Started this back in the summer, left it at like 600 words and never got back to it until now. I’m so glad I did in the end though, I need soft fluff in my life even if I’m the one writing it.
Setting: Not quite Disney
Word count: 1455 words
The sun was long gone below the horizon and its last rays had faded, giving away to the stars that appeared in the darkening sky one by one. The night had set and so the activity in the royal castle had ceased. Not completely, as there were servants still up and working and guards on duty alert as ever, but for most the darkness brought peace. The corridors had gone silent and dark aside from the moonlight pouring in through large windows, and the usual buzz of conversation in the halls was replaced with silence.
Eliot buried his cheek into his largest pillow contently. Sleep didn’t come uninvited to him and so his eyelids grew heavy quickly. He couldn’t help the passing thought about how nice it would be to sleep with Trystan by his side, but he mentally scolded himself for it.
He pulled the sheets up to his shoulders and was about to freely give in to his drowsiness when he could faintly hear his door opening. His body tensed, then he sat up as fast as he could, eyes staring into the darkness, desperate to see through it. Who could be sneaking into his room after nightfall?
The door slid shut, as quiet as it had opened, and at the same time Eliot could hear a whisper. “Shh, it’s just me.”
The next second the bed dipped and before Eliot’s straining eyes could see much, he could feel a familiar, calloused hand wrapping around his own. He could hear the voice much closer now, whispering again, “It’s just me.”
Eliot let out the breath he didn’t even know he had been holding. The panic slowly eased from his body knowing he wasn’t going to get hurt. His late night visitor was Trystan and he was so relieved at that he almost forgot to ask what he was doing there. Almost.
He could feel a thumb rubbing circles into the back of his hand and even when he was blinded by the darkness he knew Trystan was watching him intently. Part of him just wanted to lie back down and hope that Trystan would stay, but his curiosity and the oddity of the situation made him act otherwise.
“What on Earth are you doing here?”, Eliot all but hissed, keeping his voice low even though he wasn’t sure why.
“I thought you were still awake.” Trystan kept quiet as well.
“I am. But you didn’t answer my question.”
“I wanna show you something.” the excitement was evident in Trystan’s voice and Eliot wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
“Now?” he waited for a bit, but got no response – which meant yes. “Trys, it’s the middle of the night! We’re supposed to be sleeping, not, I don’t know…”
“I know, but I can only show you now!”
Eliot shook his head and bit his lower lip, both gestures covered by the darkness. Or maybe not. You could never know with Trystan.
“Please?” Trystan breathed. His voice was much closer now and that startled Eliot, who flinched away and fell onto his side. He grumbled a few curses as he pushed himself up again.
Trystan was trying to hide his giggling, but Eliot still heard him well. “What’s so important anyway that you can only show me right now?” he shot back. He didn’t mean to sound so hostile.
Trystan opened his mouth to answer, but then changed his mind and jumped off the bed instead, leaving Eliot to wonder how he still had so much energy so late into the day. He trotted over to the window and he could feel Eliot’s stare on his back. His silhouette was faintly visible against the light that seeped through the thick curtains.
“Come here!” Trystan whispered, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. Eliot huffed a tiny sigh, but got up and made his way over to the other without complaining. As soon as he was there, Trystan pulled one of the curtains aside. “Look!”
Eliot didn’t need to be told twice. With a light smile on his face, he stared up at the night sky, dotted with more stars than he could ever imagine existed. Then, for just a second, he tore his gaze away from the beautiful sight to glimpse at Trystan, who didn’t even notice, just kept his eyes locked on the sky, with a small smile grazing his lips – he looked peaceful.
Eliot directed his gaze back to the stars and leaned into Trystan’s side, resting his head against his shoulder and his arm around his waist. Trystan responded by wrapping an arm around him too and the two of them stayed like that for a while, in complete silence only broken by their breathing.
Then, after minutes neither of them had bothered to count, Eliot spoke again, voice hushed.
“So you wanted to go stargazing with me, huh?” he turned his head to grin up at Trystan (because this once he was the one doing the grinning). “That’s cheesy.”
Trystan shrugged. “Maybe. Kind of.”
“Not just maybe,” chuckled Eliot, then turned his attention back to the night sky.
Trystan only smiled at him and pressed a kiss into his hair. He just had so much love for this boy and for the moment it seemed to be getting in the way of his usual clever responses.
“There is no way in Hell though that I’m going outside with you right now,” Eliot stated, eyes still focused outside the window.
Trystan let out an offended whine. “Why though?”
Eliot stared up at him in a way that Trystan wasn’t sure was mocking or accusing. “Because it’s cold outside.”
Alright, it wasn’t the middle of summer or anything (no, it was almost a month into autumn), but Trystan didn’t really find it a problem. “Okay, but…” he trailed off because Eliot was looking at him actually expecting a proper answer and he couldn’t just say “we could always cuddle for warmth”. That would sound stupid, even to his own boyfriend.
Eliot chuckled. “I’m tired anyway, I don’t think I could stay up long enough to enjoy it properly. But the stars will always be there, I promise we can go stargazing some other time.”
He shot Trystan an apologetic smile, and got a soft kiss on his forehead in response.
“It’s fine,” Trystan whispered. He looked at the stars one more time with a gentle smile that was more for Eliot than for them, before pulling the curtains shut. “You wanna go to sleep now, I suppose?”
Eliot only nodded and was about to start making his way back to his inviting and comfortable bed when he stopped himself. Instead he took ahold of Trystan’s hand and glanced up at him nervously. “Will you stay?”
“If you’d be okay with that.”
Eliot’s body relaxed and he gave him a full, grateful smile. “Yeah.”
Sure they’ve cuddled before, plenty of times (Trystan was an absolute cuddle bug and it’s not like Eliot was complaining), but they’ve never slept in the same bed before. Eliot was quite self-conscious about things like that and he was really grateful Trystan was letting him take everything as slowly as he wanted to.
They got settled on the bed with no more words exchanged, but with soft touches and even softer smiles. When Eliot finally lay down to pull the sheets around the two of them though, he spoke.
“But if it turns out you snore loudly or hog all the blankets, I’m kicking you out.”
Trystan laughed so sudden and loud at that that Eliot wasn’t sure whether he should worry about them getting caught (as if they were doing anything bad) or about Trystan accidentally rolling off the bed. Neither happened.
“Shut up,” Eliot threw a blanket over the other’s head, trying to sound serious while barely keeping himself from bursting out laughing as well. “Go to sleep.”
Trystan’s head appeared from under the blanket and Eliot could just make out his grin in the dark. “Shush, you started it.”
“That’s irrelevant,” Eliot pulled the covers tighter around his shoulders. He really was sleepy. “Seriously though.”
“Fine, fine,” Trystan reduced his giggles to chuckling, shaking his head with a fond smile on his features. He captured Eliot’s lips in a quick kiss. “Goodnight.”
Eliot buried his cheek into his pillow happily. “Goodnight.”
And when they next morning Eliot woke up with Trystan’s face buried into his chest (he was too tired to wonder how he was even breathing like that), feeling warm and safe and loved all at the same time, he decided that he never wanted to sleep without Trystan again – and also that it was definitely going to be a lazy morning.
Happy bread and firework day guys here have some gayness
I have many more ideas to write, but considering that allergy had just hit me with unexpected force and made my mind sluggish, I'm not sure how productive I can be
Setting: Not quite Disney (that's what I'm gonna call these bc gay princes and shit yay I’m clever more like lame)
Word count: 2823 words
Prince Eliot was having a very pleasant morning.
Seriously, he was. He had eaten toast and an apple for breakfast (pretty simple for a prince, but admittedly not everything good has to be fancy) and now he was sitting on his bed, reading. He occasionally sipped tea from the mug in his hand, because honestly there was no time that wasn't perfect for drinking tea. Around him on the sheets of the unnecessarily wide mattress another five or six books were scattered. He was an indecisive person, okay? Plus the palace's library had a lot of good books. Eliot could never say no to good books.
Suddenly he heard a knock on the door.
“Yeah?” he asked, not even looking up from his novel. The next moment he realised that if his visitor was of a high rank, his leisure behaviour might not be welcome. But then again, if some important and formal person was to see him, he would have been notified, if not in advance then by a servant announcing the arrival outside his door. Even if he was only staying as a guest at the foreign kingdom's royal palace, his heritage was still always respected. Not like doing prince-y things was very high on his list of hobbies.
“Wow, such a regal sight to greet a visitor,” came the words from the doorway and it was obvious that the one talking was trying not to laugh.
Eliot's head shot up as he turned towards the door and grinned. “Oh, shut up.”
The other did, but only until he jumped on the bed and Eliot had to be careful not to spill his tea from the sudden commotion. The visitor was a lean young man about Eliot's age, with warm hazel eyes and brown hair so messy it seemed to be defying gravity here and there. He was the resident prince, Trystan, also known as Eliot's boyfriend. Yeah, long story short, Trystan's dad's plan of holding a ball for his son to find a bride hadn't quite gone as the king had originally planned.
“What are you reading?” Trystan rested his chin on the other's shoulder and took the mug from his hands while staring at the open pages.
“A book,” smirked Eliot. He didn't make any attempts to get his tea back.
Trystan took a gulp from the tea before responding. “Haha, very funny.” Then he grimaced, swallowed with some difficulty and stared accusingly at the mug in his hand. “How can you drink this stuff?”
“What do you mean? It's herbal tea.”
“Exactly.” he stuck his tongue out, then shook his head like he was trying to shake water off his hair. “It tastes horrid.”
“Well, I like it.” Eliot took his mug back. “Not everything has to have way too much sugar in it.”
“Lies.”
“Seriously?” he laughed, which made his shoulders quiver and Trystan pull away from him slightly. “Is nothing ever sweet enough for you?”
Trystan grinned. “Nothing except you.”
Eliot laughed again and shook his head fondly. Then he leaned in and kissed his boyfriend. He tasted like herbal tea.
When they pulled apart, Eliot knew he was blushing. Like always. Damn it. Before Trystan could tease him about it, he quickly changed the subject.
“So, what are you doing here?”
“Can't I just come and see my boyfriend?”
“You could, but it's you we're talking about.” Eliot said and closed his book around his index finger.
Trystan grinned and Eliot once again wondered how he could have possibly caught such a handsome guy's attention. Anyway.
“I just wanna go for a walk.” Trystan tried to act innocent. Wrong call, he was never good at that and Eliot knew it.
“Okay. And what's the catch?”
Trystan visibly looked disappointed, but it went away in the matter of a second. All the while, he had a playful, cheeky glint in his eyes that Eliot had gotten to know well during the past week or so. He had also learned that it usually didn't mean much good for him.
“No, Trystan. Nope. No no no.” Eliot shook his head, trying his best to look stern. It was pretty hard to do against that damn cute grin though. “I am not going to the stables.”
Eliot didn't like horses, not even from solid ground, but especially when he was forced to sit on one. He has had a way too embarrassing experience with a stallion called Lancelot on his first day (night, whatever) of knowing Trystan and he wasn't keen on reliving it. Trystan claimed he was very cute being absolutely terrified by good ol' Lance, but Eliot obviously had a different opinion. Being a prince who doesn't like or do horse riding is one thing, being one who had gotten ridiculously scared by a horse in a handsome young man's presence who was now his significant other was an entirely different one.
“Yes, you are. Come on.” Trystan laughed.
“No!”
“You don't have to ride any of them.” promised Trystan, still grinning, but the light in his eyes was a lot softer. “I just want you to be okay with them.”
“More like you wanna laugh at me when they...scare me again.” he was originally going to say “try to eat me” but decided that it might sound a bit dumb. He didn't use to be scared of horses, he just never particularly liked them or the idea of riding on them. But after his embarrassing incident with Lance, he had multiple reasons to want to stay away from them.
“I promise I don't.” Trystan's grin transformed into a sincere smile. Eliot was going to note how winning an argument by being cute was cheating, but the other took his second of hesitation as agreement. So he bounced off the bed and held his hand out to Eliot. “Shall we go then?”
“I am never going to forgive you for this.” Eliot grumbled, but slid off his bed as well, avoiding the hand reaching for him. He downed the rest of his cold tea in one swig and placed it on top of the drawer closest to him. “Fine, let's go.”
Trystan grinned so happily (yes, most of the time he was grinning) that it made it almost worth it for Eliot to leave his books for some stupid horses. Almost.
All the way to the stables, Eliot was grumbling about how he hates Trystan. Trystan just kept laughing at him and kissing his cheek to shut him up for a second while he was too busy blushing.
There weren't many people around the stables, only two riders practising in a field farther off. Eliot was glad for that. The smaller audience for his embarrassing adventure, the better.
As soon as they stepped into the stable itself, Trystan disappeared off to the left. Eliot stood still, looking around. It's not like he's never been to a stable before. He knew what they looked like, mostly how they worked, and their not necessarily unpleasant smell too. He was busy standing in one place awkwardly when he noticed a small figure stalking across the corridor in the middle.
He finally smiled. A cat. He could do with a cat. Definitely.
Trystan's head appeared from the doorway he had disappeared through. “Hey, El-” his words drowned out when he saw his boyfriend crouching a few feet away, petting a tabby cat.
“Yes?” he looked up, while the cat rubbed happily against his legs.
“I'm gonna get some carrots we could feed to the horses so that they'll like you better.” with that, he disappeared back into the supply room.
A couple seconds later Eliot arrived in the doorway with the tabby in his arms. “It's not the problem of them not liking me, it's me not liking them.”
Trystan laughed, breaking another carrot in half and throwing it into the bag on the table next to him. “Fine, I'll do the feeding then. Not like they would want to bite your arm off. They're strictly vegetarian, you know.”
“I wouldn't take their word for it.” Eliot grimaced, then went back to paying attention to the cat he was holding. He only looked back up when he felt a hand on his upper arm and a kiss on his cheek.
Trystan chuckled and guided him out of the supply room, the bag of carrot-pieces dangling in his hand that wasn't resting against the small of Eliot's back.
“You know what?” Trystan smiled as they made their way to the stalls. Eliot shot him a suspicious glance. “You gotta feed at least one of them.”
Eliot stopped dead in his tracks and stared up at Trystan with a look of betrayal in his eyes.
“Oh, come on. Only one of them.”
They held each other's gaze for a moment – Eliot's defiant, Trystan's amused. Then Eliot sighed.
“Fine. But not Lancelot.”
“Alright, not Lance.” Trystan chuckled and continued walking towards the horses. He loved the stables, he spent so much time in this place, he had been since he was little. Not only riding, but also helping the servants clean and take care of the horses or sitting in the hay, reading a book with the soothing background noise of the horses munching on their food and huffing every now and then. It had become all but a second home to him after his mother's passing when he was barely ten. He mentally shook himself and quickly pushed that last thought away.
He looked back at Eliot following him at a slower pace. The cat was still in his arms, probably purring, while he was cautiously sizing up the horses. Some didn't pay him much attention, others leaned closer to try and sniff him. Those he carefully got around in a wider arc.
Trystan smiled at him, though Eliot didn't turn towards him to notice that or return it. He looked so different from the regal young man in his elegant white suit he had appeared as when Trystan had first met him. Now he was wearing no crown and instead of a suit, he was dressed in plain and comfortable clothing. His hair was still in a ponytail and the loose strands, too short or too stubborn to be tied back, curled freely around his face. He had told Trystan that he was considering cutting his hair short though, saying that it had never been his idea to grow it out this long but his sister's and that long hair was exactly her style and not his.
Trystan finally tore his gaze from his boyfriend's form. He didn't want to get caught staring.
He stepped to one of the stalls, gently stroking the velvet nose of the old black mare that came to greet him. “Hey, Flower.” Flower was one of the oldest horses in the stable – as far as Trystan could remember, she had always been there.
A large head appeared over the door of the neighbouring stall. Trystan smiled and patted the bay stallion's nose. “Hello to you too, Lance.”
“Yeah. Hi.” Eliot added warily. He had arrived by Trystan's side while he wasn't paying attention and now he was eyeing Lance from a distance.
“He didn't mean to scare you, you know.” Trystan noted as he fished out a carrot for Flower. He held it on his outstretched palm and he could feel Eliot's gaze on him as the horse took the treat gently. Then he gave one to Lance as well.
Eliot took a careful step closer. “How are you not scared that they'll bite your fingers off?”
“Simple. Because they won't.”
Of course Eliot didn't believe him.
“Come on, Flower's a nice old lady, you can trust her not to hurt you.” he patted the horse's neck. “I'll swear on anything you want.”
Eliot eyed Flower for a bit before looking at Trystan again. “I don't think getting to smack you upside the head will help me much once my fingers are gone.”
Trystan blurted out laughing at that, but Eliot still stared at him defiantly.
“Okay, listen.” he had to make an effort to keep himself from laughing. “They go for the treat, not your fingers. And if you stretch out your palm, they have nothing to accidentally bite into that's you. And their lips are really soft.”
“I don't want horse spit on my hand.”
“Now you're just making excuses.” Trystan shook his head. “Plus they don't lick you, they just take the carrot.”
Eliot hesitated for a moment or two. Then he sighed, shoulders slumping and Trystan knew he had won. Eliot gently placed the cat he had been holding all this time down to the cobblestone floor and scratched behind its ear. Once he pulled his hand back, the cat turned and trotted away down the row of stalls. Eliot stared at Trystan as if saying “see, it's all your fault, I lost my cat friend now”.
Apparently the solution to that situation in Trystan's book was to grab his boyfriend's hand, pull him close and kiss him. For the record, it worked. Eliot's eyes fluttered shut and his brain stopped working. He was vaguely aware of hooves clopping off to his right and assumed Lance had left. Apparently horses don't like PDA.
When they pulled apart (when the hell did Eliot's arms end up around Trystan's neck?) Eliot stared crossly at the other. “That was cheating.”
Trystan just grinned and pulled him into another kiss. Eliot couldn't complain. Kissing Trystan was always amazing, even in a stable full of horses that were probably scheming against him.
They parted again, and this time Eliot only shook his head leniently. Then Flower snorted next to them, probably to complain that there were more carrots present that she hadn't had the chance to eat yet.
“Oh, yeah. Right. Horses.” Trystan looked at Flower and this time Eliot was the one laughing.
“Fine.” he said.
Trystan whipped his head around to look at him again, confused.
“I said fine. I'll give a carrot to Flower.”
A wide grin spread on Trystan's face. Once again, Eliot considered if it was worth it risking his fingers just because it made Trystan so happy. He decided that if his hand remained intact after feeding Flower, then it was.
“Alright.” Trystan took out a carrot-piece from the bag, then tossed the bag to his feet.
He moved to stand behind Eliot and gently grabbed his hand. Eliot usually resented the fact that he was four or so inches shorter than Trystan (mostly when Trystan teased him about it), but not this time when he felt his chin resting on his shoulder like it had when he had been sitting on his bed and trying to read.
“Stretch your palm out, yeah, like that.” his thumb ran along Eliot's palm before he gave him the carrot. “Now give it to her.” when Eliot's arm shook slightly, he took ahold of his wrist and guided his hand towards Flower.
Trystan had snaked his other arm around Eliot's waist and now he could feel him tense up when Flower reached out towards his hand, obviously interested. Trystan could tell Eliot was biting his lower lip without even looking.
“She's not going to hurt you.”
Flower must have sensed Eliot's nervousness, because she took the carrot even more gently than usual. She munched on it happily as Eliot withdrew his hand, most of the tension easing from his body.
“See? I told you she likes carrots more than your fingers.” Trystan couldn't keep the chuckle out of his voice, but his words were gentle.
“Yeah, whatever.” honestly, he didn't mean for it to sound that childish, but Trystan didn't comment on it.
They were standing in the royal stable with an old horse snacking on a carrot in front of them and Trystan was hugging him from behind after he had faced one of his fears and honestly, it was almost romantic in a dumb way. At least that's what Eliot was thinking.
Then Trystan kissed his cheek and the moment was over.
“I gotta give out the rest of the carrots too.” he let go of Eliot. “Wanna help?”
“I'll hold the bag.” Eliot said. “I'm not offering my fingers to any more horses.”
“Fine.” laughed Trystan. Okay, honestly, how can someone laugh and grin so much? “That's enough for today.”
“I know what you mean by “for today”.” frowned Eliot. “I'm not planning on feeding horses anytime in the future.”
Trystan just grinned and handed him the bag of carrots. “Don't make promises you can't keep.”
“The only reason I can't keep them is because you're my boyfriend.”
“Well, looks like you've dug yourself into a pretty deep hole then.” Trystan shrugged and laughed, then made his way down to the next stall with comical steps.
Eliot couldn't help but shake his head leniently and laugh too as he trotted after him.
Here, I finally didn’t forget to post this. This is the tale I wrote for my English class (the teacher said he’s gonna read it today so I’m freaking anxious about his possible reaction)
I was going at this as planning no strings attached, but idk, I might write a sequel or extra scenes
Word count: 3515 words
There’s actually nothing more to write here and that’s so wierd
Once upon a time and far, far away, beyond the set borders of the known world lived king Alastor. He was a wise monarch who loved his clever and fair people. He has slowly grown a, at first deep hazelnut brown, later white as snow, beard with age and countless wrinkles settled at the corners of his shining eyes thanks to his endless smiles as the years passed. And as he loved the kingdom like every living creature inhabiting it, he made it flourish and for that everyone returned his love and respected him greatly.
King Alastor also had a son, a creative, joyful and polite boy by the name of Trystan, loved by many but most importantly his father. After the devastating, early death of the adored queen, Trystan was, in some sense, the only one left for Alastor and so the king did all he could – which was a lot, considering he was a king afterall – to help his son blossom into an enchanting, educated and kind-hearted person. He succeeded and by the time our sorry takes place, young Trystan was already tiptoeing on the verge of adulthood.
However, there was a problem approaching, stealthy and quiet but also dangerous like the sneaking tiger in the sheltering shadow of lively bushes and leaves as wide as the length of a grown man's arm. The problem was the following: king Alastor had planned to pass on his crown to his cherished son when he would turn 18, so he, like the good father he was, could give him a taste of what it's like to rule a kingdom while he's still alive and well and there to help him. But none of that could ever work as long as Trystan was going to take the throne all by himself. He needed an equally captivating and loveable young lady by his side, the king has declared, a wife who could be his trusty companion and helping hand through the long years of his reign to come. But, despite every long talk and argument his father has had with him so far, Trystan didn't seem to want to go on even a date, let alone walk a princess down the isle.
“Father, why do you have to push this so much? Why do I have to marry a girl, why is it so important?”, the prince cried, almost exasperated. His rich brown hair, same colour as his father's once has been, was sticking out from his head in every direction, dishevelled from him running his fingers through it so many times in frustration.
“Because, as I have told you countless times before, you cannot claim the throne on your own. It's for the better of the kingdom and you know that too.”, his voice still calm, the king claimed. They have been though this argument hundreds of times before.
“But what if I don't want a wife?”
“Oh, trust me, you will once you find the right girl. And then the great love will soften that stubborn heart of yours.”, Alastor responded in a much softer tone, his eyes shining with sweet memories.
“No, I-...I'm pretty sure that's not going to happen. Ever.”, he seemed quite certain in his statement.
“Oh, we'll see, son, we'll see. In exactly three days, may I add, as I have went ahead and organised a little ball, inviting many notable gorgeous ladies, so you could choose your future bride easily.”, and with that, king Alastor turned to leave the prince's sleeping quarters.
“What?! No, father, that's not wha-”, but his words were cut off by the wide door quietly shutting behind the exiting monarch.
***
“No, Annabeth, I told you already! I don't want to go to that stupid ball of yours!”
“It's not even my ball, Eliot. How many times do I have to tell you that it's held Prince Trystan of The Kingdom of the Rising Sun?”, she didn't even move her gaze to look at her brother, who was sitting bitterly on her bed. Instead, she kept her focus on examining every little detail of her new dress; the wide hoop skirt with lacy ribbons and the silk upper part that hugged her lithe torso perfectly and shimmered in the light of the chandelier like molten gold.
“I don't care where it is and by who, Bethie. I still don't want to go.”, Eliot claimed, crossing his arms across his chest firmly.
“Come on, you'd have so much fun!”, the girl chirped while smoothing down the bows around her waist.
“Sure. Give me just one reason why I would exactly.”, to say his tone was unenthusiastic would be an understatement.
“Well, most importantly, you would be able to meet a pretty lady and fall in love...”
Eliot's only response to that was to fall backwards onto the nicely done velvet sheets with a groan. Oh, please, just not this nonsense again!
“I don't want to fall in love with any pretty lady!”
“Oh, you'll change your mind as soon as we get there and you meet the one!”
“Bethie, stop it!”
And yet, in spite of the best of Eliot's arguing skills, on the night of the ball both siblings got out of the royally decorated carriage that brought them up to the bottom of the wide, elegant stairs leading to the grand entrance of the royal palace. Annabeth was ecstatic, almost forgetting about her important manners and cool. Her gorgeous, rich gold and enchanting crimson dress seemed to compete with the very wonders of the building ahead and with her head held high and a delicate tiara sitting atop her carefully done raven black locks she was truly a magnificent sight. On the other hand, her brother wasn't so much filled with joy over their arrival. His cream coloured tuxedo seemed almost too simple for the occasion, though it was far from disrespectful and his blond hair, its colour strongly contrasting his sister's, was held into a smooth ponytail against his neck by an almost invisible, thin ribbon. As much as he didn't want to be at the ball at all, he was still going to put on a polite smile throughout the entire night.
It wasn't long before Eliot has already lost his sister in the crowd, only knowing that she was still probably on or near the dancefloor, taking one handsome man's hand after the other. He didn't worry much and soon found himself a more quiet corner where only a very few wandering dukes or slightly intoxicated, chatty ladies showed up from time to time. He was just going to survive the night there, away from attention like he preferred.
The gaze of his blue eyes that looked almost grey amongst the thousand candles illuminating the large room travelled upwards, getting lost in the maze of the chiselled curves and breathtakingly detailed paintings of the ceiling. The entire space was filled with a warm, golden light that reflected off the walls, widows and mirrors and the chatter of the crowd of guests melted into some distant murmur with the music from where he was standing.
When he looked back next to himself, he was startled by the young man standing beside him.
“Oh, I'm sorry. Shouldn't have snuck up on you like that.”, the newcomer smiled sheepishly. The first thing Eliot noticed about him was the thin but jewelled crown sitting upon his dark chocolate coloured hair. So he was royalty too, huh? “I was just looking for a quiet spot.”
“It's alright, I don't quite mind your presence.”, he replied politely to mask his curiosity. Handsome princes usually didn't appear out of thin air in “quiet spot”s, to his knowledge they were currently all making the ladies swoon all around the dancefloor. Well, except for this guy on his left.
“Thank you then. My name is Trystan.”, the stranger introduced himself, sticking out a hand for the other to shake.
“Prince Trystan, I suppose?”
“Yeah, that would be me.”
“Nice party you've got going on here, sorry I'm not one to enjoy these events.”, he finally took the outstretched hand. “I'm Prince Eliot, from the Northern Lands.”
“I'm actually not having the time of my life here either, to be frank.”, the other admitted, glancing at the swirling crowd for a second before moving his gaze back to his conversation partner.
“Oh, really? Who would have thought...I mean, it's your party afterall.”, Eliot gave him a weird look.
“Pfft, my party...”, he took a moment to straighten his back again and regain his cool. “My father organised this ball without my knowledge as he's very keen on finding me a bride, something I myself have no intention to do. Maybe now you can see why I'm not having much fun here.”
“Yeah, absolutely.”, the foreign prince fixed his ponytail absent-mindedly. “I know how you feel actually. My parents, even my sister and friends keep trying to get me a lady friend all the time. It's not quite welcome, though I know they're just trying to care for me.”
A wide smile lit up Trystan's face at that response. “It's wonderful meeting someone who knows what I'm feeling.”
***
The night carried on without a trouble, but the two princes were quick to leave the ballroom after the first few exchanged comments of their conversation. They ended up walking the thousand endless and enchanting paths of the great royal garden, led by Trystan who obviously knew the terrain like the back of his hand. The two of them clicked instantly and flawlessly, like puzzle pieces that were meant to put next to one another but somehow always ended up in a different place until that moment.
“Okay, your turn to ask now.”, Eliot stated, grinning as he ducked under the willow branches blocking their path. They have been taking turns throwing questions around to get to know each other better.
“Hm...can you ride a horse? Okay, this is a dumb one, nevermind-”
“I actually can't.”, the response was plain. “I know it's a shame for a royal to not be able to do such thing, but it never interested me much.”
“You're joking, right?”
“Nah, I'm being absolutely serious.”, the blond prince smiled back, once again switching back to the more causal style of talking they picked up on quickly.
“Okay, change of plan.”, Trystan stopped suddenly, standing still like a statue.
“Huh?”, that was all the other could muster when his wrist was grabbed and he himself was pulled in a completely different direction than where they were originally wandering.
“I'm showing you how to ride a horse. You can't just miss out on something like that!”
“But-”
“Trust me, it's gonna be great!”
In what seemed like seconds, but was most likely long minutes, they were at the stables, Eliot kicking his feet unsurely while his new friend led a large bay horse towards him.
“Trystan, are you certain this is a good idea? That steed seems quite...”, he gulped nervously. “intimidating.”
“Lance? No, no, don't you worry! Good old Lancelot wouldn't hurt a soul!”, the male leading the stallion giggled, gently petting the bay's nose.
“His name indicates he's not so tame...”
“Maybe, yeah...but I swear on my crown that he's the kindest horse our kingdoms have ever seen.”, Trystan smiled reassuringly. Lance might have easily been the loveliest steed in the whole wide world, but he most definitely wasn't the smallest and that worried Eliot.
“Just hold onto the saddle!”, Trystan advised, cheerful and concerned at the same time. He loved horse riding with a passion, but he wasn't sure his poor teaching skills were helping his friend to gain a positive first expression of the activity.
“I CAN'T, IT'S MOVING AROUND TOO MUCH!”, Eliot shrieked in response, terrified as the stallion under him took an unexpected, leisure step forward.
“Do you mean the saddle or Lancelot?”, the other asked confusedly, trotting closer to the calmly standing horse.
“Bo-both of them...”, the Nothern prince responded rather shakily. The only thing he was glad for was that it was legitimately the middle of the night, so no servants were around to laugh at him freely. “Can you please get me off of here?”, he whined, reaching his hands out pleadingly before swiftly changing his mind and grabbing onto the leather under himself with an iron grip.
“You sure you don't want to try a bit more?”
“Oh, no, no no no no no...”, Eliot shook his head with such velocity, he might have even fallen off if he didn't readjust his hands on the saddle quickly.
“Okay then, come on. Do you need help to get down?”
“...yes please.”, he nodded shyly.
“Let go of the saddle then.”, Trystan chuckled.
“But I don't want to fall off!”
“You won't. Or if you do, I'll catch you. Or you'll land on me.”, the brunet shrugged. “Either way, you won't get hurt.”
“Uhm...”
“Just come on.”, this time Trystan laughed. He reached up, grabbing the cowarding male's wrists gently, pulling them away from the equipment but holding them steady. Patiently he waited until Eliot finally struggled his other leg over the horse's spine and slowly and carefully slid down, his boot-clad feet safely landing with a thud. “See? You're fine.”
That didn't seem to convince his friend, so Trystan brought him into a hug, patting his back lightly and trying not to laugh so he wouldn't offend or hurt him. The moment was perfect, the other affectionately returning the hug, until Lancelot decided he needed some loving too and snorted softly into Eliot's golden mop of hair. Said man let out a scream of utter terror at that, clinging to his friend tightly as if some vicious beast has set eyes on him and just tried to devour him.
“Laaance!”, Trystan giggled, pushing the velvet nose of the large steed away from the scared male. “Leave him be.”
“Yeah, leave me be!”, Eliot retorted too, though not daring to raise his head from the other prince's shoulder and look his “attacker” in the eye.
***
Slowly the break of dawn approached without delay and the sun cast its glorious light upon drunkenly staggering or already passed out guests of the ball and the long, curling line of richly decorated carriages awaiting to bring those home who weren't granted with the honour of staying at the royal castle.
The two princes were staggering too, but not with the crowd and definitely not intoxicated – at least not by alcohol, that is. Because who am I to know of the feelings residing in their hearts? Anyhow, as I said, the two heirs were barely on their feet from exhaustion, having spent the entire night up and walking around, exploring both the great gardens and parks and what they had to show to one another.
By the time Eliot finally got to see his gorgeously furnished and very comfortable guest room, the sun has already climbed high upon the crystal blue sky. The castle was akin to some majestic maze and the foreign prince was certain he wouldn't have been able to find his way around if it wasn't for Trystan's help. By a helpful and knowledgeable servant, he was already informed that Annabeth has safely retreated to her assigned room and thus Eliot was ready to, with a peaceful conscience, head to rest as well.
“I would say good night, but it's already past 10 o'clock.”, Trystan grinned, nudging the other playfully. “Sleep well nonetheless.”, he added in a much sweeter tone.
“You too.”, came the response, accompanied by a warm smile. “At least neither of us are hungover. Thanks for the amazing night.”, he finished a bit hesitantly before pressing a quick kiss to the other's cheek and swiftly shutting the door to his room behind himself.
Once the lock clicked into place, Eliot silently buried his crimson flushed face into his palms, mentally cursing himself. Little did he know that Trystan was still standing on the other side, shocked, a similar deep blush on his face but a disbelieving, joyful smile on his lips.
***
As much as Trystan would have preferred to stay sound asleep amongst his lovely dreams for about an entire day, in the evening he had to drag himself out of the comfort of his bed. He and his father agreed to have a talk at the end of the day after the ball, something the young prince wasn't looking forward to at all. He didn't one bit want to have to come up with ridiculous lies about damsels he had never even met.
He was very glad he hadn't drunk at all during the night, for thanks to that, his mind was clear as the aquamarine sky above and he felt quite energised after his nap. Easily he made himself look decent, instead of his fancy suit, deciding on a much more simple outfit but not bothering with his hair that was all over the place as usual. The king was probably going to make a comment on that, but Trystan didn't really care.
“Son, lovely to see you so quick on your feet again today.”, king Alastor greeted with a smile as soon as his heir entered his field of vision. They were standing in the park of their castle in the slowly cooling air, lanterns all around illuminating the peaceful scene like stars descended right from the night sky that was yet to show itself. “I suppose you know why I wanted to talk with you this beautiful evening.”
“Yes, father.”, Trystan replied respectfully.
“You know I just want what's best for both you and the kingdom.”, the king squinted slightly at his son's emotionless tone. “So, during the ball, did you find anyone who you might want to choose as your significant other?”
Quickly the prince raised his gaze, his dark eyes warm with the fiery rays of the setting sun. “Yes, father...I think I did.”
“Wonderful!”, king Alastor beamed, evidently surprised. “I'd like to meet her then. Please return with her by your side in an hour.”, his excitement was hard to contain and at that moment, he was much more of a proud father than a wise king.
Trystan chose to ignore his father's choice of pronouns in his sentences and after the quiet acknowledgement of his request, he turned on his heels and hurried back inside.
***
Mutely the door in front of Trytsan opened in response to his shaky knocks, the nothern prince he became close to overnight standing in the gap.
“Oh, hello!”, Eliot smiled. “What's up?”
“Nothing much...actually, a lot.”, the other answered nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and his eyes scanning the carpet aimlessly. “I want you to meet my dad.”
“Oh...”, he tilted his head lightly to the side.
“Come on, he asked and he's the king.”, Trystan mumbled, reaching out and grabbing his fellow prince's hand to pull him out to of his room. “I'm probably gonna be dead if I don't do this.”
Eliot laughed cheerfully and that caused his newfound friend to relax a bit. They leisurely started down the hallway after the guest pulled the door shut behind himself, Trystan whispering his plans shyly.
“Uhm...father.”, upon hearing his child's ever-so-slightly wavering voice, king Alastor turned around. However, he froze in place when he saw something he definitely wasn't expecting: prince Trystan leading not a delicate lady but a handsome young man in his direction.
“Trystan?”
“Father, just please listen.”, he took a deep breath, the small squeeze he felt on his hand that was still linked with Eliot's encouraging him. “This is Prince Eliot from the Nothern Lands.”, he introduced, the king giving only a small nod, too focused on what his son had to tell him. “And I wanted to ask, how would you feel if instead of a princess, I chose to share my life with a prince?”
Trystan didn't dare raise his eyes from his shoes, so he couldn't see his father's expression, neither Eliot's adoring gaze. He only felt said male's thumb drawing slow, soothing circles onto the back of his hand and, lastly, heard a small hum from the king's direction – a hum that was usually accompanied by a smile.
“Son,”, now it was evident that the monarch was smiling, the chuckle in his voice impossible to miss. “Remember what I told you?”
“Which one?”, the words were shyly muttered, Trystan still staring at the nose of his shoe digging into the gravel path.
“That as long as you are happy and the kingdom is safe and flourishing, I am happy too.”, that was when his son finally dared to look back up. “I have never changed my mind about that.”
King Alastor watched with a wise, loving smile as Trystan jumped a little in surprise from the kiss suddenly planted onto his cheek. The foreign prince laughed joyfully as in response he was pulled into a tight hug, returning the gesture immediately and with great enthusiasm.
This is what happens when I start my day by discussing adorable headcanons with Fee and then I try to write in secret during my lessons which isn’t the easiest thing to do...
Just an extremely short bundle of domestic Vikklan cuteness, basically
Dedicated to youkuhlaylee
Tranquil silence, heavy yet comfortable, limbs spread across the bedsheets and messy hair of charcoal black contrasting against white pillows in a paradise hidden in plain sight. But in the peace cold is present, not only the cold of the thick duvet against uncovered skin, it's the subconscious frost of lying alone, almost lost on the wide mattress.
Mocha eyes blink open hesitantly as Vik wakes up to being on his own, immediately gathering his strength to push himself up and look for his boyfriend. Shaking his head slowly, drowsiness makes him stagger when he stumbles towards the bedroom door, the carpet brushing against his bare feet in a familiar way that means home. Momentarily tangling slender fingers into his mop of dishevelled dark hair, he shuffles outside, squinting because the light is still too bright, having not given time for his senses to wake up and start functioning properly. His oversized T-shirt hangs off his shoulder but he can't be bothered to pull it back up, hazy mind focused on making his way into the kitchen from where he can hear noises he hopingly interprets as breakfast being prepared.
Sure enough, he soon sees a tall figure standing at the stove, back turned towards the entrance and thus unknowing of the Brit's presence. Well, that is until slender arms wrap around his torso, a small, warm body leaning against his back. Lips press onto his shoulder, the adored feeling lingering in his nerves and he wishes there wasn't fabric covering his skin just then.
Cheek laid against the other's shoulder blade, Vik closes his eyes, his attention drawn by a thumb moving to rub slow circles into the back of his hand.
“Why are you up? I didn't actually wake you, did I?”, Lachlan inquires, voice nothing more than a hushed murmur soothing to the sleepy boy's clouded mind. Though he wants to kiss his forehead, knowing how adorable he must look, the blond's gaze remains fixed in front of him on order to not burn the pancakes he's making.
“Nah, I just...woke up...”, his words are quiet breaths, his every nerve and thought relaxing more and more surrounded by his lover's presence. “...and didn't feel like going back to sleep.”
“Well, you don't sound like it.”, a tiny laugh rolls from Lachlan's lips, not really wanting the other to leave. The only response he receives is a small groan but also yet another chaste kiss on his shoulder, Vik too lost in his sleepy affection to display any sort of grudge.
“I prefer pancakes over sleeping alone anyway.”, he states, voice raspy yet still melodic as he smiles into the back of his boyfriend's shirt.
14 - “Why sleep if you can just drink coffee?” - Vikklan
Cliché (at least in this fandom it definitely is), crappy and similar to stuff I've written before, I know, I'm sorry. This was the only thing I could come up with for the sentence and I love writing sleepy!Vik a lot.
But with this I have finished the sentence requests (it was about time, I know). Now onto the more recent ones.
Lachlan woke up grumbling, eyes barely open and wanting to stay that way. He rolled onto his side, gathering strength and will to pick himself out from the warm safety of the covers.
He hated this. This being him waking up with a start in the middle of the night to find the other side of the bed cold and empty, untouched for the day by his boyfriend. It happened way too much and no matter how hard he tried against it, he couldn't keep Vik from claiming that he'd go to sleep too in a minute or two but instead staying up until morning, editing or recording quietly in his office. Despite all the Australian rambled about how doing that is bad for his health, that he should be taking care of himself more, all those words were met with deaf ears.
Glancing at his phone's screen, Lachlan rolled out of bed with a grunt and tried to prepare himself for the hopeless and fruitless fights to come in order of getting his lover to take a break. It was a good half an hour past 4 in the morning and Vik owed him a really pleasant dream that was shattered and ruined when he suddenly woke up due to the cold that seeped into his mind whenever he was abandoned for the night like that.
With a polite knock he announced himself to the other's office but did not wait for permission to enter. Before however he got a chance to speak his mind, quiet words greeted him, trying to cut off their bickering before it could have started.
“Just go back to sleep.”, a short sigh showed how much Vik didn't want to get into an argument but also how exhausted he was.
Lachlan shook his head, though he knew the other couldn't see. “You said you'd come to bed in a few minutes almost six hours ago.”, that statement made the Brit flinch in surprise and then stare at the clock on his computer screen in disbelief. “You know that counts as lying, right?”, though it wasn't meant to be of any harm, the sentence made Vik lie his head onto his arms on his desk, muttering a hoarse “sorry”.
But when he felt the weight of Lachlan's hand on his shoulder, he raised his head again, forcing a weak smile and trying to return to his normal cheery attitude. He shrugged, motioning towards the empty cups on his desk jokingly. “Why sleep if you can just drink coffee?”
Instead of erasing the blond's seriousness about the situation, the spark of dark humour caused him to sweep his gaze over the bunch of cups in surprise and he bit his lip when the latest, half empty one showed that probably all of them were once filled with strong black coffee.
“I thought you're a clever guy, yet you don't know that drinking so much caffeine that could keep you up for a week in only one night is nothing along the lines of healthy?”, he shook his head scoldingly, his eyes softening as he ran his fingers through the other's hair, his movement gentle and soothing.
“At least it helps me stay up...”, but his eyelids already fluttered shut for a quick moment, lashes heavy with sleepiness. Lachlan sighed, a sombre look on his features because there they go again, the same arguments that never lead to victory to either of them. But another sentence caught his attention, no more than a tiny whine, unsure and longing. “I'd wanna sleep, but...”
“But?”, sensing that he might have a chance to accomplish what he wanted, Lachlan moved closer, winding his arms around the other's small form as much as he could from their height difference enhanced by the shorter sitting.
Vik leaned into the hug gratefully, his head against the other's stomach, letting his eyes drift shut for a bit longer. Lachlan's embrace was so warm and inviting and he wanted to stay like that or finally go to bed, not go back to working and being left cold and alone again. “I have to...record videos...and...”, he fought back a yawn and tore himself away from his boyfriend. “...I'll just go and get another coffee...or something...you go back to sleep, I'll be-...”
“No, don't start this again.”, Lachlan muttered. “And you know I hate sleeping without you.”
“Yeah, and sorry...but I have to-”
“Shh, no”, firm arms pulled the Brit up to stand, keeping him encased in warmth afterwards, not letting go of him. “You've done enough for today, babe.”
Vik gulped, looking at his hands that he failed to notice were trembling slightly, but he only tightened his grip on the other's shirt to keep them steady. “Just a few more minutes...please? Just until I finish this.”
Lachlan bit his lip before answering, feeling his lover's worryingly fast heartbeat thump against his own chest unevenly. “Okay.”, he sighed in the end. “But only five more minutes, and I'll be checking it. And after that, I'll drag you to bed if you don't come by your own will.”, he himself wasn't sure if he was joking or being serious. “Oh, and no more caffeine.”, he finished, stepping away from their hug and taking the half empty coffee mug with himself when he left the room.
And five minutes later Lachlan heard the bedroom door open, hesitant footsteps shuffling on the thick carpet and not much later, a small body crawled next to him, weak and fragile and a bit shaky but definitely willing to finally sleep. Vik let out a tiny whimper, lying on top of his boyfriend partially, obviously preferring him over the mattress and when he felt an arm around his waist and a large hand petting his hair, he closed his eyes tiredly. Though they both knew that the caffeine the Brit pumped his system almost to overload with wouldn't leave him proper rest for sometime longer, at least this time neither of them had to spend the night feeling cold.
6. “I'm not sure if I should be mad at you or hug you right now.” - Poofless
A little domestic Poofless cuteness for the person who also mentioned that this sentence was definitely something Rob would say.
I swear, it's half past one and it still feels like too early in the morning because the weather is gloomy after the storm of last night and my fingers keep missing the keys, even leaving out whole words...
To say that the kitchen looked like a battleground would be an underestimation.
The air was still slightly tinted by smoke, despite the window wide open to the early winter chill outside, the sink held a worryingly unstable tower of dishes dirty with pastry and icing, the countertop had stains of every material one could imagine would be useful for a cake and the newest addition to the saddening picture were the thousand shards and ripped petals in the puddle of once crystal clear, now greyish water pooling on the floor. And in the midst of it all, defeated and bearing his shame with sorrowfully hanging shoulders stood Preston, his hair messy, just like his filthy clothes and his cheeks dark crimson in embarrassment, grieving the flowers, but even more importantly his boyfriend's favourite vase he just dropped when his feet slipped on the fallen portion of the pitiful remains of his baking failure.
He sniffled, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, only getting even more stains on his cheeks while bending down to start picking up the countless shards, an agonising reminder that he just ruined something so dear to the heart he cherished the most. He hissed as the sharp edges sank into his skin again and again, his fingers fumbling clumsily with the debris as more and more tiny red lines, stinging cuts decorated his hands.
He whimpered to himself as he let the remains of the once been vase fall into the bin before stumbling to the bathroom. He watched in silence as the clearness of the water broke colliding with his hands, seeping into his tiny wounds and sending unpleasant sparks into his nerves. Trying not to get the towel stained, he dried the wetness off his fingers with careful movements. He was about to reach for the cabinet that held the plasters, if his memory wasn't fooling him, when he heard the slamming of the front door, the thudding of shoes he hadn't heard in way too long, signalling that finally, after his two weeks of being away, Rob was home.
Preston's first instinct was to dash towards his lover, engulf him in a tight hug and whisper to him that he missed him before he was painfully torn back into reality, the reality where his plans of greeting the other with sweetness and flowers ended in a shameful, horrible mess he still had to clean up and explain.
“Preston!”, the shout snapped him out of his daze, cruelly letting him know that the Canadian has probably found what he has left in the kitchen.
Head hung low, step unsure and dragged and his hurting fingers fumbling with the fabric of his shirt nervously, the shorter male shuffled into the aforementioned room to get the worst part over with quickly. “Hey...”
“What the- what on Earth...What did you do, Preston?!”, the other looked around, beyond surprised and clueless but without a trace of anger in his voice.
Still the Texan covered his face for a moment, gathering himself to finally choke out a few words. “I...wanted to...bake something for you...and get flowers too...so you'd come home to something...nice...”, his breath hitched in his throat. “I didn't mean to make a mess! I just...left the cake in too long and...I dropped your favourite vase, I'm so sorry!”
His whimpers were left without a response for way too long until he shakily raised his head, instead of the fury he expected to see, finding an expression on Rob's face he couldn't read.
“I'm not sure if I should be mad at you or hug you right now.”, the older mused as if waiting for his boyfriend to give him the answer.
“Could it be...the hug, please?”
A small laugh eased the tension in the air before Preston felt arms wrapping around him lovingly, a head resting against his and a large hand rubbing his back. “Don't be so scared, you little cactus”, the Canadian chuckled again. “There's nothing we can't fix here anyway.”
“But...the vase”, he looked up, still a bit frightened, worrying that maybe his lover just missed that piece of information and is about to lash out at him.
“It's just a vase.”
“But it was your favourite...”
“But it's still just a vase, I can get a new one whenever and it's definitely not something I'd risk losing you over.”, Rob murmured reassuringly, pressing a gentle kiss onto the shorter's forehead. He giggled at how he hid his face in his chest again. “But that doesn't mean you don't have to help me clean up.”
Guess who made herself almost cry over her own fanfic. Yeah, this nerd here, oops.
You see, the song I put a bit lower down there is a wonderful one, I love it and have been wanting to write something with it for so long but I thought simply using the lyrics wouldn't have been good enough (considering that there is no singing in the first half of the song itself). Anyhow, I suggest listening to it if you can.
There's a good chance you'll shed a few tears reading this, either because it's so horrible (or weird?) or because of actual feels (anyone remember one of my first Vikklan one-shots, Hoping For A Happy Ending? Yeah if you cried on that, you'll cry on this one too. If you didn't then there's still a chance because that thing is almost a year old)
This was supposed to fill one of the sentence requests too but then it didn't happen but that just means one more story for you...sometime.
Also, I wanted to make Vik fall back after giving his sign and taking longer (trying awfully hard not to give spoilers here) but then decided to be more cliché because I didn't want to drag this for so long and bore you.
And yeah, this is totally cliché but when are my writings aren't anymore? I only dare upload it because Illusions Of The Sunlight was apparently a huge cliché too but Anita liked it and she's always one I want to impress.
Setting: IRL
Word count: 2401 words
“I'd give anything to hear
You say it one more time
That the universe was made
Just to be seen by my eyes”
~ Saturn – Sleeping At Last
Lachlan lowered his head, the pain clutching his heart too overwhelming than to draw tears, his grief deeper and more agonising than to be expressed by some weak sobs. It was over, he knew it, this time there was no more, no way out, no miracle to save them. No, this time, the very last time, all that was left was suffering.
He let his head fall against the edge of the uncomfortable hospital bed, the constant beeping of the heart monitor his disturbing lullaby that he dreaded would came to an end any second, ending two lives, not just the one of the boy lying motionlessly amongst the blinding white sheets but the other one too, the one holding his hand gently, rubbing never-ending circles into the soft tan skin like it was the only thing still hooking him to this world – maybe it really was.
His mind was numb, the hope that his beloved boyfriend would look at him again fading more and more as the days passed and as he more and more believed the words of the doctors and nurses, talking that Vik's chances of waking up, especially with no permanent damage done in his system, were unimaginably slim. Still, it was a chance and like a tiny spark in the darkness, it burned itself into the blond's mind, urging him to hold on and recite it like a mantra: he will wake up and things go back to normal again, everything will be alright. But as time dragged on, it felt more and more like a dream or a half-forgotten tale that no one has faith in anymore. The days blurred, the date unimportant, the hours passing by without anyone there to count them, light and darkness not mattering in the searing white of the small room, minutes didn't tangle into the bundle of tubes and wires that bound the unconscious Brit to this life.
Everyone who ever entered the room was just a mess of sounds and colours to Lachlan in the monochrome brightness, his eyes only focused on his lover's unmoving face. Sometimes his heart would speed up, thinking he saw a small movement or a change in the constant rhythm of the barely beating heart, like a daydream bringing him faith before slipping away again, leaving him a little more broken every time it did.
“I miss you, please come back”, he whispered, voice hoarse and pained, gaze looking for the pair of rich, deep brown eyes that only pictures showed him anymore, fluttering open. “I'm here, I'm waiting for you, okay?”, his promise was shaky, his words sincere but weak as a single tear found its way to roll down his pale cheek. “I'll be here when you wake up.”
Sometimes Lachlan wouldn't talk a word for days, on other occasions he wouldn't stop speaking to his beloved, hoping that his words weren't found by deaf ears and trying to fill the air with noise just to keep despair from choking him fully and to chase away the undeniable thought that they were both dying alive, together.
He missed everything that used to be, pictures flashing in front of his eyes of everything that used to be beautiful in the past. His dreams didn't leave him rest, pain awakening him every night because his memories formed nightmares that caused him to jolt up with a start. Like a movie it played behind his eyelids, scenes that once were but he didn't cherish them enough. He yearned for it all, wanted it back, he longed to see Vik stumbling about sleepily in his huge shirt, to hear his cheesy stories and compliments, see his warm eyes light up with a fond smile after a gentle kiss and feel his love again.
The world outside seemed to stop existing, Lachlan not caring whether there still was something on the other side of the window or if the small, white room was the only thing left, only the two of them and the pain that filled his existence. A day, a week, a month flew by without noticing and without videos recorded, laughs shared, kisses exchanged.
“Remember when you were scared that I would leave you? When you woke up from that nightmare when we were at PAX?”, he mumbled, at the memory a faint smile painting itself onto his lips, but it was just a pitiful shadow of his expression when he still got a response. “You were crying so much, you were shaking and so scared...I told you that I wouldn't be able to live without you”, a shaky sigh, and he continued. “I wasn't lying, y'know.”
***
Vik stumbled back, his whole body colliding with the simple, dark door, not enough to make it tumble onto the floor and let him escape. He banged his balled up fists against the surface he couldn't define, kicking it with all the strength he had in his fragile body. Finally his knees gave in, making him fall brokenly, head leaning against what was separating him from his only way out.
Voices came from the other side, voices he knew and voices he wanted to respond to – especially one he knew so well. He murmured back every “I love you”, replied to every statement, every story, cooed and whispered when sobs broke towards him, but it all went unnoticed, not heard, unable to escape his prison of a room.
He knew, oh he knew very well that it was all in his head, that he was trapped in his own mind, stuck in coma and he couldn't just scream out to Lachlan when his body wasn't responding to his commands. Still he felt that the dark door in the equally dark, empty room was his way of escape, if he managed to tear it open then he would wake up, go back to the real word and his old life. He tried all he could, kicking and pushing and hitting it, trying to fit his fingers into the tiny gap to tear it open, yelling and crying for someone to hear him and help, but nothing seemed to work. He wasn't in control of his own mind, he didn't understand his own thoughts that kept him imprisoned.
“I wasn't lying, y'know”, came the blurred mumble from the other side, making pain curse through the Brit's body like a knife buried into his aching heart.
“I know, Lachy, I know”, he whispered back, forehead pressing against the door, fingertips gliding on the smooth surface in fake hope of finding some way of escape. “Just please hold on, I'll be with you again one day, I promise.”
“I wish you were responding to me.”
“I wish you could hear it.”
He couldn't take it, it was killing him to feel the despair in his boyfriend's shaky voice, to know he was in so much pain while he was stuck in a stupid room shut away from him and unable to help, to take him into his arms and comfort him and tell him that everything was okay because at the moment nothing really was.
Slender fingers knotted into onyx black hair, pulling on the roots and Vik screamed at the top of his lungs out of his helplessness and desperation. He wanted out, he wanted it to be over, he wanted to feel safe again, not pacing in his prison like a captured beast in its cage. And as the sudden rush of energy left his body as quick as it came, his legs buckled and he hit the ground without pain, curling up into a small ball and giving in to his soft sobs.
***
“I wish you were responding to me.”, Lachlam muttered, longing and hopeless. He sighed again, shaking his head at the unbroken, cruel silence of the room before his heart jumped in his chest, hearing the usually monotone beeping speed irregularly for a moment before returning to normal. He would have thought it was only his imagination, but the restless lines still flowed on the monitor, proving him right before disappearing off the screen. “Oh, Vikky...”, he breathed lovingly when nothing else happened, a sinking feeling in his stomach sending numb pain all across his body and he lowered his head to press a gentle kiss onto the other's knuckles, lips wet with his fresh tears.
***
A few more days passed without counting, pressing thier growing weight onto Lachlan's shoulder, but more importantly his heart. A horrible knowledge burned in his mind, it was never spoken but he felt it in the air and he needed to tell his lover about it.
“Vik, listen to me, please, if you can hear me please listen”, he choked back a sob at the nightmare-like thoughts creeping around him. “No one said anything yet but I know, I just know that they're...they're giving up on you...if you don't wake up soon then they'll...they'll...”, he wheezed out a shaky breath, laying his head against the limp, unmoving hand in his, unable to force himself to say the worst. “...they'll let you go, let you...leave...”, he struggled to speak, to keep his tears from taking over for just long enough to tell what was really important. “Please, Vik, if you're still there and hear me and wanting to come back...then this is the time for you to do something...show a sign, anything so they will know...they will know that you didn't give up yet...please, don't let me lose you...”
***
“...please don't let me lose you...”
“I won't.”, Vik muttered, breaths heavy and his whole figure shaking as he leaned his palms against the stern door that kept him trapped, knowing that it was his last chance to break it down and open his eyes again. He needed to do something, let his lover know that he was trying, fighting his way out and back to him.
The door seemed more and more battered and weak after every attack of his, it was cracked and bent at some places where Vik's fist collided with it enough.
“I'm getting out of here”, he growled, not caring that technically his words didn't make sense, he just wanted to be back in Lachlan's arms, not desperate and longing and homesick but loving and loved and safe.
His feet made no sound as he backed up and with fierce determination in his eyes, dashed towards the object that kept him locked in, hoping that he would achieve something noticeable in the real world to give hope to his beloved and to himself too.
Pain cursed through his body, actual physical pain for the first time since he had been imprisoned in his own mind, as he burst against the door that broke under his momentum with an earsplitting crack. Looking proudly at what he's done, woodlike planks snapped in half and just about keeping up and being the last obstacle that stood in front of him, he unexpectedly stumbled backwards, suddenly weak on his feet and lightheaded, and with a pang of guilt in his heart he had to realise that he didn't have enough in himself to struggle through the doorway.
***
Lachlan felt like giving up. What was he even thinking? That Vik would hear him and miraculously wake up? Did he really think he could do anything for him when for the past almost two months he was helpless?
His tears now poured uncontrollably as he pressed his face into the other's unfolded palm desperately, enjoying the warmth he knew he wouldn't have the luxury of for much longer. All he wanted was for his nightmare to end but he was aware that it could only end one way and it if did then it would be the end of his life too – why would he live on in endless, unbearable pain?
“Please...”, he whimpered brokenly, thumb never ceasing caressing the tan knuckles he was clutching restlessly.
But suddenly, for the second time, the painfully irregular beeping that suddenly filled the stuffy room caught his attention, heart jumping in his throat because it couldn't have been anything else but Vik trying, struggling to wake up or just tell him that he was still there and fighting. A wide smile, unseen for so long, spread across the blond's features at the suddenly returning hope that no, they weren't to die yet, it wasn't over.
“Come on, Vik, wake up, you can do it”, his hand moved without a command, cupping the unconscious male's cheek gently. “...I know you can.”
The quickening beeping in sync with the Brit's heavily rising and falling chest never slipped back into his monotone rhythm, and unknown to the other, Vik struggled, dragged himself towards that wrecked door to crawl between the snapped planks and force himself towards whatever was on the other side, hoping that it was indeed what he hoped for: a way back to reality.
And Lachlan's heart skipped a beat, but he couldn't care less, when features that were unmoving for the past two months rearranged into a frown, a small whine leaving dried lips and his prayers were answered as the eyes he was yearning to get lost in finally looked back at him, still clouded and unsurely fluttering, squinting in the sudden light. But they were the same, so beautiful, the most perfect warm, deep brown that shone with affection as they found focus in his own bright blue ones. Lips trembling, the Australian couldn't find the strength to speak, his breaths uneven and disturbed mind unbelieving the miracle he was granted with.
They say the first words of ones waking from coma never make sense but the hoarse, weak syllables that left Vik's mouth made his boyfriend the happiest person on the planet, he was sure, and he couldn't stop the tears of joy streaming down his face because after so much suffering, he had the one he loved the most back.
“I love you too”, Vik murmured, having regretted not being able to say them back all those times.
A teary smile and an lenient, fond laugh was all his mind registered before he was pulled up from the bed, strong arms wrapping around his oh so fragile form gently, missed love soaking his every sense as a hand threaded into his hair, a breathless sob reaching his ears. “You cheesy idiot, I missed you so much.”
So, for a long time I've been thinking about opening requests (only for written works, not drawings) but my anxiety was always hindering me from it, hence my fear of not being able to live up to the requester's expectations. I'm still not finished with the sentence asks, from the only time I did open requests for a bit, but I'm working my way through those too (there aren't many left).
But now I decided to give it a shot, we'll see how things go.
So, if you have an idea that you'd like to see me write, feel free to send me an ask about it, anon or not.
But here are the things I want to make clear beforehand:
- The request's form can be basically anything – a prompt, a sentence you'd like the story based around, a basic hint at the behaviour of the characters or even just the shipname itself (or the name of the people included if you're requesting platonic) if you don't have a further idea, though I'd prefer some guidelines.
- Please note that I don't write for just any ship, I literally can only write ships I myself do ship, these being Vikklan (obviously), Poofless, Emon, Phan, Jaspar and Zalfie (in kind of an order from what I write the easiest to the hardest)
- I don't write NSFW or even suggestive themes, and I prefer to exclude violence and mature rated things (if I find it necessary, I will include swearing but leave a warning for it in the author's note)
- I'm not making any promise as to when the request will be filled, I'll try to go in order and work as hard as I can, but the time each story will take to write will obviously vary.
- As mentioned above, you don't necessarily need to request something romantic, I do write platonic stuff too.
- I'm giving myself the right to combine requests in one story. I won't mix the ships though.
I think that would be it. I hope I can live up to your expectations.
For how long I'll take requests is uncertain and depends on how things go and how many requests I get.
