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justbecausewhynot · 4 years

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Lady Of Sun and Shadows Part 2 {Azriel x Reader/OC}

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

A/n- when she is playing the piano, she is playing a piano cover of let her go

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rExcQ5nm_yU&feature=emb_title

Down in the living room, Helion sat with the High Lord and Lady and the two Illyrian soldiers.

"How great it is to see you Rhysand, I must admit I was not expecting your letter." Helion said

"Well, Feyre here has been battering me about seeing your wife, and I thought it might be a good idea to run over some of our agreements. Thought I could kill two birds with one stone."

"And by the way, congratulations on the child" Feyre added

"Took her long enough" Helion muttered. Everyone sat in awkward silence with someone complimenting something or bringing up a new topic only for it to again become silent. Just then, a servant came in and announced that dinner was ready. Relieved, everyone made their way to the dining room. There was a large wood table with a white tablecloth and gold candles all along with it. Chairs and plates were already set up for each member and servants came to seat them.

Aurora was already seated at one end and ushered for Feyre to sit next to her. Servants came in and brought plates of all food. Mashed potatoes, steak, every kind of vegetable you could imagine. Helion moved for everyone to sit and dig in. There was little talk, only the clattering of dishes being moved about. Aurora piled potatoes onto her plate. Because of her pregnancy, in the past few months, she had been constantly famished and craving the strangest foods.

"That's quite enough Aurora." Helion announced from the other side of the table. "We don't want you getting any fatter than you already are." All eyes turned back and forth in disbelief from husband to wife. Neither broke the stare off one another, heat came off their glares at one another.

"Come now, she's eating for two now." Cassian countered making Aurora smile at him and continue serving herself. Helion huffed and started talking to Rhysand one on one about borders and politics. Feyre looked to Aurora and once again saw that same feeling that she had once endured.

"So what have you been up to lately?" She asked

"Oh, you know, nothing much, I spend almost all my time either in the garden or the library. There's not much else to do around here or anyone to talk to. I find myself going crazy sometimes."

A deep voice came from beside Cassian "I've heard the libraries here are quite extensive." Aurora's eyes met those of Azriel's.

"Yes they are, do you enjoy reading?" She responded

"You wouldn't believe how much time he spends in the library at home" Cassian laughs "It's a miracle he has time for anything else.

"Well then, you must visit the one upstairs, I am the only one who ever goes in there, I fear dust is collecting from the lack of use."

"I'll be sure to check it out" he responded, still keeping that curious stare. Helion cleared his throat looking at Azriel, aware of the watch of his wife. All hints of emotion disappeared from his face as Azriel looked down at his plate. Aurora, confused about what just happened, turned to Feyre who looked amused and raised an eyebrow at her tinted cheeks. Not too hard, but aggressive enough to send a message, Aurora kicked her friend under the table. The conversation started up again; Talk of other High Lords and Ladies.

"Now Kallias' wife wants to become a High Lady" Rhysand added, "Feyre has really changed things up." he said grinning at her.

"What about you Aurora, How does Lady of the Day court sound to you?" Cassian said, unaware of any consequences.

Helion fumed. "We will not be having any of that here. My wife is here for an heir, she has no need or idea how to lead an entire court." The room went silent. Heat radiated off of Helion. His eyes became brighter as he stared down the table. Aurora swallowed, not knowing what to do. She felt a familiar comforting stare on her, but it was certainly not from her husband. At that moment she felt something against her, almost like a shadow, holding her hand softly. She looked up to Azriel and the shadow was gone. His face was alarmed and now faced down to his plate.

"Well, on that note, why don't we all head to the sitting room?" Aurora said, trying to lighten the mood

"That sounds like a good idea." Rhysand affirmed.

"No" Helion hollered "I will decide when we leave the table and I will not have you act above your status Aurora." Setting his glass down with a thump causing the glass of Azriel beside him to fall over and spill onto his lap. "Now look at what you've made me do." He glared down "Ingrid...Ingrid! By the Cauldron, what good are servants when they are nowhere to be found?"

Nervously, Aurora replied "I-I gave her the night off"

"What?! Why in the world would you do that?" Helion yelled

"Her daughter was sick and needed to be tended to." Aurora answered with as much confidence as she could muster.

"Well then, seeing as this is entirely your fault, you can show Azriel to his room and ensure he has everything he needs."

"Very well" She said standing up, watching Azriel try to dry the wine off his shirt.

"Get some common sense while you are up there woman." Helion added as they left the room. Everyone at the table stayed as still as possible as Helion threw a glass at the doorway his wife had just passed through.

Leading the way, Aurora moved up the stairs a few paces away from Azriel. As she walked through the marble hallways, her heels clinked until she stopped in front of two giant wooden doors. Aurora opened the doors to a giant library with a loft and books everywhere. There were large windows overlooking the gardens.

"This... is not my bedroom" Azriel said

"Very perceptive," Aurora said cheekily "I figured you might want to know where this is. These books really do need some more attention. I have barely even read half of them." Half of this giant collection is still a great feat, Azriel thought to himself. He walked through the middle of the room to a window sill with a book open, picking it up and looking at it, he looked back at Aurora.

"The art of War?" He mused "And what would a classy woman like you be doing with a book like this?"

"What did you expect? How to be a perfect housewife? Not quite my thing"

"I can imagine." After a few minutes of wandering around, looking at books, the clock chimed 8:00.

"Oh we must go, and I've totally forgotten why we came up here. I'll bring you to your room and let you change, that must have been very uncomfortable."

"Don't worry, I've been through worse than a damp blouse."

"I don't doubt it"

Aurora led Azriel to a large room with all of his luggage already inside and packed away. Azriel closed the door while still keeping his eyes locked on hers. Downstairs, the company had already moved to the sitting room. Dull conversations of wars and soldiers and lots of alcohol were a must with Helion.

"Ah, she is back" Helion said, seemingly undisturbed by the scene a few moments before. "I was scared you had gotten lost, why don't you play us something on the piano dear?" Aurora had been taught to play from a young age. Yet another way she would train to become a perfect wife. Though it was something that added to her state of misery, Aurora loved to play and sing. And so, she went to the grand piano near the window and started playing. In her head, she sang the words she knew went to this melody.

Staring at the bottom of your glass

Hoping one day you'll make a dream last

But dreams come slow and they go so fast

As much as her mind urged her to let everyone know what was flowing inside of her, she saw the promise of regret in her husband's eyes. Once she had sung the same song while the captain's of the guards were here. He said he had never been so humiliated in his whole life. Aurora was singing from the cold lonely place in her heart and it was easy to tell; it was not some simple song, and that was certain. Three nights of lessons for that. Aurora was not about to make that mistake again. Thus, she kept playing. Kept her emotions in check, and didn't get carried away by the music. That is until she again felt the same stare on her from dinner. Those same shadows crept down her arm, only this time she could see them. The shape of a hand brushing her arm. Certainly, this was something to be worried about, but Aurora felt comforted by it and kept playing. She kept playing softer and harder with more affection. And then, it was done. She didn't even notice but the shadow had crept up to her neck. Everyone has ceased their talking and were now watching Aurora. She looked up to see Azriel once again, watching her. This time, his face was betraying him, it had softened into what looked like what could only be described as warmth. Helion cleared his throat which made both of them snap out of the trance and look towards him.

"I think you have delighted us enough for one evening Aurora, it is time to resign to your room." Slowly, she got up off the piano bench and made her way out. Each person held their breath and sorrowful faces as she left. When she strode past Azriel, who was standing by the door, she smiled at him and walked away.

Tag List (open, send me a message if u want in)

@theimaginehotspot

@moonlit-stardust

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #azriel #rhysand #feyre #cassian #oc #daycourt #nightcourt #sjm

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sett-me-free · 5 years

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Tell me something I don't know

It sits inside my mind

I feel it in my bones

A sign of the times

I sat in your life with nowhere to hide

And still you couldn't find me

Maybe you could find me

Somewhere else that I could be

Everything you said to me…

How was I to know?

When you said goodbye

You let me go

All of the time we wasted

Feels like a life ago

If I failed you

Then you're better off alone

I still see you in Monochrome

The echo of your goodbye lingers like a shadow

How can I make you stay a little longer?

Stay a little longer

Blinded by the look in your eyes

If the world's on fire, I still won't mind

Romantic stagnancy was softly killing me

It's fine for me if it's fine for you

Stick around and we'll see this through

Moonlit misery sounded great to me

But, as the ocean ebbs and flows

Your love... It comes and goes

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dryandsweet · 6 years

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Coffee & Sympathy (Berena)

Before they become the world to each other, Bernie and Serena are a world unto themselves. (Also on Ao3)

For @santahanssen for @berenasecretsanta 2018 who asked for ‘coffee dates & lingering hugs.’

Bernie took Serena up on her offer of a coffee and a chat early on. Bernie wasn’t exactly swimming in offers of friendship and here was Serena going out of her way to make Bernie feel welcome. She’d have been a fool to lock herself away in misery for its own sake.

Serena suggested meeting up away from the hospital to free them from the awkwardness of prying colleagues. The walls have ears and they talk. Bernie didn’t want any more talk if she could avoid it.

Serena bought Bernie coffee at this little place a few blocks away from the hospital. The mugs were large and sat heavy in both hands; coffee filled them to the brim. Long minutes passed where all they did was drink and people watch. Semi-familiar faces, some from other hospitals, some former patients; lots of university students lumbering through, half-dead and dazed. The typical haunt for anybody subsisting on caffeine and a vague sense of purpose.

“Tell me about you,” prompted Serena. Bernie resisted her natural tendency to redirect. She wanted to befriend Serena, not frustrate her into indifference.

“What haven’t you heard?” According to Mo Effanga there was all manner of rumor circulating Holby already. Bernie was a loveless, self-aggrandizing narcissist or a decorated officer tragically cut down in the prime of her military career. The truth was altogether more ordinary than either extreme.

“I want to hear your story from you, not the tittle-tattle from the grapevine.” Serena’s foot nudged Bernie’s under the table, reminding Bernie this was a friendly chat, not an interrogation. Serena wasn’t her solicitor asking for the intimate details of her infidelity, pricking her with her weaknesses. Her intentions were kinder than that.

“Former army medic out of RAMC, Major. Married for twenty-five years. Two kids I hardly see. Blown up by an IED a few months ago. Did a number on my back.”

“Way to bury the lede.” This startled a laugh out of Bernie though there was nothing much to laugh about. She supposed most people would have led with getting blown up.

“It was. It was frightening. I try not to talk about it if I don’t have to.”

“So we won’t talk about it. Tell me about your kids.” Serena glossed neatly over that conversational hiccup and Bernie followed her. Keep calm, carry on, and so they did.

“Cameron, 26. Charlotte, 21. Cameron’s still trying to figure out his future. Last I heard he was backpacking in Australia. Charlotte is at university, reading law last I heard. Not sure if that’s changed. We haven’t had a chance to catch each other up on future plans.” The house was tense when Bernie first came back. Once they were certain Bernie would survive, they were all reminded that they scarcely knew each other. Then, the silence crept in.

“Too much uncertainty in the air?”

“You could say that.” Bernie took a noisy sip of coffee. It was good stuff. Far better than anything Pulses had to offer. Were it closer to work, she might come here more often. “Tell me about you?”

“Divorced. One difficult daughter, Elinor, and a wonderful if somewhat challenging nephew, Jason. Elinor is studying drama and Jason is a porter here at Holby. You already know what I do. There’s not much to say about me.” False modesty was a poor color on Serena.

“I don’t believe that.”

“I like red wine and old movies and moonlit walks on the beach, if you know somebody who might be interested in such a thing.”

“I prefer white wine.”

Serena held her heart. “Oof, hold off a couple of dates before you stab me in the back, why don’t you?”

“Thought I’d be better rip the plaster right off. Wouldn’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Too late for that. Somehow, contrary to years of romantic and platonic experience, that wasn’t a deal breaker. I must like you.”

Bernie smiled. Serena smiled. There was a great deal of that going around today.

“I have a suggestion. Let's play Three Truths and a Lie." “What for?” “So I can get to know you better without resorting to shoving bamboo shoots under your fingernails to get you to talk.” Bernie was anything but the easiest person to get to know where personal lives were concerned. She was willing to give it a shot. “Okay. Do you want me to go first?” “Please do.”

Bernie picked three facts out of the air and an obvious lie. This wasn’t one of the games she’d excelled at in her youth. “I have two children, I was in the army, I had an affair, and I'm afraid of heights.” “Should I have specified truths I don't already know?” Everybody knew Bernie’s business thanks to her nervous hands mistyping Dom’s email address. Her mistake. “I’ll work my way up to it.” “Fine by me. I assume you aren't afraid of heights.” “I'm not. I tend to be steady at any altitude.” “Likewise. Though if you ask me to climb a mountain there'd better be an above average vino waiting at the summit to make it worth my while.” “Duly noted.” She waited for Serena take her turn. "Three truths and a lie. Hmm." Serena tapped her jaw till a smile stole across her lips. She'd thought of something. "My older sister was adopted out before I was born, I wanted to be a professional dancer growing up, my father was an accountant, and I always wanted more children but never found the time.” There was enough gossip fodder about Serena to fill a dossier. Bernie had heard some things, but stopped listening fairly quickly when someone began to fill her in on Serena’s late mother. Some topics were too personal to hear from a stranger. “Let's see. Those all sound likely enough. You have an MBA, could be your father inspired you.” “Could be.” “Any chance of a hint?” “None at all. Working it out is part of the fun.” “Could be your dad was an accountant so I'll say 'true' on that. I always wanted more children in theory but in reality I wanted to advance my career more. I scarcely made time for Cameron and Charlotte before dashing back to theater. I am going to say 'true' again. You mentioned your nephew Jason. Could be he was your sister's child. Or he could be from a different sibling, not necessarily one who was adopted. We'll leave that one for the time being. You wanted to be a professional dancer. That one’s out of left field. You're graceful in the theater.” "I'll take that." “But you don't move like a dancer.” Bernie had occasion to meet many dancers in her travels and there was a difference, not matter what style they were trained in, in how a dancer moved, whether they were dancing or not. Serena had her own flowing manner, but it wasn’t that of a dancer. “Were I a tiny bit less confident, I'd be offended.”

Bernie tapped a finger on the back of Serena’s hand. "You have every reason to be confident, dancer or not. You have attributes most dancers would kill for.” “Are you flirting with me?” “Will that get me out the dog house?” Serena laughed, and Bernie dipped into her coffee to hide how Serena’s throaty laughter sent a ripple through her. “I think it just might,” she said. “Then I'll keep going.” Bernie had a way with people she hadn’t noticed till she took up with Alex this past year. Men responded to it, but women, some women went molten for it. She wasn’t ready to examine how much she wanted Serena to be one of them. “Was I right?” “You were bang on the nose. My father was an accountant and he inspired me to attend Harvard for my MBA. Jason is my half-sister Marjorie's son. We never met. I wanted more children but I did not want them with my ex-husband. Our marriage was unstable right out the gate and I don't believe in having multiple children to hold bad relationships together. I never found anybody else worth having a family with. Elinor is enough.” “No aspirations to professional dance?” “I did take ballet classes as a little girl but I was a touch too clumsy and my proportions were never ideal, as I heard often. I was fine because I tried but I wasn't anything special and I quit as soon as I was allowed. I was, however, something of a marvel on a stripper pole back in uni to hear my friend Sîan tell it. Serena Ballerina, she called me.” “Ding dong, I'd pay for that show.” Serena short-circuited Bernie’s instinctive mortification response with a conspiratorial whisper. “Catch me at Albie's after a couple of bottles and you'll see more than that.” Serena lightly nudged her ankle. “Your go again.” “I dance a mean waltz, I can operate an armored tank, I speak German conversantly, and I don't regret my upcoming divorce.”

Serena eyed Bernie up, no doubt seeking justification of one possibility over the other. Bernie prided, and derided, herself on being unreadable.

“Here’s what I think: I buy the tank as a fact. I can just picture you forging across a battlefield in one.” “Dare I ask what you think I got up to out there?” “Lots of heroism, I expect. Dirt on your face, windswept hair, rippling muscles. Staring stoically toward the horizon. Am I getting warm?” “It wasn't anything that romantic, or remotely that sexy.” “I know. But, you're built to be a romantic hero. It's the cheekbones.” Bernie snorted. “Bite your tongue.” “I’m not the only one thinking it. You should hear how the juniors sigh over you.” “My CV maybe.” “That isn't all. I admit I keep expecting to see ‘I heart Major Wolfe’ scribbled on the walls of the ladies.” “Go on.” “I'll never tell.” Serena smirked. “Operate a tank, yes. Dance a mean waltz? You have a sort of grace about you, don’t you?” “Do I?” Serena looked her over once more, taking her time to inspect Bernie’s hands and arms, lingering at the set of her shoulders and the column of her throat. Bernie softly cleared her throat and Serena’s eyes jerked back to her face. “I’m going to say yes to the waltz. And it’s obvious to me that divorce is the right decision for you. I hope you don't regret it." It was she that reached out this time, a light touch of solidarity that had Bernie reaching back. Their hands linked fast, fingers almost knotting in their eagerness to take mutual hold. Yes, Bernie had made the mistakes, but it was still her family in flames.

“I regret the pain, not the decision.”

“Good enough. As for German…” Serena thumbed Bernie’s wrist. “You can't speak a word of German, can you?” “Nein.” Bernie dodged Serena's ensuing swat. “No need to get physical, Ms. Campbell. We haven't even had dinner yet.”

“Just for that—“ Serena balled up a paper napkin and threw it at Bernie’s head. “Manners!” Bernie tossed a second balled up paper projectile back at her. “Act your age!” “No, you!” “We're the same age.”

There was a better than good chance they were never permitted back at that café, so it was good luck it was out of Bernie’s way.

Serena was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes on the pavement outside the coffee house they’d just been politely ejected from.

“I don’t think I’ve had that much fun on a coffee date in—actually, ever. That was one for the books.”

“You like your dates to end in permanent bans from public establishments?”

“It wasn’t permanent; they said we could come back in a month if we could behave ourselves.”

“We are never coming here again.” Bernie didn’t think her stoicism could withstand the judgmental stares. Knowing Serena they’d find themselves in twice the mischief next time around. She’d probably enjoy it, damn her penchant for troublesome brunettes with beautiful eyes.

The first Serena Campbell hug Bernie ever experienced took her by surprise.

Serena’s arms came around her and Bernie froze. Serena was shorter than her by a couple of inches, though her trainers largely compensated for the disparity. She was so very different from Bernie physically that it took her arms just that little bit longer to remember what they were meant to do. She returned Serena’s hold as she was starting to let go, and they were stuck in this awkward tangle of limbs that was no less embarrassing than Bernie’s initial lapse. It was just—people didn’t touch Bernie. Could be a symptom of her rank or her natural reserve; whatever the reason, others were loath to cross Bernie’s unspoken boundaries and Serena had charged right through, not unlike a bull in a china shop, though nothing was broken. Everything was fine. Better, even.

“Not much for hugs?” Serena asked once they’d sorted out whose limbs was whose and teased their bodies apart.

“Not many people are in the market for a full-on embrace in the army, no.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t mind. It’s nice. I can’t remember the last time somebody was happy to see me.”

“More fool them. You’re amazing.” Bernie scuffed the ground with her boot, wanted so very much to hide behind her fringe but felt that would be telling.

“Was that coffee Irish, by any chance?”

“Hardy har har. No, I’m demonstrative to my friends. Hope that won’t be a problem.”

“Not at all.” Bernie pursed her lips. “Could we, could we try again?”

“We can.”

When Serena went for the hug, it was met with Bernie’s full-bodied approval. Serena’s sigh of contentment unleashed a flurry of emotion in Bernie’s heart. Somebody wanted her here, somebody was happy to see her.

When Serena didn’t protest, Bernie hung on a little tighter for just a little longer. It was nice to hold someone and be held in return.

Serena greeted Bernie at the entrance to Pulses with an excitable grin that would have been the equivalent of an intravenous caffeine drip were Bernie slightly more rested. They’d gone on multiple coffee outings at various spots around Holby outside of work hours and it had cemented them as firm friends. Bernie hadn’t made a friend like Serena before.

Serena guided her into the wending line of customers, holding onto her arm eager as a child at Christmas.

“I’ve decided we’re going to be adventurous this time.”

“Are we?”

“No more Americanos.”

“But I like my coffee black as my mood.”

“So do I, only my daughter was telling me just today how boring that is. You and I are at the top of our field, we are not boring. We’re branching out. How does caramel macchiato strike you?”

Bernie screwed up her face. “Sounds sweet.”

“We’re trying it.”

Bernie groaned and shuffled nearer to the counter as the queue ahead of them shrunk.

“Oh god, Serena, why?” Karma had come for Bernie Wolfe, surely.

“We’re going to carpe that diem, Bernie.”

“Can’t we carpe our usual and save the exotic alternatives for a day when I’ve slept more than two hours?”

“What were you doing that kept you awake?”

“Assembling my new dresser.”

“You should have called me. I’ve spent years putting together my own furniture. I have a tool kit.” The idea of Serena wielding home improvement tools was intriguing and Bernie wasn’t lucid enough to contemplate the reasons why.

“The instructions were in Mandarin.”

“Did they send you the wrong set?”

“I really don’t know.” She yawned into the crook of her arm. “Anyway, I got the thing together in the end, threw myself in bed and got a whole two hours of sleep before my alarm sounded this morning.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Serena rubbed her arm and pulled her to the counter to put in their order. “In that case, black coffee for you, because I know the army runs on the stuff. I’ll have a mocha frappuccino.”

The barista was quick today and produced their drinks order in about ten minutes. Bernie spent the wait daydreaming about getting back into bed. Serena’s previously jolly spirits were already beginning to flag. By the time they were handed their respective cups, she was thoroughly disheartened. They took their first sips after knocking their cups together in a companionable ‘heads up.’

“How is it?” Bernie asked once the world began to regain its color.

“Sweet.” Serena winced. She’d mentioned her preference for dark chocolate over milk or white once before. “Loving the bite of chocolate though.”

Bernie raised her cup in a mock salute. “Better you than me. You can share my coffee when you’re falling asleep half an hour from now.”

“Generous of you.”

They hauled arse to AAU with the speed of clinical leads, in other words, as quick as they bloody well felt like it, which is to say not at all quickly by either of their standards. They arrived on the ward to stow their belongings in the locker room and check on the state of things with Morven and the other F1s under her tutelage. They did a few superficial obs, ordered some tests, bloods, and diagnostics and gathered their paperwork for a meeting with Hanssen, the Board, and the other senior consultants.

Bernie grabbed her lukewarm coffee as she left the office. Serena’s frappuccino was nowhere to be seen. They squeezed into the back of the crowded lift for the ride upstairs. Bernie took the furthest corner from the door while Serena propped herself up against the rear wall to make room for a porter and a nurse wheeling in a couple of non-ambulatory patients.

“Do you want a sip? Your eyelids are drooping.”

Following a voracious yawn, Serena took a hearty gulp of Bernie’s coffee. “Remind me never to listen to my daughter again. She gives terrible advice.” That would not be the last Serena said that in their years together; in the end, Bernie will wish she got to say it more.

They departed their meeting upstairs hours later much diminished for having sat in a darkened conference room listening to a board member entirely lacking in charisma drone on about profit margins into the early afternoon. Bernie’s almost positive Serena mentioned dating him once.

Serena stared at the down button for the lift for roughly thirty seconds before remembering she needed to push it first. “Was that the most boring meeting we have ever attended or am I just exhausted?” “It's up there. Coffee?” “An emergency shot of espresso is in order unless I want to be snoring into Mr. Donorat's abdominal cavity at 3:30.” “I’m slightly more lucid, want me to take him?” Bernie could subsist on a single cup of coffee for twice the amount of time of the average person. Necessity and all that. “And I'll review your half of the admin?” She sounded hopeful. “I wasn't going to suggest that but if you're offering.” Bernie hated the usual NHS administrative drudgery something terrible. She’d take most any out she could get to avoid it. “Consider it done." Serena ambushed her with a brisk hug. Bernie hadn't known hugs could be brisk. Serena rubbed her back and bussed her cheek, then dashed for the elevator with a backwards wave, no doubt off to wade into their chest-high backlog like the expert swimmer she was. Bernie smiled at her retreating figure and made for the stairs, whistling softly as she began her descent. They were workplace hugging friends now.

Bernie came back to their shared office after Mr. Donorat’s surgery ran into the early evening. There had been complications, including a couple of free bleeds that had necessitated a transfusion and a fresh set of scrubs for Bernie. If he survived the night, he’d live to see seventy, in Bernie’s opinion.

On Bernie’s desk, there was a steaming cup of coffee in a cardboard cup holder that read Ziggurat’s Coffee & Patisserie. They’d been banned from there months ago and all of Serena’s wheedling hadn’t convinced Bernie to go accompany her there again. The smell of dark hazelnut roast greeted Bernie. There it was again, that feeling of being cared for, wanted and appreciated.

“You didn't need to bring me back coffee.”

“You saved my bacon on that surgery, it's the least I could do.”

Bernie didn’t tell her that friends did that for each other. That was a given. Serena didn’t need to be told what friends should do; she needed to see it. So Bernie would do it and Serena would see the kind of friend she had in Bernie. “Thanks.”

“Think nothing of it.” Serena tapped her fingers on the edge of her keyboard. “Dinner tonight?”

“Kebab?” “You read my mind.” After their shift, they repaired to a wonderful Turkish eatery they’d found on their meanderings through town and split a set of beyti kebab while treating themselves to a pot of fortifying Turkish coffee. Noting how Serena was eyeing the last skewer on the platter, Bernie signaled the server to their table to expand their order. It would take a stronger woman than her to deny that face anything. "Take two?" They pored over the menu, likely butchering the pronunciation of every dish but giving it the old college try before settling on çöp şiş for Bernie and patlıcanlı kebap for Serena. Sharing food was out of the question; they both enjoyed eating their fill too much to share. Marcus used to give Bernie grief if she ate too much at once. For all that he claimed it was for her own good, Bernie often questioned whether he wasn't worried she wouldn't look the way he preferred if she gained a few pounds. Serena didn't care. She made the right noises about diet and exercise but Bernie had yet to meet a woman more content in her body, or who had more of a right to be. “Back to our game,” Serena announced unprompted between bites of pide bread dipped in yogurt sauce. “We have a game?” Bernie asked around a mouthful of garlic and tomato dripping with oil, tasting of black pepper and thyme. It was so good she didn’t actually want to stop eating to speak. Serena raised a finger, finishing a segment of eggplant off in its entirety. “Three Truths...” “...and A Lie.” She snapped her fingers. “Okay, let's go.” Bernie liked getting to know Serena this way. It was low-pressure and Serena made it even more so. She wanted to know Bernie as a person, not Bernie as some larger than life heroic figure. Bernie wanted to know everything there was to know about Serena and more. “You first.” Serena counted off her on her fingers: “I played hockey as a girl, I once dyed my hair an unfortunate shade of dishwater blonde, I tried yoga—twice, and I have always dreamed of summering in the south of France.”

Bernie sat back to let herself digest some of the food she’d just eaten. She had every intention of going back to it. “I don't think you'd like yoga very much.” “Ah ah ah, I can be flexible.” In theater, yes; in life, Bernie had observed that Serena had difficulty with sudden, unexpected change. She and Jason very much had that in common. Nevertheless, both were adapting swiftly now that Bernie’d come around. “I know you can bend when needed, I've seen you in theater.”

Serena batted her eyelashes. “Flirt.” “Likewise.” Flirting with Serena had become Bernie’s latest cardio fad. Nothing got her heart rate up like seeing Serena shine with mischief. Back on task, Wolfe. “You'd love wine country.” “We'll have to go together someday. I can ply you with the best varietals of Shiraz until you come to your senses.” “Not if I get you to enjoy Malbec first.” Serena unleashed a mighty scowl. “Never gonna happen.”

“We'll see.” Bernie had Serena beat for bullheadedness any day. “Hockey?” “Never underestimate school mandated physical activity.” Serena’s scowl was more annoyance than disgust this time. “What are you staring at?” “Trying to imagine you shouldering a bunch of year eight girls out of the way to launch the ball into the net.” “I could have done it,” she defended. Serena balked at the implication that she wasn’t as capable as anyone. Bernie would have done the same, had done the same on other subjects. “I bet you could. But you didn't.”

Serena cradled her cup of coffee and narrowed her eyes as if to intimidate Bernie into flinching. It would have been more effective were it not for the drop of coffee on the corner of her mouth that Bernie couldn’t stop staring at. She wanted to kiss rub it off. “Your final answer?” Serena asked her. Bernie contemplated what remained of her food and threw a hand up to request a take-home box. Her stomach was doing somersaults; she was in no fit state to eat more. “My final answer.”

Serena flopped back her chair with an air of disgruntlement not unlike the Elinor she’d heard countless tales about. "You're annoyingly good at this game." “You have a tell.” “What?” Serena followed Bernie's line of sight to her necklace and the double charm she was dragging along its chain. “I've been doing that all my life. Don't even notice it most of the time.” “You do it when you're nervous or when you fib.”

Serena chuckled. “I'll keep that in mind if we ever play poker.”

Bernie could see Serena on Keller with herself and the others having hospital-approved drinks at the end of shift and dealing cards in the break room. Something told her this woman talked a much better game than she played. “I'd wipe the floor with you.”

Serena’s eyebrows inched toward her hairline. She sensed fresh meat. Bernie sensed a trap and like a lemming she dove right in. Serena propped her chin on her hands. “Can't wait to spend your hard earned money on coffee next time.” “Was that a challenge?” Bernie liked to win, but more than she liked to win, she liked Serena. She’d take her up on a game of Twister if Serena decided it was a worthwhile way to spend an afternoon. “Name the time and place, Ms. Wolfe.” “My place, next Tuesday after work. I’ll provide the booze.” “I'll bring the takeaway.”

“It's a date.” Bernie finally heeded the internal alarm shrieking that she was coming dangerously close to asking out her newest friend and changed the subject. “So dishwater blonde?” Serena deflated. “I hoped you'd forgot about that.” “Memory like bank vault, me. Was it a dare? Is there photographic evidence?” “Never you mind that.” "Should I ask Jason?” Serena almost spit out her coffee. “No! And you are never allowed to meet Sîan Kors.” “I am going to ask every one of our colleagues until I get her number, and I am going to start with Ric.” Ric enjoyed getting Serena’s goat slightly more than Bernie did and he didn’t care one way or another about taking sides. If nothing else, he could tell Bernie where to search next.

“Bloody Ric Griffin.” Serena gave Bernie all the best bits of Ric’s history to make up for his inevitable betrayal. Bernie forgot all except the choice tidbits. Rocky Griffin had met his match in the two of them.

Serena and Bernie said their goodbyes at street parking. Bernie had a meet-up with the kids in an hour or so if they decided to show. Part of her wanted to ask Serena to tag along for moral support, but she knew this was the time for her to be brave again. That was the version of Bernie her children needed to see. Serena knew all about the upcoming meeting and had done all she could to keep Bernie’s mind off it. She’d done well. That was her gift, aside from being an excellent surgeon and a relentless shill for the Shiraz makers of Europe, she was a daunting distraction.

Serena bumped Bernie’s shoulder. "Not a bad meal, and I can't fault the company."

"I'll take that for a review."

“You can take that to bank.”

Serena took one of Bernie’s hands. They were cold as the year grew cooler with a change of season. Serena never took any notice, seemed as eager to touch Bernie when she was warm as when she was icy. “Thanks for today.” “Just doing what comes naturally.”

“Saving my sorry backside?” “Looking out for one of my own." Bernie slunk forward to put drape her arms around Serena. She even dared a kiss upon the rosy apple of Serena's cheek. “You're welcome in my foxhole any day.” “I bet you tell that to all the pretty consultants.”

“Just you.” Serena buried her face in the folds of Bernie’s coat and laughed. It was only a second and Bernie heart rate still climbed. Serena pulled back and brushed strands of hair from Bernie’s coat.

“You’d better get a move on before I try to take you home with me.”

Bernie clicked her tongue. “You won't hear me complaining.”

“Be good, Ms. Wolfe,” said Serena, going stern though not nearly as convincing as she seemed to believe.

Beautiful. Beguiling. Utterly unattainable. Just Bernie’s type. “Where would be the fun in that?” Serena held Berne’s door for her as she got into her car. They clasped hands through her open car window. “Goodnight, Serena.” “Goodnight.”

Bernie waited to see Serena safely back in her car and they drove their separate ways. As always.

Serena held the lift doors long enough for Bernie to squeeze through. Yes, she was running behind. She had slept in.

“Good morning, birthday girl.”

Bernie cocked her head. “How’d you know today’s my birthday?”

"I'm clinical co-lead of our ward, not to mention former deputy CEO. All the personnel files used to cross my desk, including yours.” “You remember my birthday?” She was lucky if her children remembered. Sometimes Alex had. Bernie had stopped celebrating in her thirties; there’d been more pressing concerns, career, marriage, kids. It ceased to be an event to anybody else and so Bernie had let it go.

“I remember the birthdays of all my friends.” Serena dug around in her seemingly bottomless coat pockets and produced a large novelty size Crunchie bar, an oversize travel mug that smelled of Bernie’s favorite decadent coffee beverage (one of Serena’s ideas for an Americano alternative had stuck) and a paper packet that was giving off an aroma so sweet Bernie’s mouth began to water on the spot. Bernie hardly knew what to say.

“You got me cheese Danish.” “You're always eyeing it up on the dessert case and talking yourself out of it. Eat up, you're beautiful, Bernie, and you're as young as you feel.” “I feel about 22 right now.” “You look it.” “That settles it, it's time for a visit to the optician. I’ll drive.” “I’ll go if you go.” "So you can steal my glasses like you steal my hoodie?" Serena turned beet red. “I did that once because a patient sicked up on my blouse and I didn't have a spare. I washed it and returned it the very next shift.” Bernie had smelt of Serena's laundry detergent for three days, light and floral and soft. Time and again, she would catch a whiff of herself and whip around, mistakenly thinking Serena was nearby. Serena's scent was a comely ghost she wanted to be haunted by, that she mourned not a little when it faded to nothing. “So you did. That wasn't a 'no', by the way.” “You would let me borrow your glasses, wouldn't you?” Without hesitation. Bernie had proven herself a soft touch for this woman from the first handshake. “You'd only steal them if I didn’t.” “I wouldn't steal them, I would borrow them while you weren't looking.” “As I suspected. You're not to be trusted. And no pouting, you've only got yourself to blame.”

Serena’s lower lip poked out in defiance. “I've got a department head meeting to haggle over budget acquisition for your trauma bay. When my birthday rolls around in a few months’ time, I want you to remember I took this bullet for both of us." She pulled Bernie into her arms. Unlike her usual brisk, crushing hug, this was a steaming bath of an embrace, soothing and deep. She held Bernie as tight as their respective possessions allowed and rubbed Bernie's back, stroking a line of bracing heat down her spine. She then kissed Bernie's cheek twice in quick succession. “Happy birthday, darling.”

Bernie didn’t get out more than a stammered word of thanks before Serena pushed her out the lift onto AAU and headed upstairs for her budget conference.

Bernie and Serena had leveled up to a shared ward, unsolicited gestures of kindness, hugs, and terms of endearment. Bernie greeted the ward staff feeling lighter than she had in months. Her feet scarcely touched the ground.

Months and years and births and deaths hence, Bernie stretched sloth-slow on her side of the bed. “Coffee?” she offered, voice hoarse and croaky from deep, restful slumber. Serena reached out of her goose down hibernation cave to reclaim Bernie's sleep heavy body for a pre-dawn snuggle. “Five more minutes?” Bernie rolled over to nuzzle under Serena's chin, going limpet and creeping vine stuck with her under the covers. She wasn't going to turn down a lovely cuddle in this winter weather, nor with this lovely woman. The children and grandchildren and extended relations would be arriving soon and they’d expect food. "Five more minutes." They made it downstairs in fifty. Close enough.

#Berena #Berena Secret Santa #santahanssen #My Fic #Fandom: Holby City #Pairing: Berena #FIC: Berena

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innerpostmentality · 6 years

Text

Discoveries 1

A warning about this piece. It postulates a polyamorous relationship between the TRR characters of Liam, Drake and the MC. If this disturbs you please just opt out of reading this.

This takes place on the camping trip in TRR Book 2 after the Tea Party

Character are: Bastien, Liam, Drake, and Siobhan (mc) Rating: NSFW Relationship: +

Now playing as Siobhan

You lie awake in your tent thinking about everything that has happened since coming to Cordonia. Sleep eludes you like a master spy and you laugh at yourself remembering back to the week before you met Liam. The conversation you had with Daniel about your romantic doldrums. Now, .....Liam, and Drake... King Liam you correct yourself. A king is in love with you. A king who may be the best man you've ever met. And then there is Drake... Drake who is always there to save you. Drake with his midnight eyes and smart ass mouth and marshmallow heart, and sinner's kiss. Your body stirs to your core with desire remembering that forfeit kiss, gift of Never Have I Ever. Somehow, if everything works out you are going to wind up having a choice. How do you chose one half of a heart over another? Idiot. Only you could screw your life up enough to fall in love with two really great men.

Flipping over, again... visions of a chicken on a spit come to you even as you roll. You glance through your tent flap across the moonlit camp and see your friend's tents, Liam's on the other side of the banked campfire a bit under the forest canopy, Hana's to your right, Maxwell's just beyond Hana's, Drake's to your left. Then you notice a muted light from the base of the flap of Liam's tent. You only hesitate a moment before padding silently to Liam's tent. You quietly open the flap to go in and freeze in shock.

Before you Liam is naked lying on his side his face pressed into a pillow. Drake kneels over him thrusting into him vigorously from behind while he pumps Liam's cock. Over the rush of blood in your ears you hear Liam's muffled groans and see him come even as he reaches to hold Drake's hand and contain his semen. Drake arches straining into him and finds his own completion as he softly cries Liam's name.

You stumble backward, your vision tunneling in shock. But you see Drake's eyes open and then going wide as he sees you even as you turn and run. In the moonlight you run down the path you hiked up a life time ago. You run til you stub your toe on a stone. Then you hobble on. Not able to wrap your head around what you saw, senselessly trying to find your way back to the reality you thought you knew. Suddenly arms grab you halting your flight.

"Lady Siobhan?" Bastien is holding you. Looking concerned. "Lady Siobhan, are you alright? Is everything okay?"

You look at him but can't meet his eyes.

"Take me home."

Bastien wraps an arm securely around you and starts to lead you down the path murmuring in his headset. "All positions report." A moment later he realizes you are hobbling and sweeps you up in his arms carrying you down the trail to a black security vehicle which he opens without setting you down and sits you in the back seat. He keeps his eyes on you as he listens to his head set and tense moments pass while you imagine his other guards report in. Finally you see his posture relax ever so slightly. "You're hurt."

"No."

"Lady Siobhan, it wasn't a question. Your foot is injured. I need to look at it."

You watch him as he pulls a huge first aid kit from the back. And you giggle as the absurdity of a first aid kit that belongs in an ambulance to handle medical assistance for a disaster zone being used to treat your silly stubbed toe hits you. Bastien looks at you with even more concern as he very gently examines your toe, cleans it and tapes it to the one next to it. "I don't think it's broken." he tells you. Then looks up searching your eyes. "Do you need medical assistance?" Bastien's voice is very soft and low, gentle like you've never heard it before and you finally lock eyes with him. You understand that He's actually worried that you may have been assaulted.

"No.... I'm .... I just need to think." You shake your head and try your best to put on your most assuring voice. Trying to think of something you can say that would be plausible that wouldn't betray Liam and Drake. You sniff and realize you've been crying. Bastien looks at you very carefully holding your gaze til there's a knock on the window of the car. You jump away from the window like a shot went off.

Liam is there in his sweat pants and undershirt his dark hair disheveled, looking as worried as you've ever seen him. Bastien looks at him. Then back at you without rolling the window down. There is pain in his voice as he softly asks you, "Lady Siobhan, are you willing to speak to his Majesty? I will take you from here right now if you wish. I will stay right here with you if you wish. Or I can give you privacy. In this I leave the choice to you."

You look through the window at Liam and instantly read the despair radiating from him and your heart shatters in a thousand pieces at the pain you see there. You take a deep breath, close your eyes a moment and then look at Bastien. "Bastien....Thank you." You struggle with your instinct that wants you to flee, just run away. You know in the depth of your soul that would be the absolute worst thing for everyone. But the temptation is strong to run and maybe tomorrow you'll wake up and it will all be back like you thought it was. Finally you look at Bastien."I will speak with Liam. I really need to speak to him privately. Can you give us some time?"

Bastien looks at you a moment longer then nods. "I won't be far." He hands you the handkerchief from his pocket and squeezes your hand before leaving the vehicle.

You see Liam ask him if you are okay. Bastien looks at you for a moment before looking back at Liam for a long moment. And telling him simply that he should speak with you. Bastien pointedly opens the front door of the vehicle for Liam to get in which he does after hesitating for the briefest of moments. Bastien closes the door and walks a few feet away still in sight of the vehicle.

"Siobhan," Liam's voice breaks as he whispers your name and looks at you his eyes are black in the light from the dash. "I never... we never.." He struggles, foundering as he tries to find a way to express himself. "I'm so sorry." You see the tears in his eyes as he manages this.

You hold up a hand. Your voice is harsher than you intend, strained with emotion. "I don't want your apology." You feel fresh tears streak down your face. "Fuck." You swipe the tears off your face. "Are you gay?"

Liam looks at you solemnly holding your eyes. "No.... I love you... I also love Drake. I guess that makes me Bi? Polyamorous?" He grimaces as though putting a name to it has somehow made it real for him, something he has to deal with.

You close your eyes when he says this weighing what that means to you. Finally you look at him again. "Does Bastien know about you and Drake?"

Liam holds your gaze and runs his hand through his rumpled hair before finally answering. "I don't think so. But I wouldn't swear it. Bastien knows a lot." "Siobhan, we never, ever intended to hurt you."

Fixing him with your gaze your voice only shakes a little, "Drake said it, all these damn secrets and lies... The court is so damned bored they make their own misery for entertainment." You shake your head. "So what was the plan Liam? When were you going to tell me?"

He looks like you just slapped him. He drops his eyes. "Never." his voice is a broken whisper. "We were... we were saying goodbye, in a way."

You shoot him an incredulous stare. "Fuck. Stay here. I'm coming back don't you dare move." You open your door and hop out wincing as your sore toe hits the ground and twinges.

Immediately Bastien comes over to you. "Lady Siobhan?"

You lay a hand on his arm. "Bastien, we have some issues we need to get resolved. Could you please get Drake for us?"

He looks at you a moment and you see him almost smile. "Of course my lady. I'm pleased you seem somewhat recovered."

"We're getting there." You give him a small smile before turning to get back in the vehicle.

"Liam, Bastien is going to get Drake. We are going to have a talk."

There's a cross between astonishment, confusion, and hope in Liam's face as he gazes at you.

You sit back in the middle of the back seat staring at Liam for a long time before finally asking. "How long have you and Drake been together?"

He looks at you squarely, "You mean how long have we been lovers?"

"Yes. How long have you and Drake been lovers?"

He considers thinking back. "I've loved him since we were children. But we didn't become intimate until I guess I was eighteen? It was right before he was leaving for university. I told him how I felt. He said it was all the more reason he needed to leave. The crown wasn't mine. So I didn't see a problem. Drake was more... cognizant." He shakes his head. "I pushed. He broke against his better judgment I think. We made love. He left for school the next morning. He was gone two years and then there was an assassination attempt. It hit me that everyone I'd ever loved left or died...." You see the pain etch his features as he recalls the past.

"Liam," you start as Drake knocks on the front window.

You motion at him to get in. And he looks at you a long moment before looking at Liam. Liam nods and he climbs in. "Siobhan... I'm sorry." It may be the most sober you've ever heard Drake sound.

Irish fire lights your green eyes as you stare at him and speak very softly. "That is the second apology I've heard tonight." You run your hand through your hair and sigh. "I told Liam I didn't want to hear apologies. I've changed my mind."

"Siobhan... I never meant, neither of us ever meant to hurt you." Drake meets your eyes. "I never lied to you, MacLachlan."

You shake your head. "Only by omission." You look at each of them in turn. "And I've been lying too. To both of you. And myself." You sigh. "This ends now. Both of you please come here."

They look at you a long moment then at each other before getting out to join you in the back seat. One on either side of you. You take their hands. They each squeeze your hand as they take it. "Here's my truth. Really simple. I have somehow managed to fall hopelessly in love with both of you. I've been trying to figure out what I was going to do if I cleared my name and Liam broke up with Madeleine and proposed." You laugh but there's no mirth in it. "I kept telling myself I didn't have to think about that because it hadn't happened, might not ever happen. Liam you are the best, kindest, most thoughtful, and desirable man I've ever known and I love you soul deep." You look Liam in the eyes and lean over and kiss him softly. Never letting go of either of their hands. Then you squeeze their hands and continue shifting your focus to Drake, "From the moment I stepped on the plane to come here and you let your snark loose it was like throwing a magnet into steel filings. The more you resisted the more I was attracted. And you were always there when I needed you. Your loyalty to Liam just affirmed what I already knew in my heart that deep down you were the very best person. And I love you and want you with all that I am or ever hope to be."

You see Drake meet Liam's eyes for a brief moment then his eyes lock with yours and he reaches up and holds your face and kisses you deeply and you feel the tremble of his emotion in his hands as he strokes your ear gently with his thumb. "I love you, MacLachlan."

You look at Drake a moment and then look over to Liam. "Liam, did you know this? Before now?"

He looks at you and nods then looks at Drake. "We spoke."

"And did you know that this is the first time he ever told me that?" You turn your gaze to Drake even as you tell Liam this. "I have a little problem with that to be honest."

"I asked Liam before you got here Drake, what the plan was? When you were going to tell me about your love. He said that you were "saying goodbye" and that there wasn't a plan for me to ever know that you are in love with each other." You look away from them out into the night where Bastien stands vigil. And you remember losing your parents.

Drake squeezes your hand, "Siobhan we know it's impossible. Always has been. Liam must marry a woman who can give him children. The council will demand it. Cordonia will demand it. And he is so damn fortunate to have found you, a woman who he truly loves. We will clear your name. And if you love him like you say then you will have a blessed, joyful life together. I love you both too much to ever interfere with that. Your happiness, Liam's happiness is everything to me."

"So you don't think that we could all be happy together? That we could all love each other? You have decided that the only way this works is if love that has lasted for years is sacrificed for convention? You love each other but don't want to share? You each love me but don't want to share me with the man you love? I thought you were both more generous, more secure than that."

Liam and Drake look at each other trying to process what you are telling them.

Finally Liam looks at you and brings your hand he's been holding to his mouth to kiss it. "I always under estimate you. I never thought... I was afraid I'd lose you if you knew...I'm sorry."

You lean over and kiss Liam deeply. "That's the apology I wanted."

You break the kiss and look at Drake then Liam. "Don't ever throw love away. It's too rare and precious." They both look at each other and slowly smile then look at you and swoop in to kiss your cheek and you grin.

"Just please trust our love enough to be honest. And include me, don't cut me out of the decisions that are going to impact all our lives."

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margarethelstone · 7 years

Text

Dragonfly ‘A’

When your friend writes you some dumb Hiccstrid to make you shut up, but instead of doing this, you decide to turn it into an actual fic.

Based on this conversation with @wilderwestqueen

Can be found on fanfiction.net as well

“Hiccup”, Astrid said, looking soulfully in his eyes. “I am eternally, utterly and hopelessly in love with you. Let’s wed on the shores of the Edge and fly off into the sunset together, shooting plasma blasts through the wind, all whilst conceiving twelve beautiful children named after every dragon we’ve met on this island.”

“Astrid,” Hiccup said, tears filling his eyes as he grabbed a hold of Astrid’s hands. “I thought you’d never ask. Quick, clasp my chest. Let’s ride Toothless into the night sky and make passionate love in mid-air whilst wearing our dragon fly suits!”

Honestly, she didn’t even know she could raise her eyebrows that high.

“This is insane,” she stated, eyeing him in disbelief. “You are insane.”

The man in front of her rolled his eyes, but didn’t stop smiling nevertheless.

“Hiccup, I am not wearing this.”

“Just give it a try, will you?” he answered her, the excitement still resonating in his voice, as if he hadn’t heard what she’d just said. “It won’t bite, you know.”

“Oh, yes it will. And even if it doesn’t, I’m sure it will be the cause of my misery, injury, or death itself in some other way. Look, I love you, but this is way too much to expect from me.”

“Astrid, just -”

“I’m not wearing the Thor damned flight suit!”

With that, silence fell on the room. Admittedly, Hiccup did open his mouth, but clearly, he wasn’t able to come up with any sensible answer, so he closed it soon enough. He didn’t retreat immediately, but responding to Astrid’s words proved to be more difficult than ever, and thus, after a few moments of frowning and chewing his lower lip, he gave up, and sighed.

“Fine,” he muttered under his breath. “Forget it. Apparently I can’t even make a gift for my betrothed without making a total fool of myself.”

Berk’s blonde Shield Maiden only shook her head, seeing the grumpy expression on her beloved Viking’s face.

Good gods, he was hopeless.

When he told her that morning that he wanted to talk to her, she didn’t have the slightest idea of what it might be about, but then again, she didn’t really care that much. Fairly speaking, she expected him to propose another round of let’s-map-the-entire-world-together-before-my-Dad-decides-to-make-me-Chief thing rather than anything else, however, she was quite as ready to do everything he wanted her to.

Except this.

In her wildest dreams and nightmares, she certainly did not suppose that Hiccup Haddock, the Pride of Berk, her personal husband-to-be would drag her to his workshop, and gift her with nothing else, but her own, brand new Dragonfly ‘A’.

Yes, that was the name.

“Hiccup, listen to me,” she said, trying to sound softly, taking a few steps towards the flustered man. “You know how… sceptical I’ve always been about the whole Dragon Fly idea. It’s frustrating enough to see you using it, provoking some accident to happen every time you jump off of Toothless. What on Earth made you think I would agree to use one, too?”

“I figured that maybe if you ever tried it yourself, you might be more understanding for me and my enthusiasm for it,” he mumbled, still avoiding her gaze.

Astrid crossed her arms on her chest. “Well, I’m not.”

Hiccup finally glanced at her, only to give her the most offended glance he could offer – and yet, his beautiful fiancée didn’t even stir.

“I can see that.”

He looked away as soon as he’d voiced the words, clasping the suit in question in his hands. The blonde warrior couldn’t miss the pain that reflected in his features as he turned his head away, slouching as he did; but even considering the fact that she really didn’t want to see him like that, she still wouldn’t be able to accept his unusual present.

Sighing, Astrid stepped towards the Rider, stopping right before him. She tilted her head, trying to meet his gaze, but it was of no use; Hiccup simply wouldn’t look at her now, no matter how hard she had tried.

“Can you please tell me what it’s really about?” she asked gently. “Why would you want me to use that suit all of the sudden? It’s your thing.”

“I wanted you to fly with me,” came a muffled answer, before Hiccup mustered to look her in the eyes again, and explain himself more openly. “I thought that, well, maybe it would be a nice change. That instead of riding dragons together, we could try to do that on our own. Well, kind of. Anyway, that’s it. You can laugh now.”

The girl stared at him for a while, her eyes wide in shock. How was she supposed to answer something like that? Flying? Together? Was that the romanticism he wanted to put into life now?

She knew that at this specific moment, she should stay calm at all cost – but she couldn’t.

No longer bothering, Astrid burst into the most sonorous laughter, completely taking Hiccup aback.

“What?!” she stuttered, almost chocking on her own saliva. “Hiccup, this is bad even for you. I mean, what’s next, conceiving our children on the backs of dragons? Or naming them after the ones we’ve met so far?”

Hiccup’s cheeks were blushing madly at this point, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop laughing. She pressed her hands to her mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but it didn’t make much of a difference. Hiccup looked awfully miserable, and she knew it was her fault, but could anyone blame her? Yet, she tried once more to calm down, hoping the Viking would not take offence for too long.

She took a deep breath, then another. One more.

Alright, she was fine now.

“Babe, I’m sorry,” she began, praying to the gods she would not start giggling again. “I really shouldn’t have said that. It’s just -”

“It was calling out to be said, wasn’t it?” he responded harshly. “You’re right, you’re absolutely, positively right. The idea is ridiculous, I don’t know what I was thinking whenI decided to share it with you. Must have been drunk or something.”

“You’re never drunk.”

“Well, something tells me I will be tonight,” he drawled. “Not that you would care. I’m just that weird guy with one leg and ridiculous ideas. Why don’t you just turn on your heel, and tell me you don’t want to have anything to do with me?”

“Good Thor, Hiccup, you can be such a child sometimes,” she moaned mockingly. The word child brought the fresh memories to the man’s mind, and now he was blushing again in result. Astrid laughed shortly, and cupping his face in her hands, she made him turn in her direction. “Listen, Dragon Boy. I am eternally, utterly and hopelessly in love with you. I want to have everything to do with you. If you asked me to clasp your chest, fly to the Edge, and marry you on its shores right after we land, I would probably say yes, and never regret it. I am ready to die for you or kill for you -” she paused for a moment, watching how the expression on Hiccup’s face changes, feeling him relaxing into her grip “but I refuse to do neither of those looking like some feral crazy Dragon Lady.”

Before Hiccup had a chance to respond, Astrid stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips on his, while her hands moved swiftly, one landing on the man’s chest, the other on the back of his head, dipped in his luxurious auburn hair.

Hiccup, shocked, didn’t respond immediately, blinking in surprise, and wondering what he should do in a situation like this.

He didn’t want to kiss her.

He really didn’t want to kiss her.

Gods, he always wanted to kiss her.

Restraining himself no longer, he leaned in, embracing Astrid’s waist with both arms, holding her as close as he found possible. She smiled under his lips.

She always did.

When they broke apart, he saw a question in her eyes, but he only shook his head, smiling fondly at her. Her own grin widened significantly, and once again, Hiccup thought that he really couldn’t live without that smile.

He still felt embarrassed by the entire situation, but somehow, he was beginning to accept it. Astrid rejecting his gift was bad. Astrid laughing up the idea behind the gift was absolutely, terribly horrifying.

Yet, the same Astrid expressing her feelings for him so straightforwardly, holding him, accepting him, loving him sort of made it worth the pain.

Astrid snuggled her face into his neck, hugging him tightly.

“I’m really sorry, Hiccup. I shouldn’t have laughed like that, but it seriously wasn’t a good idea.”

“I think I can live with that. I overreacted, too.”

“You know, I don’t mind you wearing that suit yourself, it’s just -”

“It’s not your thing. Yeah, I know.”

He put a small kiss on her hair before the girl raised her head, still not loosening her grip on him.

“Yes. But also… If anything happens to you during those crazy flights, I want to be able to actually rescue you. And I won’t be able to do that if I’ll be falling into the ocean with you.”

Hiccup couldn’t help but chuckle at her words. He gave her another kiss, this time placed on her forehead, and whispered, “You’re quite right about that, M’lady. As you always are.”

“I’m glad to hear you say something reasonable for once,” she teased him back, also whispering, and then raised her brows in anticipation. “So, what do we do now?”

“Well,” Hiccup mused out loud. “Since you can’t appreciate the present I gave you, we must think of something else. Now, as much as I love the idea of marrying you at the Edge’s shore, I’m pretty sure Dad would kill me if I did, and I’d like to be present on my honeymoon. So, that’s out. But… How about a moonlit flight instead?”

“With how many dragons included?”

“I thought about one, honestly. You know, like for the first time.”

“Sentimental again.”

“Is that bad?”

“No.”

“Great,” he glanced at her mischievously. “Ready to grab my chest?”

#hiccstrid #fanfiction #astrid #hiccup #httyd #httyd2 #rtte

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mortalis-arc · 3 years

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𝐠𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐲/𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞. / 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐

@btchfits whispered :: “ no. no way, no way in hell am i doing that. no ! no … aw, fine … ”

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐚𝐜 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧 , stuck sitting in front of him with a ridiculously pathetic pout on her face and polaroid camera in her other hand. ❝ do you want me to beg you , isaac ? because we both know i will — we both know i'll get what i want , too ! ❞ it isn't that she's typically demanding. truth be told , she tends to be far from it ; on the other hand , she really wants to get a few photos of isaac and the two of them together. and what better than with a polaroid , where she could keep hard copies of the photos and carry them around with her ! and maybe convince isaac to stick one in his wallet , too.

large eyes gleam with surprise and delight when he finally caves , leaning over to quickly press a little smooch to his cheek. ❝ i promise i won't take too many. ❞ she hasn't stopped grinning yet , her focus turning to loading the polaroid with film. she slowly maneuvers around on the bed , situating herself proudly in his lap.

❝ now . . . what is it going to take to get a smile out of you ? ❞ teeth sink into her lower lip to bite back her grin that threatens to grow a million sizes bigger by the second. these were the times that she treasured between them ; 𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐞 , but always her favorite. no arguments , no yelling , just finding comfort & momentary happiness in each other. ❝ and i'm talking about a real smile , baby. not one of those scary ones you do. ❞ she teases , holding up the camera in his direction.

#AHHHH THESE TWOOOOOO #btchfits #* ⟢ 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝟎𝟏 ⧽ ━━ main / modern.#* ⟢ 𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 ⧽ ━━ answered.#* ⟢ 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐀 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐀𝐂 ⧽ ━━ moonlit misery sounded great to me.

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readbookywooks · 8 years

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`As I stood there musing over this too perfect triumph of man, the full moon, yellow and gibbous, came up out of an overflow of silver light in the north-east. The bright little figures ceased to move about below, a noiseless owl flitted by, and I shivered with the chill of the night. I determined to descend and find where I could sleep.

`I looked for the building I knew. Then my eye travelled along to the figure of the White Sphinx upon the pedestal of bronze, growing distinct as the light of the rising moon grew brighter. I could see the silver birch against it. There was the tangle of rhododendron bushes, black in the pale light, and there was the little lawn. I looked at the lawn again. A queer doubt chilled my complacency. "No," said I stoutly to myself, "that was not the lawn."

`But it WAS the lawn. For the white leprous face of the sphinx was towards it. Can you imagine what I felt as this conviction came home to me? But you cannot. The Time Machine was gone!

`At once, like a lash across the face, came the possibility of losing my own age, of being left helpless in this strange new world. The bare thought of it was an actual physical sensation. I could feel it grip me at the throat and stop my breathing. In another moment I was in a passion of fear and running with great leaping strides down the slope. Once I fell headlong and cut my face; I lost no time in stanching the blood, but jumped up and ran on, with a warm trickle down my cheek and chin. All the time I ran I was saying to myself: "They have moved it a little, pushed it under the bushes out of the way." Nevertheless, I ran with all my might. All the time, with the certainty that sometimes comes with excessive dread, I knew that such assurance was folly, knew instinctively that the machine was removed out of my reach. My breath came with pain. I suppose I covered the whole distance from the hill crest to the little lawn, two miles perhaps, in ten minutes. And I am not a young man. I cursed aloud, as I ran, at my confident folly in leaving the machine, wasting good breath thereby. I cried aloud, and none answered. Not a creature seemed to be stirring in that moonlit world.

`When I reached the lawn my worst fears were realized. Not a trace of the thing was to be seen. I felt faint and cold when I faced the empty space among the black tangle of bushes. I ran round it furiously, as if the thing might be hidden in a corner, and then stopped abruptly, with my hands clutching my hair. Above me towered the sphinx, upon the bronze pedestal, white, shining, leprous, in the light of the rising moon. It seemed to smile in mockery of my dismay.

`I might have consoled myself by imagining the little people had put the mechanism in some shelter for me, had I not felt assured of their physical and intellectual inadequacy. That is what dismayed me: the sense of some hitherto unsuspected power, through whose intervention my invention had vanished. Yet, for one thing I felt assured: unless some other age had produced its exact duplicate, the machine could not have moved in time. The attachment of the levers--I will show you the method later-- prevented any one from tampering with it in that way when they were removed. It had moved, and was hid, only in space. But then, where could it be?

`I think I must have had a kind of frenzy. I remember running violently in and out among the moonlit bushes all round the sphinx, and startling some white animal that, in the dim light, I took for a small deer. I remember, too, late that night, beating the bushes with my clenched fist until my knuckles were gashed and bleeding from the broken twigs. Then, sobbing and raving in my anguish of mind, I went down to the great building of stone. The big hall was dark, silent, and deserted. I slipped on the uneven floor, and fell over one of the malachite tables, almost breaking my shin. I lit a match and went on past the dusty curtains, of which I have told you.

`There I found a second great hall covered with cushions, upon which, perhaps, a score or so of the little people were sleeping. I have no doubt they found my second appearance strange enough, coming suddenly out of the quiet darkness with inarticulate noises and the splutter and flare of a match. For they had forgotten about matches. "Where is my Time Machine?" I began, bawling like an angry child, laying hands upon them and shaking them up together. It must have been very queer to them. Some laughed, most of them looked sorely frightened. When I saw them standing round me, it came into my head that I was doing as foolish a thing as it was possible for me to do under the circumstances, in trying to revive the sensation of fear. For, reasoning from their daylight behaviour, I thought that fear must be forgotten.

`Abruptly, I dashed down the match, and, knocking one of the people over in my course, went blundering across the big dining-hall again, out under the moonlight. I heard cries of terror and their little feet running and stumbling this way and that. I do not remember all I did as the moon crept up the sky. I suppose it was the unexpected nature of my loss that maddened me. I felt hopelessly cut off from my own kind--a strange animal in an unknown world. I must have raved to and fro, screaming and crying upon God and Fate. I have a memory of horrible fatigue, as the long night of despair wore away; of looking in this impossible place and that; of groping among moon-lit ruins and touching strange creatures in the black shadows; at last, of lying on the ground near the sphinx and weeping with absolute wretchedness. I had nothing left but misery. Then I slept, and when I woke again it was full day, and a couple of sparrows were hopping round me on the turf within reach of my arm.

`I sat up in the freshness of the morning, trying to remember how I had got there, and why I had such a profound sense of desertion and despair. Then things came clear in my mind. With the plain, reasonable daylight, I could look my circumstances fairly in the face. I saw the wild folly of my frenzy overnight, and I could reason with myself. "Suppose the worst?" I said. "Suppose the machine altogether lost--perhaps destroyed? It behooves me to be calm and patient, to learn the way of the people, to get a clear idea of the method of my loss, and the means of getting materials and tools; so that in the end, perhaps, I may make another." That would be my only hope, perhaps, but better than despair. And, after all, it was a beautiful and curious world.

`But probably, the machine had only been taken away. Still, I must be calm and patient, find its hiding-place, and recover it by force or cunning. And with that I scrambled to my feet and looked about me, wondering where I could bathe. I felt weary, stiff, and travel-soiled. The freshness of the morning made me desire an equal freshness. I had exhausted my emotion. Indeed, as I went about my business, I found myself wondering at my intense excitement overnight. I made a careful examination of the ground about the little lawn. I wasted some time in futile questionings, conveyed, as well as I was able, to such of the little people as came by. They all failed to understand my gestures; some were simply stolid, some thought it was a jest and laughed at me. I had the hardest task in the world to keep my hands off their pretty laughing faces. It was a foolish impulse, but the devil begotten of fear and blind anger was ill curbed and still eager to take advantage of my perplexity. The turf gave better counsel. I found a groove ripped in it, about midway between the pedestal of the sphinx and the marks of my feet where, on arrival, I had struggled with the overturned machine. There were other signs of removal about, with queer narrow footprints like those I could imagine made by a sloth. This directed my closer attention to the pedestal. It was, as I think I have said, of bronze. It was not a mere block, but highly decorated with deep framed panels on either side. I went and rapped at these. The pedestal was hollow. Examining the panels with care I found them discontinuous with the frames. There were no handles or keyholes, but possibly the panels, if they were doors, as I supposed, opened from within. One thing was clear enough to my mind. It took no very great mental effort to infer that my Time Machine was inside that pedestal. But how it got there was a different problem.

`I saw the heads of two orange-clad people coming through the bushes and under some blossom-covered apple-trees towards me. I turned smiling to them and beckoned them to me. They came, and then, pointing to the bronze pedestal, I tried to intimate my wish to open it. But at my first gesture towards this they behaved very oddly. I don't know how to convey their expression to you. Suppose you were to use a grossly improper gesture to a delicate-minded woman--it is how she would look. They went off as if they had received the last possible insult. I tried a sweet-looking little chap in white next, with exactly the same result. Somehow, his manner made me feel ashamed of myself. But, as you know, I wanted the Time Machine, and I tried him once more. As he turned off, like the others, my temper got the better of me. In three strides I was after him, had him by the loose part of his robe round the neck, and began dragging him towards the sphinx. Then I saw the horror and repugnance of his face, and all of a sudden I let him go.

`But I was not beaten yet. I banged with my fist at the bronze panels. I thought I heard something stir inside--to be explicit, I thought I heard a sound like a chuckle--but I must have been mistaken. Then I got a big pebble from the river, and came and hammered till I had flattened a coil in the decorations, and the verdigris came off in powdery flakes. The delicate little people must have heard me hammering in gusty outbreaks a mile away on either hand, but nothing came of it. I saw a crowd of them upon the slopes, looking furtively at me. At last, hot and tired, I sat down to watch the place. But I was too restless to watch long; I am too Occidental for a long vigil. I could work at a problem for years, but to wait inactive for twenty-four hours--that is another matter.

`I got up after a time, and began walking aimlessly through the bushes towards the hill again. "Patience," said I to myself. "If you want your machine again you must leave that sphinx alone. If they mean to take your machine away, it's little good your wrecking their bronze panels, and if they don't, you will get it back as soon as you can ask for it. To sit among all those unknown things before a puzzle like that is hopeless. That way lies monomania. Face this world. Learn its ways, watch it, be careful of too hasty guesses at its meaning. In the end you will find clues to it all." Then suddenly the humour of the situation came into my mind: the thought of the years I had spent in study and toil to get into the future age, and now my passion of anxiety to get out of it. I had made myself the most complicated and the most hopeless trap that ever a man devised. Although it was at my own expense, I could not help myself. I laughed aloud.

`Going through the big palace, it seemed to me that the little people avoided me. It may have been my fancy, or it may have had something to do with my hammering at the gates of bronze. Yet I felt tolerably sure of the avoidance. I was careful, however, to show no concern and to abstain from any pursuit of them, and in the course of a day or two things got back to the old footing. I made what progress I could in the language, and in addition I pushed my explorations here and there. Either I missed some subtle point or their language was excessively simple--almost exclusively composed of concrete substantives and verbs. There seemed to be few, if any, abstract terms, or little use of figurative language. Their sentences were usually simple and of two words, and I failed to convey or understand any but the simplest propositions. I determined to put the thought of my Time Machine and the mystery of the bronze doors under the sphinx as much as possible in a corner of memory, until my growing knowledge would lead me back to them in a natural way. Yet a certain feeling, you may understand, tethered me in a circle of a few miles round the point of my arrival.

`So far as I could see, all the world displayed the same exuberant richness as the Thames valley. From every hill I climbed I saw the same abundance of splendid buildings, endlessly varied in material and style, the same clustering thickets of evergreens, the same blossom-laden trees and tree-ferns. Here and there water shone like silver, and beyond, the land rose into blue undulating hills, and so faded into the serenity of the sky. A peculiar feature, which presently attracted my attention, was the presence of certain circular wells, several, as it seemed to me, of a very great depth. One lay by the path up the hill, which I had followed during my first walk. Like the others, it was rimmed with bronze, curiously wrought, and protected by a little cupola from the rain. Sitting by the side of these wells, and peering down into the shafted darkness, I could see no gleam of water, nor could I start any reflection with a lighted match. But in all of them I heard a certain sound: a thud-thud-thud, like the beating of some big engine; and I discovered, from the flaring of my matches, that a steady current of air set down the shafts. Further, I threw a scrap of paper into the throat of one, and, instead of fluttering slowly down, it was at once sucked swiftly out of sight.

`After a time, too, I came to connect these wells with tall towers standing here and there upon the slopes; for above them there was often just such a flicker in the air as one sees on a hot day above a sun-scorched beach. Putting things together, I reached a strong suggestion of an extensive system of subterranean ventilation, whose true import it was difficult to imagine. I was at first inclined to associate it with the sanitary apparatus of these people. It was an obvious conclusion, but it was absolutely wrong.

`And here I must admit that I learned very little of drains and bells and modes of conveyance, and the like conveniences, during my time in this real future. In some of these visions of Utopias and coming times which I have read, there is a vast amount of detail about building, and social arrangements, and so forth. But while such details are easy enough to obtain when the whole world is contained in one's imagination, they are altogether inaccessible to a real traveller amid such realities as I found here. Conceive the tale of London which a negro, fresh from Central Africa, would take back to his tribe! What would he know of railway companies, of social movements, of telephone and telegraph wires, of the Parcels Delivery Company, and postal orders and the like? Yet we, at least, should be willing enough to explain these things to him! And even of what he knew, how much could he make his untravelled friend either apprehend or believe? Then, think how narrow the gap between a negro and a white man of our own times, and how wide the interval between myself and these of the Golden Age! I was sensible of much which was unseen, and which contributed to my comfort; but save for a general impression of automatic organization, I fear I can convey very little of the difference to your mind.

`In the matter of sepulchre, for instance, I could see no signs of crematoria nor anything suggestive of tombs. But it occurred to me that, possibly, there might be cemeteries (or crematoria) somewhere beyond the range of my explorings. This, again, was a question I deliberately put to myself, and my curiosity was at first entirely defeated upon the point. The thing puzzled me, and I was led to make a further remark, which puzzled me still more: that aged and infirm among this people there were none.

`I must confess that my satisfaction with my first theories of an automatic civilization and a decadent humanity did not long endure. Yet I could think of no other. Let me put my difficulties. The several big palaces I had explored were mere living places, great dining-halls and sleeping apartments. I could find no machinery, no appliances of any kind. Yet these people were clothed in pleasant fabrics that must at times need renewal, and their sandals, though undecorated, were fairly complex specimens of metalwork. Somehow such things must be made. And the little people displayed no vestige of a creative tendency. There were no shops, no workshops, no sign of importations among them. They spent all their time in playing gently, in bathing in the river, in making love in a half-playful fashion, in eating fruit and sleeping. I could not see how things were kept going.

`Then, again, about the Time Machine: something, I knew not what, had taken it into the hollow pedestal of the White Sphinx. Why? For the life of me I could not imagine. Those waterless wells, too, those flickering pillars. I felt I lacked a clue. I felt--how shall I put it? Suppose you found an inscription, with sentences here and there in excellent plain English, and interpolated therewith, others made up of words, of letters even, absolutely unknown to you? Well, on the third day of my visit, that was how the world of Eight Hundred and Two Thousand Seven Hundred and One presented itself to me!

`That day, too, I made a friend--of a sort. It happened that, as I was watching some of the little people bathing in a shallow, one of them was seized with cramp and began drifting downstream. The main current ran rather swiftly, but not too strongly for even a moderate swimmer. It will give you an idea, therefore, of the strange deficiency in these creatures, when I tell you that none made the slightest attempt to rescue the weakly crying little thing which was drowning before their eyes. When I realized this, I hurriedly slipped off my clothes, and, wading in at a point lower down, I caught the poor mite and drew her safe to land. A little rubbing of the limbs soon brought her round, and I had the satisfaction of seeing she was all right before I left her. I had got to such a low estimate of her kind that I did not expect any gratitude from her. In that, however, I was wrong.

`This happened in the morning. In the afternoon I met my little woman, as I believe it was, as I was returning towards my centre from an exploration, and she received me with cries of delight and presented me with a big garland of flowers-- evidently made for me and me alone. The thing took my imagination. Very possibly I had been feeling desolate. At any rate I did my best to display my appreciation of the gift. We were soon seated together in a little stone arbour, engaged in conversation, chiefly of smiles. The creature's friendliness affected me exactly as a child's might have done. We passed each other flowers, and she kissed my hands. I did the same to hers. Then I tried talk, and found that her name was Weena, which, though I don't know what it meant, somehow seemed appropriate enough. That was the beginning of a queer friendship which lasted a week, and ended--as I will tell you!

`She was exactly like a child. She wanted to be with me always. She tried to follow me everywhere, and on my next journey out and about it went to my heart to tire her down, and leave her at last, exhausted and calling after me rather plaintively. But the problems of the world had to be mastered. I had not, I said to myself, come into the future to carry on a miniature flirtation. Yet her distress when I left her was very great, her expostulations at the parting were sometimes frantic, and I think, altogether, I had as much trouble as comfort from her devotion. Nevertheless she was, somehow, a very great comfort. I thought it was mere childish affection that made her cling to me. Until it was too late, I did not clearly know what I had inflicted upon her when I left her. Nor until it was too late did I clearly understand what she was to me. For, by merely seeming fond of me, and showing in her weak, futile way that she cared for me, the little doll of a creature presently gave my return to the neighbourhood of the White Sphinx almost the feeling of coming home; and I would watch for her tiny figure of white and gold so soon as I came over the hill.

`It was from her, too, that I learned that fear had not yet left the world. She was fearless enough in the daylight, and she had the oddest confidence in me; for once, in a foolish moment, I made threatening grimaces at her, and she simply laughed at them. But she dreaded the dark, dreaded shadows, dreaded black things. Darkness to her was the one thing dreadful. It was a singularly passionate emotion, and it set me thinking and observing. I discovered then, among other things, that these little people gathered into the great houses after dark, and slept in droves. To enter upon them without a light was to put them into a tumult of apprehension. I never found one out of doors, or one sleeping alone within doors, after dark. Yet I was still such a blockhead that I missed the lesson of that fear, and in spite of Weena's distress I insisted upon sleeping away from these slumbering multitudes.

`It troubled her greatly, but in the end her odd affection for me triumphed, and for five of the nights of our acquaintance, including the last night of all, she slept with her head pillowed on my arm. But my story slips away from me as I speak of her. It must have been the night before her rescue that I was awakened about dawn. I had been restless, dreaming most disagreeably that I was drowned, and that sea anemones were feeling over my face with their soft palps. I woke with a start, and with an odd fancy that some greyish animal had just rushed out of the chamber. I tried to get to sleep again, but I felt restless and uncomfortable. It was that dim grey hour when things are just creeping out of darkness, when everything is colourless and clear cut, and yet unreal. I got up, and went down into the great hall, and so out upon the flagstones in front of the palace. I thought I would make a virtue of necessity, and see the sunrise.

`The moon was setting, and the dying moonlight and the first pallor of dawn were mingled in a ghastly half-light. The bushes were inky black, the ground a sombre grey, the sky colourless and cheerless. And up the hill I thought I could see ghosts. There several times, as I scanned the slope, I saw white figures. Twice I fancied I saw a solitary white, ape-like creature running rather quickly up the hill, and once near the ruins I saw a leash of them carrying some dark body. They moved hastily. I did not see what became of them. It seemed that they vanished among the bushes. The dawn was still indistinct, you must understand. I was feeling that chill, uncertain, early-morning feeling you may have known. I doubted my eyes.

`As the eastern sky grew brighter, and the light of the day came on and its vivid colouring returned upon the world once more, I scanned the view keenly. But I saw no vestige of my white figures. They were mere creatures of the half light. "They must have been ghosts," I said; "I wonder whence they dated." For a queer notion of Grant Allen's came into my head, and amused me. If each generation die and leave ghosts, he argued, the world at last will get overcrowded with them. On that theory they would have grown innumerable some Eight Hundred Thousand Years hence, and it was no great wonder to see four at once. But the jest was unsatisfying, and I was thinking of these figures all the morning, until Weena's rescue drove them out of my head. I associated them in some indefinite way with the white animal I had startled in my first passionate search for the Time Machine. But Weena was a pleasant substitute. Yet all the same, they were soon destined to take far deadlier possession of my mind.

`I think I have said how much hotter than our own was the weather of this Golden Age. I cannot account for it. It may be that the sun was hotter, or the earth nearer the sun. It is usual to assume that the sun will go on cooling steadily in the future. But people, unfamiliar with such speculations as those of the younger Darwin, forget that the planets must ultimately fall back one by one into the parent body. As these catastrophes occur, the sun will blaze with renewed energy; and it may be that some inner planet had suffered this fate. Whatever the reason, the fact remains that the sun was very much hotter than we know it.

`Well, one very hot morning--my fourth, I think--as I was seeking shelter from the heat and glare in a colossal ruin near the great house where I slept and fed, there happened this strange thing: Clambering among these heaps of masonry, I found a narrow gallery, whose end and side windows were blocked by fallen masses of stone. By contrast with the brilliancy outside, it seemed at first impenetrably dark to me. I entered it groping, for the change from light to blackness made spots of colour swim before me. Suddenly I halted spellbound. A pair of eyes, luminous by reflection against the daylight without, was watching me out of the darkness.

`The old instinctive dread of wild beasts came upon me. I clenched my hands and steadfastly looked into the glaring eyeballs. I was afraid to turn. Then the thought of the absolute security in which humanity appeared to be living came to my mind. And then I remembered that strange terror of the dark. Overcoming my fear to some extent, I advanced a step and spoke. I will admit that my voice was harsh and ill-controlled. I put out my hand and touched something soft. At once the eyes darted sideways, and something white ran past me. I turned with my heart in my mouth, and saw a queer little ape-like figure, its head held down in a peculiar manner, running across the sunlit space behind me. It blundered against a block of granite, staggered aside, and in a moment was hidden in a black shadow beneath another pile of ruined masonry.

`My impression of it is, of course, imperfect; but I know it was a dull white, and had strange large greyish-red eyes; also that there was flaxen hair on its head and down its back. But, as I say, it went too fast for me to see distinctly. I cannot even say whether it ran on all-fours, or only with its forearms held very low. After an instant's pause I followed it into the second heap of ruins. I could not find it at first; but, after a time in the profound obscurity, I came upon one of those round well-like openings of which I have told you, half closed by a fallen pillar. A sudden thought came to me. Could this Thing have vanished down the shaft? I lit a match, and, looking down, I saw a small, white, moving creature, with large bright eyes which regarded me steadfastly as it retreated. It made me shudder. It was so like a human spider! It was clambering down the wall, and now I saw for the first time a number of metal foot and hand rests forming a kind of ladder down the shaft. Then the light burned my fingers and fell out of my hand, going out as it dropped, and when I had lit another the little monster had disappeared.

`I do not know how long I sat peering down that well. It was not for some time that I could succeed in persuading myself that the thing I had seen was human. But, gradually, the truth dawned on me: that Man had not remained one species, but had differentiated into two distinct animals: that my graceful children of the Upper-world were not the sole descendants of our generation, but that this bleached, obscene, nocturnal Thing, which had flashed before me, was also heir to all the ages.

`I thought of the flickering pillars and of my theory of an underground ventilation. I began to suspect their true import. And what, I wondered, was this Lemur doing in my scheme of a perfectly balanced organization? How was it related to the indolent serenity of the beautiful Upper-worlders? And what was hidden down there, at the foot of that shaft? I sat upon the edge of the well telling myself that, at any rate, there was nothing to fear, and that there I must descend for the solution of my difficulties. And withal I was absolutely afraid to go! As I hesitated, two of the beautiful Upper-world people came running in their amorous sport across the daylight in the shadow. The male pursued the female, flinging flowers at her as he ran.

`They seemed distressed to find me, my arm against the overturned pillar, peering down the well. Apparently it was considered bad form to remark these apertures; for when I pointed to this one, and tried to frame a question about it in their tongue, they were still more visibly distressed and turned away. But they were interested by my matches, and I struck some to amuse them. I tried them again about the well, and again I failed. So presently I left them, meaning to go back to Weena, and see what I could get from her. But my mind was already in revolution; my guesses and impressions were slipping and sliding to a new adjustment. I had now a clue to the import of these wells, to the ventilating towers, to the mystery of the ghosts; to say nothing of a hint at the meaning of the bronze gates and the fate of the Time Machine! And very vaguely there came a suggestion towards the solution of the economic problem that had puzzled me.

`Here was the new view. Plainly, this second species of Man was subterranean. There were three circumstances in particular which made me think that its rare emergence above ground was the outcome of a long-continued underground habit. In the first place, there was the bleached look common in most animals that live largely in the dark--the white fish of the Kentucky caves, for instance. Then, those large eyes, with that capacity for reflecting light, are common features of nocturnal things-- witness the owl and the cat. And last of all, that evident confusion in the sunshine, that hasty yet fumbling awkward flight towards dark shadow, and that peculiar carriage of the head while in the light--all reinforced the theory of an extreme sensitiveness of the retina.

`Beneath my feet, then, the earth must be tunnelled enormously, and these tunnellings were the habitat of the new race. The presence of ventilating shafts and wells along the hill slopes--everywhere, in fact except along the river valley --showed how universal were its ramifications. What so natural, then, as to assume that it was in this artificial Underworld that such work as was necessary to the comfort of the daylight race was done? The notion was so plausible that I at once accepted it, and went on to assume the how of this splitting of the human species. I dare say you will anticipate the shape of my theory; though, for myself, I very soon felt that it fell far short of the truth.

`At first, proceeding from the problems of our own age, it seemed clear as daylight to me that the gradual widening of the present merely temporary and social difference between the Capitalist and the Labourer, was the key to the whole position. No doubt it will seem grotesque enough to you--and wildly incredible!--and yet even now there are existing circumstances to point that way. There is a tendency to utilize underground space for the less ornamental purposes of civilization; there is the Metropolitan Railway in London, for instance, there are new electric railways, there are subways, there are underground workrooms and restaurants, and they increase and multiply. Evidently, I thought, this tendency had increased till Industry had gradually lost its birthright in the sky. I mean that it had gone deeper and deeper into larger and ever larger underground factories, spending a still-increasing amount of its time therein, till, in the end--! Even now, does not an East-end worker live in such artificial conditions as practically to be cut off from the natural surface of the earth?

`Again, the exclusive tendency of richer people--due, no doubt, to the increasing refinement of their education, and the widening gulf between them and the rude violence of the poor-- is already leading to the closing, in their interest, of considerable portions of the surface of the land. About London, for instance, perhaps half the prettier country is shut in against intrusion. And this same widening gulf--which is due to the length and expense of the higher educational process and the increased facilities for and temptations towards refined habits on the part of the rich--will make that exchange between class and class, that promotion by intermarriage which at present retards the splitting of our species along lines of social stratification, less and less frequent. So, in the end, above ground you must have the Haves, pursuing pleasure and comfort and beauty, and below ground the Have-nots, the Workers getting continually adapted to the conditions of their labour. Once they were there, they would no doubt have to pay rent, and not a little of it, for the ventilation of their caverns; and if they refused, they would starve or be suffocated for arrears. Such of them as were so constituted as to be miserable and rebellious would die; and, in the end, the balance being permanent, the survivors would become as well adapted to the conditions of underground life, and as happy in their way, as the Upper-world people were to theirs. As it seemed to me, the refined beauty and the etiolated pallor followed naturally enough.

`The great triumph of Humanity I had dreamed of took a different shape in my mind. It had been no such triumph of moral education and general co-operation as I had imagined. Instead, I saw a real aristocracy, armed with a perfected science and working to a logical conclusion the industrial system of to-day. Its triumph had not been simply a triumph over Nature, but a triumph over Nature and the fellow-man. This, I must warn you, was my theory at the time. I had no convenient cicerone in the pattern of the Utopian books. My explanation may be absolutely wrong. I still think it is the most plausible one. But even on this supposition the balanced civilization that was at last attained must have long since passed its zenith, and was now far fallen into decay. The too-perfect security of the Upper-worlders had led them to a slow movement of degeneration, to a general dwindling in size, strength, and intelligence. That I could see clearly enough already. What had happened to the Under-grounders I did not yet suspect; but from what I had seen of the Morlocks--that, by the by, was the name by which these creatures were called--I could imagine that the modification of the human type was even far more profound than among the "Eloi," the beautiful race that I already knew.

`Then came troublesome doubts. Why had the Morlocks taken my Time Machine? For I felt sure it was they who had taken it. Why, too, if the Eloi were masters, could they not restore the machine to me? And why were they so terribly afraid of the dark? I proceeded, as I have said, to question Weena about this Under-world, but here again I was disappointed. At first she would not understand my questions, and presently she refused to answer them. She shivered as though the topic was unendurable. And when I pressed her, perhaps a little harshly, she burst into tears. They were the only tears, except my own, I ever saw in that Golden Age. When I saw them I ceased abruptly to trouble about the Morlocks, and was only concerned in banishing these signs of the human inheritance from Weena's eyes. And very soon she was smiling and clapping her hands, while I solemnly burned a match.

#TimeMachine

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