadgar smiled. “What do you need, Priestess?”

Dentaria turned her gaze to him. One of the elven mages of the camp, recognizing Khadgar, offered him a brisk salute before continuing his work.

“Firewood to last the night and any herbs you can find--especially anything edible, though those with toxins we can use in salves and treatments.”

The couple set off into the Darkshore woods.

Khadgar, determined not to upset any of the wonderful trees--and any forest critters whose homes were in there--limited himself only to branches that had fallen. There were, blessedly, many of them, and it wasn’t long before he had to summon arcane servants to carry the back-breaking load of firewood.

Perry, meanwhile, who they determined was far more likely to recognize specific herbs from any tall blades of overgrown grass, sprinted along in the forest, pausing by the edge of a nearby river, looking along the base and roots of each tree, giving her pleasant regards to the bears and stags and cats that roamed free through the area.

An hour passed this way, and they returned to camp with what they’d amassed.

Dentaria, surprised and delighted, thanked them both for their efforts. There was, as she commented bashfully, however very little the camp could give back, including even such a meager reward as lunch. Perry laughed, shaking her head, saying sweetly that no reward was necessary. The knowledge they were safer and better off was reward enough.

The elves of the camp watched her more intently, some even smiling. Small in stature and different as she was, there was a pure heart beneath an irresistible smile.

Khadgar certainly thought so, lost once more in her presence. It was definitely time, he thought to himself.

He took her hand, thanking the Priestess and wishing the camp well, and summoned another portal. Perry stepped through it first, he followed, and they came out at the wondrous Astranaar, further down the continent in Ashenvale.

The elven town, larger than Auberdine and intact, bustled with its occupants. Night Elves went too and fro, mostly uninhibited, though the occasional Sentinel, Draenei, or Worgen wandering through broke the quiet hum of their forest lives. Around them all, the trees sighed and leaned in, protection; beyond them, a natural river carved around the island of the town.

A safe haven, beautiful, sweet.

Perry looked around, smiling brightly. “Khadgar? We’re having lunch here?”

Khadgar smiled to himself, glancing around. The tailor of the town, sitting out on his front porch and watching the world, got up and bowed to the mage, going inside his shop.

“Khadgar?”

Perry looked back to him, smile still lighting up her features. Khadgar met her gaze, thoughts racing and heart starting to pound harder, nervous. Perry blinked.

“That’s a very wistful smile to have, my darling.” Perry moved to him, taking his hands. “What’s clouding your thoughts?”

Khadgar looked around, sighing. The trees were so old and so wonderfully strong. Some of the branches overlapped; some even intertwined. Old souls spinning their way up to the heavens.

Khadgar took a deep breath, looking back to his beloved.

“Peregrïn Starfallen.”

Perry blinked again, eyes opening wider after. Her breath slowed, and her face colored purple. After all this time, hearing him say her name in such soft, rich tones still made her heart skip.

Khadgar started to say something, paused, then chuckled and looked down, hand moving into a pocket of his robes and fishing about for something.

“I-- Well. Perry. I’m not-- I know I’m not the best with speeches and eloquence--” He pulled something out of his pocket, something small, that she couldn’t see quite yet-- “--and I also know, beyond any magic I’ve learned; books I’ve memorized-- histories, anything-- that I love you. I love being near you. I love every moment I have with you. So I’m going to do something that terrifies me, irrationally, far more than any demon invasion.”

Khadgar knelt down before her, looking up with a faint smile. Perry’s breath caught, and the world around was silent, in awe, watching them. Khadgar revealed the small box he’d pulled from his robe, opening it to show a ring, a carved perfect pearl inset among the petals of a pure white starflower.

“Peregrïn Starfallen, will you grant me the privilege of being your husband?”

Perry gulped. A faint smile slowly danced along her face. She opened her mouth to speak, shut it again, and nodded, smile growing faster and faster. Khadgar let out a deep breath, relaxing, taking her hand in his, warm and gentle, so much coarser with war, and slid the cold band onto her slender finger.

She looked at it, grinning ear to ear, then threw her arms around him as he stood again, kissing him with deep, tender passion. He held her close, kissing back with as much loving energy.

How long she held that intimate contact, she didn’t know. Time was nonexistent. All that there was was him.

She did finally pull back with a giggle, blushing deep purple. “Why, d-- darling, was that so much more terrifying?”

Khadgar blushed, looking away sheepishly. “If you said no…”

Perry wrinkled her nose and covered his cheek and neck with a myriad of soft kisses, hugging him tighter.

“Do you really think, Khadgar, that I would have ever refused you? I love you with all my being. Wherever you are; whatever happens-- I will forever be yours, and you mine.”

Khadgar smiled, nuzzling her cheek.

Perry paused, still blushing. “Does this mean now we have to go mad with inviting everyone and decorations and…?”

She trailed off, wincing. Khadgar chuckled, nodding over to the tailor’s hut.

Perry glanced over. The tailor smiled and waved, beckoning her to come in. She blinked up at Khadgar.

“You didn’t… did you?”

He chuckled. “I thought it’d be easier than trying to create a big fuss for weeks on end and rescheduling everyone’s lives…”

She blushed and moved over curiously to the tailor’s shop, disappearing inside. Khadgar gulped, moving over to the row of houses against one side of the town. The Night Elves beamed, appraising him, and the tailor’s wife handed him a bundle, bowing deeply. Khadgar took it, bowing back, saying in his best elven that he was extremely grateful to her and her husband before moving off to change.

The sun, just starting to dip down in the sky, cast a golden glow through the leaves, sending shadows and beautiful patterns of nature scattered along the ground. Secluded in a small grove at the edge of Astranaar, a Moonwell of glowing, pure waters cast an ethereal light. The townsfolk were seated pleasantly or standing by the ring of trees, leaving room down the middle aisle. In the pure waters, another Priestess of Elune stood, covered in light robes and a thick, deep hood, so that the Goddess herself could see through her.

Khadgar stood at the Moonwell’s edge at her command, dressed in an elven suit of fine white silks. He breathed as evenly as he could, yet nothing could prepare him as the crowd let out a murmur of reverence. He turned.

Perry stood at the end of the aisle. The tailor had outdone himself: her wedding gown rolled smoothly along her top half, outlining her with dignity and regality fit for an angel itself. It was cut deep along her front and back, and along her shoulders and the border of the cut, white rose petals had been sewn in, adorning her with the delicate beauty of the finest craftsmanship nature had. The sleeves ended at the elbow loosely, and white lace, dazzled with jewels tenderly shaped in floral arcs, wound its way up to her wrist and along the back of her hands.

Seamlessly, the tight fabric billowed out along her hips and below, giving such slender folds as the robes the maidens of the stars might wear. Against her hip was fashioned a five-pointed flower of huge white petals, and along her ears the glitter of small chains connecting piercings hung down.

Perry met his gaze with a soft smile, vulnerable but without any shyness. She was his to behold.

And behold he did. That such a sight of magnificence and beauty could ever appear before him, much less be wed to him--

“Light above,” he managed to mumble.

Perry made her way down the aisle to him, slow, steady strides. The dress billowed around her feet but never once threatened to get caught under them. The crowd murmured in awe as she passed them by, shining brighter than any star above, bathed in the soft glow of the sunlight and the glistening purity of the Moonwell.

She came to her beloved’s side and stood still, facing him, a blush spreading slowly along her features as she looked over his visage. He was a statue come to life; so perfectly, achingly handsome, white hair and drawn face; strong and tall, sleek and powerfully magnetic in his suit, drawing her in without any attempt. Elven patterns wound around his chest, and she resisted hard the urge to brush her fingers along every one of them.

The Priestess took a deep breath, reaching her hands up to the heavens. The lovers looked to her as the Moonwell shined brighter. She brought her arms down, slow, slow…

Her voice rang out, deep and high, charged with power:

“I am the Queen of the Starry Vaults, the residing Mistress of Heaven, the Moon in all her phases and majesty. I preside now over the union of two mortals, their paths irreversibly entwined; their souls, in my will, to bind together for all the eons left that Time shall spin its webs. Lest this be done with error, I offer first the chance to any and all who can think of a reason why these two may not wed. Speak, if you have words with which to speak.”

The elves of Astranaar and all of nature beyond stayed silent.

The Priestess of Elune bowed, then held out her hands.

“Join hands and step into my waters.”

Khadgar glanced at Perry. She glanced back. They smiled faintly, and with interlaced fingers stepped up the steps to the Moonwell and into the pure waters. Despite the liquid, though, neither their legs nor their garments seemed to get the slightest bit wet.

“Face each other.”

They did, and it took all their will not to embrace, their beaming faces full with such sweet intimacy.

“Take both hands.”

They did, interlacing their fingers; no balance of power between them save equality in love.

The Priestess produced from her robes two golden cords, tying them one at a time around either set of hands. Neither Perry or Khadgar even felt the fabric, too busy looking into each other’s eyes. The Priestess receded again to her place.

“Speak the vows of the Soul, and give your ties meaning.”

“Khadgar. To you, I give the years of my life. To you, I give the air and the fire, and all my power with which you may do as you will. I give you my unending devotion, my loyalty, and all the hours and chambers of my heart. Within you, I give a piece of my soul, to nourish and cherish and grow, to be your calm in any storm of life, to be your shield and defense, to be your sword and guardian. I give to you all I have, all I shall ever be, and all that I am. Until Time’s wheel cracks and the echoes of Eternity fall silent again in the realm of the Divine, I pledge my soul as yours.”

Perry spoke softly, murmuring without even knowing the words. They flowed neat and beautiful from her mouth, and with each syllable the golden cords along their arms glowed brighter.

“Peregrïn. To you, I give the years of my life. To you, I give the water and the earth, and all my power with which you may do as you will. I give you my unending service, my faithfulness, and all the hours and chambers of my heart. Within you, I give a piece of my soul, to nourish and cherish and grow, to be strength in any time of hardship, to be your shield and defense, to be your sword and guardian. I give to you all I have, all I shall ever be, and all that I am. Until the Stars crumble from the sky and the Divine Beings of Elune and Eonar fall once again to the next cycle of Creation, I pledge my soul as yours.”

Khadgar’s words came out smooth and entranced. The golden cords burned bright as the sun along their arms.

“Kiss,” Elune murmured, “and be One.”

The lovers kissed, and everything melted away. The cheer of the Night Elves around them, the electricity sparkling through the air, the wisps watching on, the trees, the earth, the sky: nothing was there. They stood together, pressed together, lips caressing, a zenith of all they could be. They felt each other, knew each other, and beyond the plane of mortality, their souls entwined and held fast, pieces of a grand cosmic puzzle that had found each other after so very long.

The Priestess gently undid the cord, and the kiss broke. Perry and Khadgar looked at each other, breathing hard in a daze, the static of their connection no less heightened than it was, no less than it ever would be now. The Night Elves were clapping in a steady rhythm, and they looked together to the end of the aisle where a broom had been placed along the ground.

Jump over it together, enter the new life.

They grinned to each other, rushing forward, the world passing by in a smooth shifting set of colors, and in one motion, they were over the broom and out of the glade, off into the world.

Rain started to fall from new clouds above. Perry glanced up and laughed. Khadgar grinned, still watching her gorgeousness, still squeezing her hand tight. He summoned another portal, taking them to an inn by the quieter end of Ashenvale, near the border of Darkshore overlooking the ocean. Without breaking stride, he went in with her, lifted her up into his arms, and carried her to the room the innkeeper had set aside for him--the best one there was to offer.

There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her; nothing she wouldn’t do for him. Without a second thought, they were bound for this and every lifetime. Husband and Wife. Khadgar and Peregrïn.

#World of Warcraft #peregrïn #Khadgar #khadgrin #elune #marriage #wedding #drew winchester #hopefully good tears this time

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golden-pickaxe · 6 years

Text

Odal - Part 9

Fandom: Vikings

Paring: Ivar x Reader

Type: Viking Times

Word Count: 1564

Warnings: none

[All Parts Here]

A/N: Short but yea, important in the story! Enjoy! Sorry for any mistakes, I cut my finger while making jam and typing on a computer is hard rn

[Playlist] - Especially this song for this chapter: Brun- Garmarna

Summary: When you were just a child, you had been adopted by two shieldmaidens, as one of six sisters. Now, all grown up, the lot of you join king Harald to avenge the death of Ragnar in England. A journey, that is going to change the life you’ve known before.

Tags: @lightningwitcher @lovelynerdytraveler @everlasting9 @cbouvier23 @hallowed-heathen @twilight-loveer

Despite Bjorn’s apparent dissatisfaction with the outcome of the battle, he could not prevent his men from having a great feast that night. The temperatures had dropped significantly, after it had rained once more, which did not dampen the euphoric mood of the army in the slightest.

You had just left the healer’s tent, where you had taken a nice, warm bath, and where the wound on your left upper arm had been cleaned, salved and wrapped up tightly in fresh cloth. You hoped that it was enough to keep it from getting infected.

The pain was obviously still there, although numbed, and you planned to numb it even more with a few nice cups of ale, or some of the wine the army had collected while raiding a farm on your way down from Northumbria.

You had to admit, you were not too fond on the English wine, but with the mood you were in, you were not all too picky where the intoxication you were after came from.

The sun had barely set in the west, the sky still tinted in all kinds of colours, reflected by the many low hanging clouds above England. You were sure, it would probably rain again before the night was over, but by now you were almost used to the constant wet weather of the country. It made the grass green though, and the ground fertile, and Hallgrim had mentioned more than a few times how good this land would be for farming.

Your tired eyes searched over the mass of celebrating warriors in front of you, hoping to find a familiar face among them. Your sisters had joined the celebration shortly after dropping you off by the healers, only Asta making sure that the wound of her favourite one was not life threatening.

Hrafna had departed from you even sooner, wanting to get herself clean, before meeting up with Halfdan once more.

A cool breeze picked up, and blew though the campsite, sending goose bumps over your exposed arms. To not irritate the wound, or accidently pull off the bandage around your arm, you wore a sleeveless, linen tunic on your upper body, which of course was not the most warming piece of clothing you could think of.

“I’m glad to see that your wound is not half as bad as it had looked on the battlefield, bleeding all over the place.” You suddenly heard a voice, a familiar voice behind you, causing you to quickly turn around.

There, sitting on a short bench right next to the opening of the healer’s tent, was no one else than Ivar the Boneless, slightly bent forwards, so he could rest his arms on his useless legs. You had to swallow.

He seemed to have also cleaned up from battle, his short hair still a bit wet and swept to the back. He wore simple clothes, his legs bound together with thick belts, and a luxurious fur was around his broad shoulders to keep him warm.

“It’s just a scratch.” You answered, shrugging, but flinching shortly thereafter, as the movement was not the smartest considering the location of your wound. You cursed under your breath, your right hand immediately moving upwards to cover your bandage.

“I can see that.” Ivar’s soft voice was amused, as he tilted his handsome head at you. He seemed to muster you for a few seconds, before he leaned back a bit, gesturing towards the free seat on the short bench, right next to him, implying for you to sit down.

You had heard a lot of stories about the young prince since you had arrived in Kattegat, and during your time raiding England, and you had to admit, you hesitated for a moment. After what you had heard, and after all your previous encounters with him, after the dream, you were not sure if following this invitation to sit with him was the smartest idea. On the other hand, though, it was equally stupid to just ignore or refuse a request from a prince like that.

Making up your mind you finally walked over to him, spotting two ale filled horn cups standing next to him on the wooden bench, before you sat down. Ivar watched you like a hawk the whole time, and with a light smile, picked up one of the cups and taking a sip, his far too blue eyes never leaving yours.

For some reason it was impossible for you to supress the smirk that formed on your lips, as you picked up the other cup, drinking from the bitter sweet liquid in it. You sighed at the taste, only noticing now how thirsty you actually were. It felt odd, you had to admit, sitting here so casually with the prince, and you were not quite sure what to think.

“And why do I deserve such special treatment, as for prince Ivar of Kattegat, son of Ragnar, to bring me, an unimportant shieldmaiden from king Harald’s army, and from low background, a drink of celebration?” you asked, returning his gaze curiously.

Ivar seemed to be taken aback for a moment, as he seemed to not have expected you to ask him so directly, as he simply pursed his plump lips in an amused fashion, averting his eyes and looking over the dimly lit campsite.

In the distance you heard the music picking up, flutes and lyras joining in the drums and other instruments that your people had brought with you, as suddenly Yeva’s beautiful voice echoed over the noise of the celebration. She sang one of the many wonderful songs that she had learned from various skalds visiting Vestfold, her slight accent almost unnoticeable among the familiar lines.

Now that the sun had completely set, the air around you was colder, the temperatures dropping even more with the coming night. Your breath formed small clouds in front of your face, but despite the thin, linen tunic you did not feel cold.

For once, your woollen trousers and leg wraps certainly did great in keeping you warm, but in general, you were used to far lower temperatures, even in summer. Only the moisture in the air, you could do without.

“I want you to fight by my side, walk with my chariot, when we attack king Ecbert.” Ivar finally spoke up again, his blue eyes returning to you, his gaze unwavering.

Now it was you who was taken aback, as you had not expected his words, frowning slightly.

“I am with my sisters.” You answered without thinking, unsure if you should regret speaking so quickly.

“Well, now you are with me.” Ivar tilted his head once again, his tone of voice making it sounds as if his words were not up for debate.

You swallowed, not sure what to say. From everything you had expected from him after you had sat down next to him, this had not been among it.

“Why?” you had to ask.

You had talked twice to this man, if you counted your drunken encounter in Kattegat, and had, other than that, only shared a few glances across training grounds or battlefields. Also, you were no one, you were a karl, a farmer, a simple shieldmaiden in another king’s army. Why you?

Ivar frowned for a moment, but then smirked.

“I don’t know, you are special.” He looked away again, his usually so confident demeaner suddenly faltering. From one moment to the other he seemed like nothing more but a shy boy. “You fight with no fear. You fight very well, better than most of my men.”

“I almost died today, though.” You said, tilting your head and causing him to look at you once more, his blue eyes briefly wandering over to your bandaged arm. He seemed confused.

“But your wound is not that deep.” Ivar frowned. You were, frankly, not quite sure how he knew that, unless he had spoken to one of the healers who had treated you himself, which was a thing you could not really imagine.

“Not because of the wound.” You started, searching his eyes for a reaction to your words, although you were unsure what exactly you were looking for. “An English man brought me down, and almost killed me.”

“How did you survive unharmed?” Ivar asked, confusion now written all over his pretty face. You had never seen king Ragnar or queen Aslaug in your life, but you were sure that they must have been beautiful to produce such a good looking son.

“Your brother saved me.” You said.

“Which one?” Ivar seemed anxious, but otherwise unreadable.

“Prince Hvitserk.” You were not sure what difference it made which one of his brothers had saved you, or why you even told him that. You guessed you simply had to talk about it, as despite your numerous fought battles, and the many wounds you had received during them, you had never come so close to die.

Ivar relaxed hearing your words, nodding with a light smile appearing on his face.

“Good. Good.” He murmured. Then, his eyes were fixated on yours once more, the expression in them so intense that you could not turn away. “To our victory.” He then said, raising his cup with a smirk.

“And to many more feasts for the ravens.” You answered, causing him to smile broadly, before draining your entire cup of ale.

#ivar the boneless #ivars heathen army #ivar imagine #vikings imagine #odal

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