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Horatio Hornblower

@hxrnblower-blog / hxrnblower-blog.tumblr.com

Indie RP blog for C.S. Forester's Horatio Hornblower. Book-based with influences from the movies.
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Vehement protestations danced vigourously at the very tip of her unusually sharp tongue, and it truly was ALL she could do to keep them from spilling from her lips as he bridged the majority of the distance that had lain between them and allowed his hands to find purchase on her shoulders. ( So warm, and deceptive; to look at them, one might be inclined to believe that such beautiful hands were incapable of posessing such strength, but it was there. She’d felt it. And, of course, her mind drifted back to those fleeting moments in the past when they’d touched her.. ) ❝ Nothing chills me more than watching you stand so far away.. as though you’re afraid to come close. – I know I’ve no choice but to accept that Oceans lay between us for so long while you’re away.. but when you’re HERE, Horatio, I.. can not abide the needless separation. ❞ ( If that made her weak? So be it. )
In the interest of being heart-rendingly candid, suddenly finding herself swept off her feet was the LAST thing she would ever have expected. In fact, she was at such a loss that the silence she slipped into the moment she realized what had transpired could only be described as stunned. – She lay beneath him for that brief moment - blinking somewhat owlishly as her heart struggled to recover from the number of beats it had surely skipped. Not daring to breathe a word, she simply watched as he shifted to lie down at her side and drew the covers over them. ( Admittedly, she found herself wondering if this was merely an especially vivid d r e a m; it seemed impossible that it should indeed be coming to pass - perhaps because she’d wanted it for so l o n g, now. ) – Only when it felt as though he had settled in comfortably did she dare to do the same - even going so far as to shift in his embrace. Turning so she could face him. So she could wrap her arms around him as she buried her face in the column of his neck, and silently marveled at the feeling of his pulse thrumming against the bridge of her nose. ( He was real. Really there, and s a f e. )

               ‘ ‘ I will keep you warm my Darling. ’ ’ Hornblower yearned to sleep with her cradled in the safety of his embrace. More than that he longed to awake && find her in his arms. He pulled her closer still. His long elegant fingers splayed through her hair, gently cradling her head. This was what he longed for. It was self-indulgent to allow himself this gross impropriety. At the moment he could not find it in himself to regret it. He never wished to be separated from her. He craved her presence like a man at sea craves fresh water. Hornblower had no gift with words. Instead, he clasped her with greedy hands that wordlessly told the story of his longing for her companionship. It was heaven to have here in his arms all that he desired: her warm soft body, her familiar scent, her silken hair, && her gentle reassurances. In that moment he felt as if he could not bear to be separated from her. For once he did not loathe his own weakness. It did not seem like weakness to want Helena. It was then that his mind began spinning its mad schemes.

               ‘ ‘ Then let us not be separated, ’ ’ he insisted. His usual silence was overridden by his enthusiasm for the plan. ‘ ‘ We wish to wed each other so why should we wait any longer to be wed? ’ ’ There was no way to keep her with him unless she was his wife. He had never approved of wives aboard ships but Helena was no ordinary woman. Helena was Pellew’s niece. She was sensible. She would not be prone to the irresponsibilities of other women at sea. He drew her closer. ‘ ‘ The Hotspur is small. It is not a ship becoming your station my Love && yet I offer it to you if you wish it. ’ ’ His reckless passions now run amuck, Hornblower clasped her lovely face in his hands. ‘ ‘ I will stay with you this night if you wish or else I will take you to church in the morning, ’ ’ offered Hornblower. Now was the chance, now, before he received the orders that would surely arrive in the coming days. It was a ghastly thing to seduce his host’s niece beneath his roof && yet what anyone else might want was far from Hornblower’s mind.

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Merman Horatio - my (one) contribution to MerMay.

I feel like Mer-Horatio would be the curious type; and since his tone-deafness makes him monumentally bad at catching sailors, he mostly just follows ships around to find cool shit. He doesn’t know what that sextant does, but he’s gonna find out.

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xserpx
Hornblower found himself swallowing hard. This was the England for which he’d fought for eighteen long years, and as he breathed its air and gazed round him, he felt that England was worth it.

Flying Colours by C. S. Forester

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❝ – He cares deeply for you, Mr. Hornblower. It should not come to you as a surprise that he would insist.. Had it been me that you had encountered in his stead, I would have made the same insistance.. and like Uncle Edward, I would have accepted nothing less than your full cooperation in the matter. ❞ A soft sigh fell from her lips on the cusp of a pained grimace - her body’s response to her borderline restless shifting against her pillows. – The least she could do was summon the strength to pull herself out of bed.. it might not accomplish much, but if it made him feel less like he stood before an inquisition, she supposed it would be better than nothing at all.
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❝ —— I am no more indisposed than you are an imposition, Horatio.. and I will hear no more of that from you. ❞ With that, she drew back her covers and gingerly eased her legs over the side of the bed. ❝ I have no desire for you to leave.. but then again, I’ve even less desire for you to be made uncomfortable because you might choose to stay.. ❞ When her feet fell to the chilled floor, she pushed herself to stand - ignoring the shiver that coursed along her spine, and the worn cotton slippers that stood tucked neatly under the side of the bed. ( She could allow him to leave.. but in doing so she realized the chances she would ever see him again were nonexistent. She could even force him to stay.. but that would surely have the same undesired affect, thus she found herself facing quite the conundrum once again; how did she make this easier for him?? How could she make him understand, when at every turn it seemed she FAILED him in one way, or another?? ) ❝ The choice is yours: stay with me - let me be with you for a while, or take your leave for the evening and rest. I will respect your decision and your reasons for reaching it. ❞ ( Oh, how she l o n g e d for the day - if ever it came - that dawned when he was no longer ashamed to be alone with her, or convinced that she was ashamed of him in any way.. )

               ‘ ‘ Please, darling, ’ ’ exclaimed Hornblower. He took several stuttering steps forward with the intent of putting her back to bed.  ‘ ‘ You must not do anything rash for my sake. ’ ’ He could see her shiver && he would not have her catch cold on his account. He stopped himself with his hands resting gently on her shoulders. The choice with which she presented him caused him as much consternation as the battle in his mind between her reassurances && his own sense of unworthiness. ‘ ‘ Helena... ’ ’ He dared the intimacy of her Christian name in private. ‘ ‘ It is too cold for you to be out of bed.... ’ ’ He cleared his throat awkwardly. Hornblower glanced around the room. He sought reprieve from the emotions he struggled to silence. It was a battle he inevitably lost.  ‘ ‘ I cannot bear the thought of you ill, ’ ’ admitted Hornblower. He hung his head like a schoolboy, ashamed to admit such unmanly sentiments.

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               Presently he looked up. Hornblower was acutely aware of his own weakness. Were he a more honourable man he would make the proper choice. He was a villain && he knew it. He knew he could not refuse her. His traitorous body hungered for her. His self-indulgent heart craved her conversation && company. The idea that she would have insisted he stay at her uncle’s house, that she would dictate what she would or would not hear from him was surprisingly && unspeakably alluring. Perhaps the long months in the Pacific had dulled his memories of her spirit. Whatever the cause, he had swept her into his arms before he quite had time to think. Gently, he lay her upon her bed, poised over her for a moment before he lay down beside her. Hornblower drew her into his arms && pulled the covers up around them. All it would take was for them to fall asleep in each other’s arms. A maid would discover them && they would be marched down the aisle the next day. The idea was unspeakably alluring, to have her as his wife tomorrow, && he trembled at the thought as he gently stroked his fingers through her hair. It was his dearest desire.
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[ Open Starter ]

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               ‘ ‘ Enter, ’ ’ said Hornblower. His mind was still fully occupied with his charts && long elegant fingers toyed idly with a divider. He only paused in his mental calculations to briefly contemplate how glad he was that the first few days of the voyage were past so that he need not worry over his seasickness in front of a visitor. It was only then that Hornblower looked up to see who had entered the captain’s cabin.
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❝ ‘Oracio? ❞ She murmured in reply to his frantic tugging at her uniform, her hands brushing soothingly over his shoulders as she felt him unbutton her waistcoat and the collar of her shift, discarding her neckerchief. Such a descent into wanton frantic hedonism was unlike her beloved Horatio but if it was her body that he had such desperate need of then she would give it to him gladly and willingly. Still, her heart pounded with grave worry as he pressed his lips to her throat and avoided the sight of her eyes. Something must have happened ー something terrible ー to have brought him so low that he could not even speak of it to her but resorted to a reliance upon the unwieldy language of the flesh.
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❝ Mi amor, mi querido, mi cariño, ❞ she whispered the loving words into his ear, the warmth of her breath caressing the shell of his ear, her breasts and neck bared to him now through her open waistcoat and shirt, the crimson lapels of her captain’s coat pushed aside. She would ask for no explanations when he so clearly wished not to speak of whatever it was that haunted him. With her body she would diagnose his sorrows and apply the poultice to the wounds of his heart. ❝ Ay, mi vida, mi corazón, ❞ she murmured, pressing each letter into the corners of his mouth with the tenderness of Spanish that English, with it’s precise and exacting syllables could never hope to imitate. ❝ Haz lo que quieras, mi alma, ❞ she whispered, gentle fingers making quick work of the buttons of his waistcoat and his trousers so that she might reach beneath his shirt and smooth her hands soothingly over his back and chest.

               Like a veritable knave he craved her words of love && comfort though he knew himself undeserving. With greedy hands he tugged at her breeches. From there it took only a moment to tumble her to the bed beneath him, the both of them still half dressed. It was a far nicer bed in a far nicer inn than he could have afforded, unfortunate in the way of prizes as he was, but for Torres whose pockets were lined with Spanish silver it could be nothing more than an afterthought. That brought him some dark pleasure. Penniless && with few prospects of advancement he was still able to bed a lady of station && wealth. It made him feel a devilishly clever man. Would it not require revealing Captain Torres for the woman that she was beneath her disguise he would wipe the eye of lords with that. He would flaunt this fine woman upon his arm && be the envy of all of them. Months at sea did mad things to a man’s mind. He was conscious of the insanity of his thoughts && yet desperation to escape the alternative overwhelmed him. His lips met Vianca’s in heated kisses. With his hands he rucked up her shirt to grope her breasts. Consumed with lust as he was it was easy to forget the faces of dead men. It was simple to forget the horrors of El Supremo && his games of torment.

               He was not gentle when he sheathed himself within her with a grunt. He needed her to such an extent it frightened him. He needed her soft skin && welcoming hips. He needed her so that he would not cry like a child over the atrocities that left braver men than him unperturbed. Wordlessly, Vianca had always understood his mind && heart. He buried himself in her slick warmth in a mad flush of passion. With his body he pressed her lithe && supple frame into the bed again && again. 

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“It was like the games Hornblower had played as a lonely little boy, when he had sat in the empty pig-trough and pretended he was cast away in an open boat. Then he had parcelled out the bit of bread or whatever it was which he had obtained from the kitchen into a dozen rations, counting them carefully, each one to last a day. But a small boy’s eager appetite had made those days very short, not more than five minutes long; after standing up in the pig-trough and shading his eyes and looking around the horizon for the succour that he could not discover, he would sit down again, tell himself that the life of a castaway was hard, and then decide that another night had passed and that it was time to eat another ration from his dwindling supply.”

C.S. Forester, Mr Midshipman Hornblower, Chapter Three - The Penalty of Failure

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