Prompt fill / Random drabbles are fun
This new apartment was strange. Everything smelled like it had only been recently built - down to the smell of the soft mint color that covered her walls. Her piano sat in pristine condition not too far away from her bed - but she was a little too preoccupied with that. Namely because she was too entangled with Nebojsa laying beside her. Her arms were wrapped around him, and his around her, and as always, she had wound her legs between his, just to draw herself that much closer. One could lapse into a corny monologue that it was hard to tell whose limbs were whose - but let’s face it, that was easy to tell. Hers were snow pale and could probably be snapped by his sheer strength if he wished to. His were scarred and stitched, the skin tone noticeably different from her own, pallid one. But the way he held her now, with the lights turned off and nothing but the setting sunlight filtering through her half-drawn blinds, it was like a man handling his family’s prized porcelain. Surely, she wasn’t worth that much to anyone else, and no matter how she might keep quiet on the matter - only he lead her to, truly, believe that he held her in the highest esteem, genuinely thought she was the most beautiful creature, and treated her as such even when she was angry at him and treated him badly, sometimes neglecting him for days because she was too exhausted to convince herself to part with her covers that day. But he forgave her, he always did.
And now as she moved to be able to look at him, soundlessly staring each other in the eyes, the feeling of awkwardness not even in to poke its annoying head in; she knew. She knew with every fiber of herself that she shouldn’t question it anymore, and settled next to him, smirking a little in her own way, leaning in to seal her lips to his, the millionth time, but it never lost the same giddiness she felt fluttering in her stomach every time they did so.
“И. ..” she kissed him again, this time a little more passionately than before. “Наконец верю.” A smile as she pressed her forehead against his.
“И ты самый красивый принц я могла просить.”
Second set is a set about Helsinki, inspired by this beautiful piece of work, reminding me that pre-capital Helsinki was a bad ass mother fucker. Enjoy!
PART 1: BATTLE.
Battle was nothing new - red blood was just another shade of grey he couldn't appreciate. Perhaps that was what made him so perfect as a soldier - his inability to see the gore that was battle. After all, most men were simply turned off by the sight of blood, maybe even the smell of it, combined with spilled entrails and whatever else their swords tended to run in to on these missions. Usko Karjalinen, however, was stoic about it. Of course, there was no word for 'color blind' then. People just thought he was an odd ball that threw off the reality of his situation by saying he couldn't see blood, and therefore couldn't be revolted by it. He was a quiet type of guy, who generally kept to himself, paying great attention to how sharpened his sword was, whether it was becoming too worn on one side or another. The other men liked to joke about the fact that Usko was practically obsessed with making sure his sword remained even and balanced. So much so that he learned to be ambidextrous so that his sword could wear down evenly, and, as he excused it, 'could not become unbalanced that way.'
But maybe there was some truth to his quirks. After all, he was known to be particularly fierce in battle, no matter how small and compact he remained. (After all, it wouldn't be until much later that his frame exploded into an almost 6'4" colossus that he is today.) No amount of blood seemed to bother him, and even if he was put on night watch the night before, there seemed to be no problem for him to fight again, right away, in the morning if the need was there.
Where ever there was plunder, and where ever he was needed, Usko was content to sail. After all, underneath the shining blue of the ocean and sky - he could see. Everything was only vibrant at those times, and so he was content. It was much the same at night. The cool colors of sunset were soothing - as he couldn't appreciate the fire of the sun rise, and only his eyes, accustomed to the blues and blacks of the night and the soft grey glow of stars, could pick out where enemies were if they were attacked without warning. And so, he proved to be an effective warrior in those ways, despite his odd quirks. That was how he became extremely useful to Finland, and gained his name, so to speak. But it would also be, unbeknown to him, the way that he would later gained the crown and weight of being capital of Finland.
PART 2: FREEDOM.
The mantle and title of capital, indeed, was not something Usko had ever wanted or hoped for. Even after the times of wandering, plundering vikings were well over, and a city was blossoming on his land, Usko couldn't be bothered to stand around and do paper work, or whatever it was they expected him to do that day. The ocean, the sky, and the peace of his own thoughts and his own direction were the only things that could keep this seemingly wild soul tame and manageable. He preferred to be sailing aimlessly in the harbor, or even sitting in a field with grass taller than himself (an optimum hiding place) with his lunch, just watching the sky and the birds around him, reveling in the beauty and the wildness of it all - and perhaps yearning for the wild freedom of his past again.
Perhaps that was why, when Finland was passed from Sweden's control to Russia's, he wished for a moment he had been a terrible fighter, and therefore no threat to anyone, or anything. making him capital, he was sure, was no more than Russia's way of keeping him under their thumb, of controlling a man who so loved his freedom - and keeping a watchful eye on a man who was also an accomplished fighter.
Not many, now, would even guess that Usko ever fought with a sword and shield. Had once revelled in the sounds of battle and rowed a boat along with everyone they took along in longbots to their next destination. But now, having the title he was supposed to feel some sort of ego in: a position known as capital to others, and a living hell to him, his every vexation with things blew up along with his frustrations with being kept inside.
After all, the least someone could do if they were going to cage him like a bird was make sure the god damn building was even.