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irisidacelestecastille · 3 years

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Marvel oneshots

Thor x Loki x Younger sister | Prank

Summary: Loki isn’t ready to accept that Iris is his sister but will one prank on Thor will change his thinking?

Work count: 2.1k

MASTERLIST

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It was surprising how fast Thor had come to accept his lost sister, Iris, the goddess of fire, but it wasn’t surprising how Loki thought every move his sister made was a trick against them. Odin had told them, how Iris, long stolen from them, was their younger sister, Loki believing it less and less as the days went by. Thor on the other hand was constantly looking for ways to spend more time with Iris, be it sitting in the kitchen for hours on end talking about how PopTarts were the best thing to ever happen to him, to sitting under the night sky, looking at the stars, her telling her brother how long she’d loved Steve, and how he didn’t love her back. But mostly it’d be about their mother and father, the life they’d lived without her and the life they could live with her if she chose to come to Asgard.

* * *

It was a beautiful party, Iris thought to herself as she walked down the stairs into the main living room of the compound. It was almost every week that Stark found a way to invite everyone over for drinks, but the perks of Tony’s richness did treat her well so why would she complain. She made her way to the Avengers, crossing over some special agents from SHIELD. She had arrived in the middle of a conversation, she had noticed, as Loki, standing right across from her, stared into her soul.

“Oh hello Iris!” Thor greeted her, his body swaying off of the drunk-ness that overtook his mind. “You’re just in time,” he continued, “I was just telling everyone about the worst prank Loki has ever played on me.”

Loki smiled at him, announcing how every prank he’d ever played on Thor was worth talking about. Thor covered his mouth with his hand, hushed him, and then started on the story.

“There was one time when we were children,” his hand moving from Loki’s mouth to his shoulder, pulling him closer as he swung back and forth. “He transformed himself into a snake, and he knows that I love snakes.” Thor’s dialogue was speeding up by the second as was his grip on Loki’s shoulder, the force trying to sheer through his skin. “So I went to pick up the snake to admire it..”

Bruce was the most invested in the story, Iris following close behind him. She looped her arms into his and both of them were leaning into the circle, as if moving closer would show them details of the event that Thor wouldn’t announce to the rest of the group.

“And he transformed back into himself and was like ‘yeah, it’s me!’” Bruce and Iris’s mouth fell open as Thor did the worst possible impression of Loki.

“And he stabbed me. We were eight at the time.” Silence fell on everyone in the room, all eyes on Loki, trying to understand if Thor was only joking about the rather cold act. “I hate snakes now.” Thor announced to the room, hoping to comeback from what seemed to the group, a depressing story.

Loki’s face was serious as it could be, a small smile appearing on his lips, his shoulders broad with pride of being able to carry out such an elaborate prank. Iris simply looked at Loki with complete awe, her mind filled with all sorts of plans they could carry out together. She was a prankster as well, a good one too, not admitting to any allegations ever made once the prank was accomplished.

I get it from him, she thought as an extensive idea flooded her mind.

* * *

It was very late into the night when Iris knocked on Stark’s door. He opened the door almost immediately, as if already on his toes, waiting for someone to come.

“Sweetheart, I’m not in the mood for sex right now.” He told Iris, holding the door open for her to come in.

“What? Ew, no. In your dreams.” She said, scrunching her face up in disgust.

“What ‘no’? Isn’t that why a fair maiden, much like yourself, comes to the room of a handsome man in the middle of the night?” He reasoned, his actions going against his words, as he walked away from her, pouring himself a drink.

“Okay first of all, not you acting like I would ever willingly sleep with you, and secondly, I need a favor.”

She was going to pull off a prank, a big one in her books, but she needed some equipment, and there was only one person in the compound who spoke machines.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. How’s the whole love angle going with Cap?” He questioned, his face full of genuine concern for her love life now.

She dodged his question immediately, counting her demands off of her fingers.

“So I need Jarvis, and I also need your image drone, the one that can project 3D images without the whole white screen thing.”

Stark let out a chuckle, noticing how the mention of Steve made her uncomfortable. And then it hit him, what she was actually asking for. He immediately shook his head announcing that the response was a hard no. But Iris could never back down before a fight, especially when it was against Stark. But this time he was a step ahead of her, already asking her what she would do in return of the equipment.

“Well clearly because you’re having lady troubles with Pepper, I can give you a counseling session on what you’re doing wrong.” Her offer was genuine, a slight smile accompanying the offer.

“I’m not having lady troubles with anyone.” He announced, looking away from her. He knew she was right but how could he ever give her the satisfaction. He looked back at Iris who was now staring directly into his eyes. The depth of silence that was suddenly created pushed him to admit that he was having commitment issues with Pepper.

“So it’s done then? I can have the equipment?” She was eager, her leg bouncing up and down faster than it was before, her confidence fading by the second.

“Yes bu-” Iris picked her heels up in her hand, making her way out of the door before he could change his mind.

“Just don’t burn anything down!”

His warning was all in vain though, Iris already making her way to his lab, ready to meet Jarvis yet again to prepare her exquisite plan.

* * *

It was at the crack of dawn that someone knocked on Thor’s door. He was awake anyway, getting ready to go down to the gym to work his body out a bit, considering that he ate about 15 turkeys the night before. He opened the door, a basket of eggs waiting for him at the foot of it, a small note accompanying it.

Meet me in my room in exactly six minutes, the door is open, let yourself in. -Irisida.

They were simple instructions, the thought of a pleasant surprise overtaking his mind, he made his way to his sister’s room. He was walking down the corridor when he heard his brother’s voice screaming his name in the back. Loki walked towards him, greeting him a good morning, asked what he was doing with a basket of eggs.

“Well brother, if you must know, I am on my way to Iris’s room. She sent me a message this morning. I reckon that we are going to make breakfast together.” Thor explained, a smile crawling onto his face thinking about his sister’s sweet gesture.

Loki on the other hand was groaning, looking at his brother with utter disgust. He took the basket from Thor and squinted at the message tag.

“Her name’s Irisida, brother, and she’s not our sister, well not really. You need to stop following her around.” Loki was hellbent on isolating Iris.

Thor tried to defend her. “She doesn’t have to be your sister if you doesn’t want her to be but that will not change the fact that she is my sister.”

Thor snatched the basket back from Loki, making his way once again to Iris, hoping he was just in time for what she had planned. Loki called after him, saying that he wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

The two were standing outside her door now, contemplating whether they should knock first or simply just enter. It was when Thor finally lifted his hand up to knock when the two heard a screech from behind the door. The two looked at each other frantically, barging into the room in attempts of saving their sister, Thor going through first.

It was silent now, Iris’s room, the sense of emptiness hitting the duo. They heard a slither in the distance, and so they moved farther into the room, trying to isolate the threat. Thor singled out the slithering as coming from behind the headrest of Iris’s bed. He looked back at Loki who simply nodded at him, a knife suddenly appearing in his hand. With the basket still in his hand Thor walked towards the headrest. It was as if the slithering sound was receding the closer he got. He peered over the headrest, seeing nothing there, he looked back at Loki once again, his shoulders now calm. It was when he looked back at the space that he saw something move, he looked closer and then there it was, a huge snake, triple the size of Thor, leaping out of the space.

The act was so quick, so hard to follow. He immediately withdrew his body off the bed, the snake hissing at him, throwing itself on top of him. Thor, to protect himself, covered himself with the basket in his hand, forgetting the raw eggs that were in it. They poured out of the basket immediately, breaking on his clothes and shoes. He looked up, his arms now open as the yolk seeped into his clothes, the clothes now sticking to his body. The snake was gone, the whole event like a dream.

The two were confused, frozen, too scared to even move a muscle.

That’s when a childish laugh sounded in the background. The two turned around slowly, only to meet the eyes of their sister, the one who’s room they were standing, the one who’d called them here in the first place.

Loki understood what was going on as soon as he saw Iris. Thor on the other hand was still traumatized, the ghost of the snake he’d just encountered flooding his mind.

“Oh I’m sorry brother but you should have seen the way you looked when the snake came on top of you!” She was laughing like her life depended on it.

“What is this Iris?” Thor was confused, but he was also very angry. His ears were red, his eyes filled with fear.

“She’s pranked you, brother” Loki announced, the whole situation making sense to Thor now.

He was very upset, Iris could tell. She walked over to the headrest of her bed, pulling out a drone like machine. She explained how the snake was a mere illusion, and that she could never actually put their life in danger, that she loved them too much to do so. Thor forgave her faster than he ever had Loki. The two hugged, Loki just watching them from a distance. The prank was smart, Loki had decided, and rather well built up too.

Iris finally walked over to Loki.

“I’m a big fan of you, brother. This whole prank was inspired up by the one you played on Thor when you were kids.” She put her hand over his crossed arms. “I know you don’t like me, or trust me even, but I promise I will prove to you that I am your sister.” She turned around to leave but before she could, Loki cleared his throat.

“I apologize for the way I have acted with you, it was not fair. You are our sister, my sister.” The apology burned his throat but he smiled at her, looking back and forth between her and Thor. “Plus you seem to have the prank talent to prove it.”

He pulled her into a hug right after, her laughs blending in with the tears that were now flowing down her face. Thor joined them too, hugging the two with his visibly huger body.

This was her family, Iris thought to herself, happy that she was finally home.

#thor odinson #loki #sister #thor x reader #loki x reader #marvel #marvel one shot

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staringatthesky11 · 4 years

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Some (not really spoilery or in depth) thoughts on Midnight Sun...

Edward. So pompous and dramatic and emo and angst-ridden and all just so gloriously Edward! He’s utterly ridiculous, and for a mind reader he is mind bogglingly imperceptive. I will never see him the way I think SM wants me to.

LOVED the Alice and Jasper content. So much more clarity on her visions and what she sees and how they work and how they fail! Same for Jasper’s gift and how he is seen by others - whole new insight into him for me and I’m intrigued. Already wanting to be inspired with plots because I’d love to explore this in my writing at some point. Totally did not expect to love those two in this book the way I did.

Esme...ugh. We all know Edward’s her favourite, but seriously? She seemed to revere him to level that was disturbingly creepy in this book. He is not the second coming.

I did appreciate all the flashbacks and Cullen history bits that came into it - I’ve always been here for that. The family, the vampirism, the complex history...it’s always grabbed me more than the romance.

Rosalie and Emmett....well.

Look, we all know I was never that likely to LIKE it. I’ve written hundreds of thousands of words of fanfic basically saying that when it comes to Rosalie, Edward has it WRONG - I half didn’t even want to read this book because I just wasn’t sure that I wanted 700+ pages of Edward shitting all over my girl.

And to be fair, there was some good bits. A couple of conversations. She lets go with some good insults.

But I am definitely left with the same frustrations as always. Rosalie is demonised for the same things that others are praised for. Her focus is Emmett, and whether he is going to be hurt in the whole situation, and Edward is scathing about her selfishness. Never mind that he’s putting everyone else in danger because BELLA’S safety is the only thing HE cares about. Jasper would sacrifice anything to keep Alice safe and that’s honourable, but Rosalie feels that way for Emmett and she’s vilified for it. Rosalie sees so much value in humanity over vampirism that grief over losing it has coloured her whole unlife and she’s viewed as being bitter and a harpy, but Edward values humanity over vampirism so much that he would deny Bella her wish and let her die an old woman before killing himself and he’s the great romantic hero?

I have always been deeply uncomfortable with the anti-sex bent towards Rosalie and Emmett, and that was definitely there in this book. Rosalie and Emmett’s relationship can be obnoxious (and yes, that part I agree with - no one necessarily wants to be around other people’s public displays of affection!) but it is very clear that Edward sees it as somehow lesser, somewhat icky and dirty and distasteful that sex is a big part of the way they are together. (And yet BELLA being physically attracted to him, physically reacting to him, physically WANTING him...that’s different???) Nothing is said about Carlisle/Esme and Alice/Jasper and what they do or don’t get up together physically - we only get told that Rosalie and Emmett do it a lot and Edward finds that repugnant.

Tangentially related (it’s about sex, but not the good kind) but Edward’s rage and fury about what almost happened to Bella in Port Angeles also plays into this. Bella’s innocence was nearly besmirched and he’s gone berserk, but does he ever actually think that all those things he saw happening to her, all that horror and brutality and violation....Rosalie LIVED it. IT HAPPENED TO HER. No one showed up in a shiny Volvo to rescue her. And she lives with that trauma every single day of her unlife, and Edward gives her no quarter for how that might affect her.

The relationship of Rosalie with both Emmett and the rest of their family is something else that has always bothered me, and Midnight Sun did not make me feel any better about it. Midnight Sun’s Emmett is a good brother to Edward, but he is also basically presented as a simpleton. All we see of his relationship with Rosalie is him being the long suffering husband putting up with her hysterics and temper. There was even that very telling switch in something Emmett says to Rosalie, where in the leaked version he called her ‘baby’ and in this new version he calls her ‘gorgeous’. It’s a single word, changing it shouldn’t have any real impact, and yet it does. ‘Baby’ in that context is playful, it’s affectionate, it’s personal, it’s loving...and yet we now get ‘gorgeous’, which once again reduces Rosalie to nothing more than her appearance and their relationship back to the superficial.

And sorry, but you’re not with someone for seventy years because you think they’re hot and good in bed...there HAS to be more to it than that, but Edward doesn’t seem to think so.

Rosalie also goes against the rest of the family a lot in this one, and we see her being the scapegoat. It is repeatedly shown that her feelings, her opinions, her personal agency, all rank FAR below Edward’s in the family hierarchy and everyone supports that disparity. (And yes okay, when her opinion is that murdering a child is a good way forward she probably *should* be the one to give in! But why is Bella watching the family baseball game more important than Rosalie playing in it? Why, when Edward throws the family all into danger and breaks all the rules is ROSALIE the unreasonable one when she points out the potential for harm?)

It is made abundantly clear by Edward that no one in the family particularly likes Rosalie, that they all just put up with her temper (mostly for Emmett’s sake? Because of Carlisle’s guilt?)...it really seems like they tolerate her being part of the family at best. And for someone whose characterisation has them breathing admiration like air, would that ever be bearable? To spend the vast majority of your time with a family who would be perfectly content without you? I can’t see it.

Okay, that was more depth than i meant to go into! But what can I say? I have FEELINGS here!

Oh, and maybe I’m the only one but quite honestly I am digging that pomegranate cover. It is almost nauseating but just the visual of it so perfectly sums up Twilight vampirism for me...this ghastly thread of unavoidably grotesque horror hidden under the veneer of exquisite beauty and civility!

And also because in the medieval Twilight/ New Moon combo rewrite I did, the only time I’ve ever written Edward and Bella, a fucking POMEGRANATE was the central object of my plot! It was the pomegranate that led to the alternate birthday scene (where Jasper tries to kill her) and Edward leaves her and everything unravels in a different way and and and....

And when I wrote that I read all this pomegranate symbolism and was like oh yeah, it’s got to be one of those. I didn’t even write any of the symbolism in, it was one of those things that I thought no one except me would ever even think about and yet here I am, and EDWARD FUCKING CULLEN is rambling on about pomegranates and symbolism and how it relates to his life and I feel like a goddess, lmao.

#midnight sun #Rosalie #Rosalie Hale #allow me to introduce you to my work #this is where fanfic comes in #yikes i can ramble when I get going

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 4 years

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Dawn

Loki x fem!Reader

ONE/TWO/THREE SHOT

Warnings: mention of past trauma and fluff.

Summary: A truce to end all wars leads to an alliance between Earth and Asgard in the form of Loki marrying a mortal. None of them what this. None except fate.

Word Count: I know I have a lot of WiPs. They worry me. My office changed and now I have to travel forty minutes to and from the place and boy do I get tired after that! This is one of the reasons I’ve not been able to put up much. And I know this will lead to a lot of readers fading away (I have seen this happening already) which is okay. A little heartbreak but I’ll live. But I just hope everyone stays safe and takes care of themselves.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"This is the stupidest thing I've ever done."

"I think insulting your father in front of thousands of his Hydra henchmen is still on top."

The most anxious day of your life and Anthony Edward Stark still makes you feel at ease.

The reflection in the mirror in front of you is of a timid woman with not an ounce of beauty to her name but for the title that comes with her unworthy blood. At least that is what you think.

Tony can read it in those eyes that are still carrying the lost sleep from many nights gone.

"The Asgardians have no idea how lucky they are to have you. And your father was an idiot for giving you away."

He takes the golden chains from your hands that you're unable to lock at the back to do it for you. "But then again, if it weren't for you, we would have never won the war."

You mock a laugh. "Oh, come on, Mr Stark. I'm a freaking ball that was played by earth and Asgard's most unhinged boomers."

The clasp on the chain shuts and Tony's brows go up. "I could not have said it better. Odin does seem like he should chill out more."

"Right?"

You both chuckle and Tony presses away creases on your shoulder before catching your gaze in the mirror.

"You do know you don't have to go through this, Y/N. You just have to say the word and every one of us out there will fight those golden bastards for you."

Your lips stretch in an involuntary smile that fills your heart to the brim and you feel your eyes get wet for the man who has been more of a father to you than your own blood and bones. "You know that is exactly the reason I said yes to the wedding, right? I don't want any more bloodshed. Let's just take it as me repenting for my father's sins and call it a day. Although I'm glad this peace offering didn't come with shady terms like the Asgardians ruling earth or something."

Tony blinks and looks into some unknown void. "Hm." Some afterthought later he looks down at you adjusting a flower in his jacket's pocket, patting and jumping a little in excitement at how great he looked. "Maybe Odin wants to give one of his disappointments some responsibilities or something. To keep him busy, you know."

"Mm-hmm," you hummed, giving yourself one final look in the mirror before picking up the bouquet of Asgardian orchids- the golden flowers in full bloom.

"But honestly though, if he does something you don't like, you have to tell me. Or anyone of us. Nat! Yes, she will take care of him for you on the down-low. It'll be so quiet even he won't know what hit him."

You twirl around towards Tony, making him question the whole event once more. He could not let this happen to you. No. You deserved better. So much better than some egotistical maniac of a God who once wanted to rule your planet.

"Ready to walk me down the aisle?" You ask him with stars in your eyes.

"No?" He replies with clouds of doubt lingering over him.

"Tony."

"Okay, fine. But I am going to sulk about this throughout the wedding."

The great halls of the palace have been decorated with flora of all hues. Civilians have gathered outside to witness the wedding of their Prince. The old ones are curious about who would marry the adopted child. The young ones make merry, rejoicing their Prince has finally found love and the kingdom can once again celebrate after what seems like aeons. The guards have been doubled and the groom's brother is all over the place, running around to make sure everything is in order. It is only when Sif rolls her eyes and audibly groans before dragging Thor by his arms outside his brother's chambers does he stop. Be with your brother, he is ordered before she takes off to cover for him, leaving him to discover what he's been dreading all this week- what is Loki going to feel about this.

It surprises him when it does not take much to open the door and find his brother dressed in his most exquisite armour for the occasion. The gold glitters under the sun rays falling through the windows and balcony and the cape flutters luxuriously reminding every witness that none could carry one as Loki did.

Thor wonders how much of his mother's poise he sees in Loki while he stands overlooking Asgard. His eyes are taking in each and every living pixel while his hands are trying to scratch the nervousness off each other.

Mother would have loved to watch him start this new chapter today, Thor wonders gleefully on the inside.

Maybe it's the reluctant thought of their mother that travels unspoken across the room and makes the other brother turn around.

"Let's get this over with," Loki announces, walking towards the door.

Well, clearly not what I was hoping for, Thor muses, following his brother out.

"How are you feeling brother?" He has to ask.

"Like I might puke my insides any moment."

Vivid.

"Is there anything I can bring you that might ease your stomach?" I mean a brother can try, right?

"Oh yes, of course! Bring a very rare herb called common sense and feed it to your father. He seems to be suffering from this particular deficiency."

"Okay, Loki, that's a bit-"

"Say it's a bit on the nose and I will punch you in the face right now, Thor. I'm being married against my will to an earthling against her will. Father might be a professional matchmaker in his days but I am not one of his pawns to be used in some peace treaty like this."

Thor sighs because that is all he can do right now. No matter how much tries to defend the Allfather, the fact remains that two people are being brought together without much room for their thoughts and opinions. “Weren’t you the one to bring forth the idea of peace with the one planet that father has not tried to conquer and the one that still considers us friends? It is all for the better. And Y/N is an amazing woman. I am sure she would make a wonderful partner-”

“The peace holds because you are known to their heroes, Thor. And if peace is the subject let’s just marry you with Y/N, why don’t we?”

Thor mocks a muted laugh but Loki does not stir, staring at his blond brother with a piercing gaze that finally makes the former shift his weight uncomfortably between his legs. “That’s what I thought. Keep trying to defend the Allfather unless he stands against what you desire. You do realise this was the very reason I tried to stop you from becoming king in the first place at that time.”

Before he can get a word in- or at least try to think of one- Loki has already moved past the great doors to be welcomed by a crowd of royals gathered in the hall at one side and Y/N’s family on the other.

He knows. He knows deep within his heart that the royals are here just to witness what drama goes down this time, what does the bastard of Odin do this time to wreck chaos midst these celebrations. The other side? They are here to make sure they have his bones if Y/N says the word. So, it’s just another day in my life. But he has to admit to himself how he envies you for having a cavalry of the galaxy’s most lethal beings protecting you without so much as a word. What is this camaraderie exactly? A strategic alliance? A well-put band of the unfit?

It’s love, my dear.

It is not hard to miss Friga’s words fluttering inside once he climbs the stairs to stand by Odin’s side. Love, Loki mocks a laugh, it does make you do mad things. He is not paying attention to the grand speech Odin is giving, and for once he can relate to a yawning Clint in the front. All he wants is for this charade to end once and for all. So much that he might actually be happy if Y/N says no at the very last minute. Would save both of us some very awkward lifetimes ahead.

The great doors open again. Everyone rises from their seats to welcome the bride. Loki isn’t even interested in looking that way till the sun is reflected in his eyes from the veil that covers your face. And that is the first time he looks at you.

There is the strangest flutter inside his gut to witness his colours on someone else; on you. The armour in a matching shade of gold adorns your shoulders and arms. Gold chains have the honour of covering your chest and back, curving down from behind to the plates on your waist. Green of the gown dazzles like the galaxy moving around your existence, snug all around your curves. A Goddess walks on the land of Asgard. And every single soul is in awe.

Loki blinks under the light of the suns. The air seems to leave his lungs and time slows down. Everything fades away; except for the woman that walks towards him in arms with earth’s protector. His mind is questioning whether she is a mere human while his heart is trying to figure out the pressing sensation it is feeling.

“Lady Y/N, daughter of...under the care of the house of Stark,” Odin announces to the crowd, breaking Loki out the trance whilst he watches you climb the steps with Stark, come to stand by his side and give the man a kiss before he takes a step back, his gaze never leaving your face, waiting for a single line of doubt to take you away from all of this.

Well, one of the father figures understands.

“Time for the union,” Odin declares to the two of you.

You turn towards Loki, your heart beating in your ears as you watch your future husband for what seems like the rest of eternity through the veil. Even though you have been trying to convince everyone that it’s the right thing to do, your panicking heart seems to be having doubts of its own.

Breathe! Breathe, breathe, breathe, Y/N. Just breathe, please.

“Unveil her, Loki,” Odin softly orders the God.

You feel the heat run to your ears and neck. What fuckery-

“She will unveil herself, if she wants to, Allfather. Do not belittle her with your old traditions,” Loki points out, much to Odin’s dismay.

Damn right, Tony thinks to himself as he pauses and looks inside in disbelief for liking Loki there for a moment.

Loki does not miss your hands going to your solar plexus to wipe off the sweat before moving the veil back. The suns finally get to touch your face, that glows even when everything inside you cripples in anxiety. Y/E/C eyes meet the ocean of green looking at you with deep curiosity before you look away.

“Bring forward your hands unto each other so you may be tied by the fabric used by the first Gods to be wed under the suns and moons,” Sif requests as she holds a red fabric in her hand while her eyes travel to Thor standing at the end of the stairs.

Loki is first to bring forward his hands, patiently waiting for yours.

The hesitance is not for the ceremony as much as for the fear of him finding your drumming pulse under his touch. Oh, well, I’m pretty sure he can hear it from here right now. And so you bring forward your hands to slide into his, feeling the heat from your palms being siphoned by his cold ones.

A chill runs throughout your body; like a feverish tingle when your stomach is on the verge of throwing its contents out. And Loki seems to sense it too. It’s really hard to ignore for him, as a matter of fact. So is the repeated rise of your chest to breathe as much as you can while undergoing a panic attack; a state he is all too familiar with.

“Róaðu taugarnar á henni, gyðja styrks og umhyggju,” he whispers only for you to listen and still it does not make sense till you can feel an ascended calm run from your hands to the rest of your body, bringing the chaos to a standstill.

How did he-

The removal of clouds of anxiety seems to suddenly clear your vision and you watch the God holding you in a new light. His eyes are soft towards you, his touch careful and light. His head bows a little and his body is still as a boulder. If only I had a backbone like him, you wonder when Sif wraps the red around your hands, binding them together neatly with a bow on top.

“Time for your vows,” she whispers to the both of you with a smile before taking a step back.

You look at her and watch the face of a friend before your eyes come back to rest on the red fabric. So much power resides in this little piece of cloth.

“Under the stars of Valhalla,” Loki begins, bringing your eyes up from the fabric to his face like an involuntary reflex, “I take thee, Y/N, as my wife, if you shall have me. I vow to protect you and be by your side in life...and death.”

...okay...that was...okay.

You clear your throat as discreetly as possible, taking in one long breath before looking back at right into Loki’s eyes. “U-under the stars of Valhalla, I take thee, Loki, as my husband, if you shall have me. I-I vow to protect you and be by your side in life. And...and death.”

No sooner are the words said than the fabric starts to glow with a blinding light, turning into butterflies made purely of light and flying to the skies, marking the bond witnessed by the heavens old and new.

"If you need anything, your handmaidens will be a call away."

There is comfort in Sid's gentle smile. If only you could ask her to stay. But that's not usually how the night goes.

"Take care of her, brother," Thor comments before a strong pat comes for Loki's back and the God rolls his eyes.

You know Thor means well but those words in no way bring comfort to you as the doors to Loki's room opens and are shut behind the two of you.

Silence marks the first few seconds of being alone in a room for the first time. Well, not first really. There was that time when the two of you had to fight your way out of the Hydra's facility.

"Nice colour theme," you finally say out loud standing by the door, awkwardly swinging on your toes while holding a fur coat given to you when you were shivering at dinner.

Loki takes his helmet off and your eyes follow the raven strands of hair flowing in the night breeze dancing in from the windows and open balcony. How does he have such lush growth? Maybe it’s the water of Asgard.

The helmet rests on the table with a soft thud. “You can take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch,” he states, already undoing his armour.

“Oh, no,” you press, taking a step towards him, “please, you don’t have to get uncomfortable in your own room on my account. I’ll take the couch. It looks more comfortable than my bed anyway. So…yeah. Um...where can I change?”

Loki blinks and turns his gaze towards an archway by the end of the wall. “That’s...the bathroom. Everything has been arranged for you in there.”

You nod even though Loki has already gotten busy with undoing what remains of his armour while you start on undoing yours. The bracelets come off first, then the earrings. But the worst is the clasps of chains choking you from your neck down your back. I should have asked Tony how he did it, dammit. No matter how much your hands try they just don’t seem to find the stupid openings anywhere.

“Allow me,” comes the voice from behind you, startling your already tensed nerves. And as if that isn’t enough, the touch of his cold fingers on your neck seems to fire up whatever nerve endings still seem to be working. Every undoing is soft and careful, always ending with a click. You can feel your hairs rise in anticipation of this foreign touch, goosebumps all over your back that you are pretty sure Loki can notice. You have to stop breathing in order to keep the shiver in check. It's only when your neck feels light once the last of the gold is removed do you take a lungful, catching the odd piece of jewellery in your hand, thanking Loki and hastily making your way to the doorless bathroom with a wooden partition made of intricate carvings as the only thing blocking the view on either side.

When you come out Loki has already changed into a loose black shirt over black pyjamas for the night, ready to take the couch. "I said I'll take the c-"

The creak followed by a crash drowns your words and makes you smack your hand on your mouth. The sofa lies in ruins on the floors, the legs done away with while the arms rests have fallen flat. And the thought of Loki almost sitting down on it fills you with the guilt of having the thought of laughing out loud at the scene.

"Oh, God. You okay?" You have to ask, partly because you did see him rise up safely thanks to his wonderful reflexes but mainly because the pressing jaw tells you somebody might die tomorrow morning.

"I'll have one of the servants clean this up," is all he says.

Servants. Ruined couch. Wedding night. That cannot go right in any way imaginable. Not at least for your overthinking mind.

"No, that's okay. We can share the bed," you blurt out, not wanting any outside attention, "i-if that's okay with you."

And so, both of you lie down on the king-sized bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what odd decisions did you have to make to get you here. Even though the space over the bed is surprisingly a lot, the senses just cannot help but notice the other one's tiniest movements, every breath, every gulp and every sigh in the silent night.

"I'm sorry," you finally manage to say softly, still staring at the ceiling while your fingernails gnaw at each other. "That you were dragged into all of...this. I really thought the whole gist of a wedding between two kingdoms was over on my planet."

Silence resumes and as the seconds pass you feel a shot embarrassment rise in your throat for saying that. Clearly Loki is not interested in hearing any of this, you moron. He's a God married to a dumb mortal. This must be the worst day of his-

"Don't apologize for the mindless traditions of old men, dear. We are just pawns in their quest for power."

Weight of the words aside, there is something really soothing about Loki's voice mixing with the sweet cold of the night.

"All of this could have been avoided if Odin took his word back and let you live as you wished, no matter what your father promised."

You agree in a hum, bringing the duvet closer to your chest.

"But I presume you thought it better to avoid blood and take it as it was presented to you."

The words in that honey laden voice seem to travel over your exposed skin like a feather.

"Yeah. Yes. It would have been the better option but I could not stand to watch my friends and family suffer anymore. Tony deserves to rest and live a happy life with his family. Steve and Bucky are finally getting around to find their love for each other. Natasha has settled down with Maria and Clint can finally stay with his family. The battle had already taken a toll on them. I would have rather killed myself than make them put their life on the line again for the whole...planet I guess."

You do not notice but Loki has turned his head to look at you, to notice the quick blink of your eyes, the tug of your fingers on the edge of the duvet, the lick of your lips before biting on them hard.

"Well-" you clear your throat, scratching your forehead for some invisible itch- "I'm human. So, I'm supposed to make the dumbest decisions. But I cannot imagine how you must be feeling mixed in all of this. I'm sure this is the last thing you wanted for yourself in exchange for some reduced sentence. T-that's what Thor told me."

You turn to look at him and are caught off guard by the moons shining in on the pair of greens looking at you with utmost interest. And once you lock your gaze with them, it's hard to let go. Swimming in the springs in a forest under a full moon night while the world sleeps, that's what his gaze feels like. Why wouldn't it; they seem to be touching you in crevices untouched and unbared.

He continues to watch you and sigh. "To be honest I stopped putting any hope in Odin to think about me a long time ago. Nothing he does to me or for me surprises me anymore."

Your lips pucker down, letting the words sink in before you decide to turn in his direction.

"Well, I'll try to make this situation suck a little less as I can...though I highly doubt I'd be able to create much havoc here."

"Oh-" Loki feels his eyes close as a smirk lands on his face and he turns in your direction too- "trust me, darling. With me, there is no corner of this place that you cannot create havoc in."

You find yourself chuckling, letting a few seconds pass before you lick your lips and wonder whether to let out this tiny naughty piece of your mind into bed between the two of you.

The lick and the tug of your teeth at your mesmerising lips do not go unnoticed by the God; something that is soon brewing a question about why his insides are so restless at the sight of your lips having to feel the torture. Curse the unknown! "What?"

"Hm?"

"There is something you want to say but you're not allowing yourself to."

You take a deep breath and move your head just a little closer towards him in order to whisper. "It's not that I'm not mischievous... it's just that I'm often presumed to be the embodiment of a golden child and so I've never been caught. Ever."

The slight shift in Loki's expression that elevates from seriousness to confusion calls for clarification.

"I...once laced your brother's drink with laxatives because he pissed me off."

Confusion.

Surprise.

Shock.

"Y/N Y/L/N," Loki nearly gasps, feeling his head rise from the fluffy pillow, "you did what?"

And the night drowns with the light laughter and old stories for the mutual feeling of detest for siblings and contrast in the view of the world. Discussions went on through the timeless breeze blowing throughout the night about the worlds beyond and the things undiscovered; everything riding on a melody till one of you feel victim to the sweet sounds of slumber.

Loki's eyes are stuck on you all night, watching the serenity washing over your face as all worries seem to fall away while you let yourself drift in peace. Beautiful seems to be an understatement according to the God.

Even though she's an immortal, she does not deserve to be tied to me for eternity. That's a fate too cruel.

But something inside him does not want these words to be true; a gentle tug to his heartstrings by you, that seems to have struck a chord he cannot stop playing.

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more-pokeimagines · 4 years

Text

Stone Cold Body [05] - Chapter 4

A/N: Okay, folks, here’s the next chapter, and I really hope you enjoy it. Feedback is always appreciated. :) If you want to be tagged in further parts of the series send me an ask!

Warnings: mentions of executions and violence

Past

Three weeks had passed since King Lewin I. had burned the girl at the stake, and Bede still couldn’t stop thinking about it. He didn’t know why his father hated the sorcerers so much, he didn’t know what they had done to deserve being hunted and killed like animals. But he knew only too well that he wasn’t allowed to ask, so he remained silent and carried on with his life as if he didn’t care about the death of innocent people at all, just like his father.

His sister, on the other hand, made no secret of her consternation. She barely spoke to the king anymore and even tried to convince him to cancel the ball he had announced for her birthday in a few weeks. The end of the story had been a slap in the face and a warning to never disrespect her father like that again.

Bede still got angry when he thought about it. His father had no right to treat Carlina like that, especially since she already spent most of the day in her room, silently mourning the death of a girl she hadn’t known. He wished he knew how to make it easier for her, mostly because it probably hadn’t been the last execution she had to watch but also because he hated to see his cheerful and carefree sister like that. Even though she often told him that she could take care of herself just fine, he still felt the strong urge to protect her from all the evils of the world. To him, she would always be the little girl who had asked him to read her favorite book to her over and over again while she snuggled up to him to keep herself warm. To this day, it was still one of his dearest memories and one of the many reasons why he adored his sister so much.

He was currently on his way to her rooms since she had been absent at dinner, probably because she was still too upset to actually spend time with the king. The queen, a compassionate and gentle woman, had asked her son to look in on Carlina, and he gladly followed her instructions, mostly because he was worried about Carlina too but also because he was tired of hearing about the princess he was supposed to marry anytime soon.

Absent-mindedly, Bede turned around the corner, finally reaching the hallway that led to Carlina’s rooms in the east wing. He knew that he needed to persuade her to leave her quarters, especially if she didn’t want to anger their father even more, but he had no idea how. Carlina was well-behaved and smart, yes, but she could also be incredibly stubborn. It definitely wouldn’t be easy to convince her.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness.” A guard had approached him, obstructing his way as he looked at the prince with an almost empty expression. Despite his statement, his voice showed no signs of sympathy. Instead, he sounded almost like the situation amused him. “But the king advised me to not let anyone pass.”

“Excuse me?” Bede asked, the disgruntled expression in his eyes a solemn warning but the guard returned his look without the slightest bit of fear. He knew that he was on the safe side since he only obeyed the king’s orders, and the prince hardly had anything to say anyway.

“May I propose that you talk to the king yourself, Your Highness,” the guard suggested. “Perhaps that will settle the issue.”

Bede frowned. It didn’t happen often that someone dared to disrespect him like that but even the stubbornness of this guard wouldn’t stop him from seeing his sister.

“No,” he said after a few moments of silence, his voice as cold as ice. “Perhaps we could do as I say, or else I will ensure that you suffer the consequences for disobeying your prince. I don’t care what my father said.”

The guard gulped, now clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation. “Your Highness, I-”

“Be quiet,” Bede interrupted him. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. Now, step aside.”

He could literally see how the guard’s thoughts were racing as they stared at each other for a few more seconds. Then, the guard finally stepped aside. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness,” he said and bowed his head. “I was being presumptuous.”

“Yes,” Bede agreed. “You may leave now.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Bede turned away, raising his hand to knock at the door to Carlina’s room.

It was more than obvious that his sister wasn’t feeling well. Carlina looked absolutely terrible, despite her tarted up appearance. Her face was still tear-stained, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed as she looked at her brother who simply reached out for her and pulled her into a tight hug. She leaned against him, her face buried in the crook of his neck while tears welled up in her eyes again.

“We missed you at dinner,” he mumbled, his hands gently caressing her back to comfort her. The soft and expensive fabric of her dress felt cool beneath his fingertips. “Mother asked me to check in on you. She’s worried.”

“Father told me not to leave my room,” Carlina replied quietly. “He said I should spend my time realizing my mistakes before I bother him with my presence again.”

“I know. There was a guard outside of your room.”

Carlina sniffled. When she spoke again, her voice was shaking. “I don’t understand why he hates the sorcerers so much. They never did anything wrong, did they? And still he keeps hunting them like they’re wild animals! That’s not how a king is supposed to act.”

“I know,” Bede repeated. He didn’t understand his father’s hatred either but he had learned long ago not to question his actions, especially not when it came to his ruthless vendetta against the sorcerers. He could only hope that the killing would stop eventually.

Dissatisfied, Bede tugged at the high collar of his new jacket. He hated to wear his navy blue dress uniform but since the occasion called for fancy clothing, there wasn’t much he could do about it. In his opinion, the color looked awful against his pale complexion and it clashed with the color of his eyes while his mother insisted that he looked regal and mature. He, on the other hand, suspected that she only wanted him to look presentable when she introduced him to the princess he was betrothed to since birth, despite the fact that he had zero interest in marrying. But for the sake of Carlina and her birthday, he had decided that it would be best to discuss the issue later on.

His sister looked stunning, dressed in an exquisite rose colored gown which was richly ornamented with precious pearls and gemstones that resembled the jewelry she was wearing. The only thing that was missing was her contagious smile.

When he escorted her to the ballroom, an hour after the guests had arrived, he squeezed her gloved hand, trying to reassure her that nothing bad was going to happen tonight. Initially, she had looked forward to this celebration but Bede knew that she’d rather run and hide in her room after yet another incident with a sorcerer and his inevitable death sentence the evening before.

“Smile,” he whispered when they entered the ginormous ballroom that had always been too richly decorated for his liking. The guests were staring at the siblings as they made their way to the podium in front of huge windows where their parents awaited them.

“His Royal Highness, Prince Bede and Her Royal Highness, Princess Carlina,” a harbinger introduced them, even though there probably was not a single person in the room who didn’t know their names. Carlina was finally smiling again, gracefully waving at her admirers, and even Bede who usually acted restrained and sometimes slightly arrogant whenever he had to be at court, had managed to put on a somewhat believable smile. He hated events like this though. He hated how his mother paraded her children around like they were some kind of precious commodities to preserve the peace between Galar and other kingdoms.

“My beloved children,” the king greeted them when they reached the podium, stretching out his hand to help Carlina getting up the stairs. Bede couldn’t help but notice that she was a good actress. She didn’t even flinch when her father bowed his head to kiss her cheek; the exact same cheek he had slapped just a few weeks ago when his daughter had dared to speak out against him.

With a proud smile, he put his arm around Carlina. “Happy Birthday, my dear.”

“Thank you, Mylord,” she replied politely, just as everyone in the room expected. Then, she turned around to look at the courtiers as her father said, “Surely, my daughter feels honored to spend her birthday with such noble and courteous people.”

Restrained murmurs of approval interrupted him but as soon as he raised his hand, the crowd went silent again. “But this is not the only reason for our celebration today. I am delighted to announce the Prince’s engagement with Princess Amelié of Kalos.”

Bede’s smile faded in the blink of an eye. Even though he had assumed that his parents would make things official today, he didn’t expect to meet his betrothed in front of every aristocrat in the kingdom. Of course it didn’t help that he had no desire to meet her, let alone spend the whole evening with a girl he didn’t know.

A figure moving through the crowd caught his attention and for a moment, he closed his eyes, wishing that the princess would be at least a decent person, but when he opened his eyes again he realized that it wasn’t Princess Amelié who was curtseying in front of his father now. It was a woman, dressed in a simple, yet expensive looking gown. Her long hair was pinned up and decorated with barely noticeable beads and pearls.

“Your Majesty,” she greeted the king, her voice low and husky. “I deeply apologize for interrupting your wonderful celebration but Her Highness, Princess Amelié, will not be able to accompany us today. She fell ill a few days ago but she sends her kindest regards to the King and the Queen and their children. Her Highness particularly regrets that she can not meet her betrothed today but as soon as she feels better she would feel honored to pay her respect to him.”

“Please convey my get-well wishes to Princess Amelié,” Bede replied, knowing very well what his parents and everyone else in the room expected from him. He even managed to put on a smile. “And also assure her I am eagerly awaiting her visit.”

“Your wish is my command, Your Highness,” the woman said.

After that brief encounter, King Lewin lead the dance with his wife, followed by Carlina and Bede who wasn’t too fond of dancing but since it was his sister’s birthday, he couldn’t deny her request and he was more than surprised when he discovered that it was actually a lot of fun to dance with his sister. She was a natural talent, graceful and self-confident as they twirled round the dance floor.

It didn’t take long until a young duke asked the Princess for a dance, and after a few seconds of hesitation Carlina accepted the proposal. She gave her brother an apologetic smile but he stopped her with a wave of his hand and returned to the side of the dance floor.

Princess Amelié’s lady-in-waiting joined company with him just a few minutes later, gracefully curtseying when he greeted her with a nod. “Your Highness,” she said.

“Milady,” was the simple response.

She cleared her throat. “I have to say I am glad that I got the opportunity to be here tonight. It is a wonderful celebration. The princess must be thrilled.”

“She surely is,” Bede replied and darted a glance at his sister who was still twirling round the dance floor with that young duke. They seemed to enjoy themselves but Bede knew that they probably wouldn’t see each other again once this celebration was over. His father would never allow Carlina to marry someone of lower degree than her.

When the lady-in-waiting let out a deep sigh, he turned his attention back to her. She was looking at him with an annoyed expression. “You don’t understand, do you?” she asked. “I am not petite Amelié’s lady-in-waiting.”

“Oh, I realized that,” Bede replied flatly. “I knew it already when you spoke to my father. You know, as chance would have it, I have a bit of knowledge about Kalos and their traditions, and let me tell you, a lady-in-waiting there would never be dressed in a simple gown like yours.”

The woman’s eyes widened in surprise but just a second later, the blank expression was back. “I see. Well, it doesn’t really matter anymore. I got what I wanted.”

“And what would that be, Milady?”

“Talking to you,” she stated matter-of-factly. “I wanted to tell you how much I despise your family. You killed my little sister, you killed countless others and yet, here you are, throwing parties and wasting money, as if my people aren’t suffering because of your ignorance. I won’t let Lewin continue to destroy this country.”

“And what are you going to do about that, Milady?” he asked, the tone of his voice clearly meant to mock her.

“You’ll see, little princeling,” she promised and her lips curled into a sweet smile. “You’ll see.”

Masterlist / Next chapter

#bede x reader #trainer bede x reader #trainer bede imagine #bede pokemon imagine #bede pokemon x reader #fairytale!AU #original series #reader insert

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slashyrogue · 4 years

Text

Continued from: Ambrosia 1 ~ Ambrosia 2 ~ Ambrosia 3 ~ Ambrosia 4 ~ Ambrosia 5

What Will did was avoid Hannibal as much as possible.

He took advantage of the pond Hannibal had fish added to for his own amusement, though it was big enough to be almost a lake. The fish he caught and let go over the next few days, which started to get a little boring but it was something that kept him away from temptation.

And Hannibal was very much a temptation.

Will had found himself plagued with erotic dreams every single night since he’d been bitten by Hannibal. Every touch, lick, and bite felt like the real thing so much so that Will woke up a mess every morning. He’d taken to getting up earlier because of it and hiding his messed bed linens.

A week went by before Hannibal commented, much to Will’s embarrassment.

“I still feel quite upset about what happened last week,” he said softly, sipping on a wine glass full of blood from Will’s donation just a week ago, “It was not my intention to force you into something you weren’t…”

Will took a bite of his steak, hating the blush that came to his cheeks. “You didn’t. I told you that I gave you permission.”

“I’m almost certain the permission was only out of worry, and your...avoidance of being around me this week confirms that.”

He felt his cheeks burn. “I’m not avoiding you.”

“You have taken all of your meals in private everyday since until today, and spent most of your time outside in between laundering your own things. I know this arrangement is not ideal, but if it’s going to make you so very afraid of me I would go back to the way it was.”

Will scoffed. “And slowly die?”

The frown on Hannibal’s face made Will’s stomach hurt, while the flash of his fang made the rest of him get warm.

“Yes,” Hannibal admitted, sipping his blood, “I very much enjoy you, Will. Your blood may have brought you to my attention but you have done the rest.”

Will hated how good the words made him feel. “You barely know me.”

“I know enough,” Hannibal said, “I’ve been quite lonely most of my life and you...you are someone I could imagine as a companion. Friends are not something vampires find often, let alone one as powerful as I am. I trust very few people, but I trust you implicitly.”

Friend.

Will forced himself to smile.

He didn’t have any friends either, mostly because of how antisocial he’d been for so long, and the dark parts of him had always been so hard to hide. If he told Hannibal the truth would he be the one who avoided him? He had to have known Will was aroused that night he bit him, but he’d never tried to seduce or coerce him since.

“I trust you too,” Will admitted, staring down at his plate.

“That makes me very happy to hear. I….”

Will forced himself to push past his fear.

“That night you said I smelled exquisite when I’m...happy.”

“Yes,” Hannibal purred, “And you have not smelled happy for a week now except when…”

Will looked up. “When what?”

“I’ve…” Hannibal sighed, “....taken to standing outside your door to smell you sleep. You always smell happy when you’re asleep.”

He bit his lip, blushing so hard now he was sure his face was on fire.

“Will…”

“You did this,” he accused, glaring at him, “I let you bite me and...it felt good. Really, really good.”

Hannibal blinked. “Oh.”

“And it’s all I can think about when I’m around you. Every single night I….dream about it which is why I’ve been cleaning my own laundry. I’m sure…”

Will watched Hannibal’s eyes glow brighter than he’d ever seen them glow before.

“Would you….like me to bite you again?”

Will swallowed past the dryness in his throat.

“You want us to be friends,” Will whispered, hands shaking as he gripped his fork, “So letting you bite me and me getting off on it sort of ruins that, right?”

“I wanted us to be friends because I have none,” Hannibal confessed, “But I never once said I had no want for us to be lovers. I merely had no wish to make you do something you didn’t want to do.”

Will’s body ached in anticipation.

All he had to do was say the words.

“I....I wouldn’t say no to being bit again.”

Hannibal licked his lips. “Does that mean yes or no?”

“It means....the next time you’re hungry feel free to take blood from wherever you please.”

He realized just how dirty that sounded and blushed even harder.

“All the blood is rushing to your cheeks, but I think I’d prefer somewhere else.”

“Hannibal…”

“We’ll start your blood flow diet again tomorrow. It would be much safer if you were eating to promote blood production, as I....intend to take you up on your offer often.”

Will let out a long breath, and his hands shook when he picked up his fork again.

“That’s...sounds good to me.”

The dogs barked, thankfully, and Will took the excuse.

“Excuse me.”

He took all four of them outside, still shaking, and watched as they did their business. This house was so far off from the rest of the world, more so than his own, and after weeks here he was starting to feel like it was home. Would getting even closer to Hannibal make it harder for him to ever leave? Did he really want to?

The sound of the door opening made him stiffen but not move.

“They seem to enjoy it here.”

“Yeah,” Will whispered, “Anywhere they can eat grass, chase wild animals, and shit is pretty much the perfect home to them.”

“What is the perfect home to you?”

He turned to look at Hannibal. “What?”

“What would be your perfect home, Will? How...how can I make you feel so at home you would never wish to leave?”

Will frowned. “I can’t leave now, can I? I mean, it’s only been a few weeks and no one’s come out here but I don’t think it’s because they don’t want to. Is it?”

“No,” Hannibal said, “They don’t come close to me if they can help it.”

“They’re afraid of you.”

“Yes,” he said, moving to stand beside Will, “I’m the oldest of all and no one is entirely sure what I’m capable of if pushed too far.”

Will shivered, and not from the cold. “Do you know what you’re capable of?”

Hannibal smiled and his fangs shone bright in the moonlight. “Often I’m not entirely sure, but I know my limitations.”

He looked away. “I’m not sure I know mine.”

“You have not answered my question.”

Will sighed. “A perfect home to me is somewhere I can feel safe and....where I know I’m supposed to be.”

Hannibal reached for his hand and Will got there first, entwining their fingers and squeezing their palms together. “You wouldn’t have come here if not for the attack.”

“If you’re about to tell me you sicced them on me….”

“I didn’t,” Hannibal said, squeezing his hand, “I promise you I didn’t.”

Will looked at him again. “I’m almost glad it happened, but if you did send them to get me I’d never forgive you.”

“I know.”

He stared into Hannibal’s red eyes. “You keep forgetting something. If not for the taste of my blood I wouldn’t be here either.”

“Circumstance brought you here, but what’s happened since….”

Will couldn’t help but kiss him. He moaned as Hannibal pulled him closer, and trembled when he felt Hannibal’s fangs brush his tongue. Hannibal’s deep growl caused the dogs to all howl and they broke apart, turning to see them all standing at the foot of the stairs staring up at them.

“I think you might be the leader of the pack now.”

Hannibal laughed, growling again, and the dogs all came up to be closer to him. Will’s chest ached as he moved away to catch his breath.

Things were moving too fast. Weren’t they?

“Come on, guys let’s go in.”

He went through the door first and the dogs all followed, desperate for touches.

“Will….”

“I’m not gonna avoid you anymore,” he promised, “But I am still gonna wash my own sheets.”

Hannibal smiled. “That sounds quite fair.”

Will smiled. “I like you, Hannibal. I...I trust you. Don’t make me regret it.”

He reached out to touch Will’s cheek and the coolness of his skin shouldn’t have made Will aroused but his body had other ideas. Hannibal leaned in and kissed Will’s cheek.

“I will not,” he whispered into his ear.

“How long till you think....” Will started to ask, hard as a fucking rock now.

“Seven days,” Hannibal said, pulling back to look into his eyes.

“That’s...way too long.”

“Anticipation can often enhance the final outcome.”

Will laughed. “Are all vampires this good at the fine art of flirting or is it just you?”

“I’m not sure,” Hannibal teased, “But I have been told I’m quite adept at getting what I want.”

“That makes one of us.”

Hannibal ran his fingers down Will’s cheek. “You are, Will,” he said softly, “But you struggle to ask for it.”

“You know me so well, now?” Will asked, feeling uncomfortable.

“I know you very well, but also not well enough. I want to know all your thoughts, dreams, desires, and fears. I want....all you can give me.”

Will felt tears in his eyes. “This is getting a little too…”

“You are free to retire for the evening, Will. I apologize if my words give you discomfort.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s,” he took two steps closer to him, “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Everything you say just makes me want to give you all of that and I worry that if I do, I’ll find out you only wanted me for what I could give you not because...I’m me.”

Hannibal pressed their foreheads together and Will felt a tear go down his cheek.

“If you never wish to give me your blood again I will stop right this instant. The blood brought you here but the more I learn of you the more I want you. Will…”

Will kissed him again, slowly, shaking as Hannibal’s hand came to the back of his neck.

He wanted this.

Fuck, he wanted him and every flowery word that he whispered to be true.

They kissed for what felt like a lifetime until Will fought to breathe and Hannibal pulled away.

“Goodnight, Will.”

“Goodnight,” Will said, his voice thick with emotion or desire he wasn’t sure.

He forced himself to go to take the dogs to their room, sitting on the floor with them, and put his head in his hands.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

Even now all he wanted to do was go back to be with Hannibal.

Every time they got close or even spoke to each other the more he wanted to be with Hannibal.

Will felt Buster lick his hand and smiled. “How did you know Harley was the one you wanted, boy? Huh? Was it the smell of her ass or….did it just feel so right you couldn’t imagine being with anyone else?”

Buster rubbed his head under Will’s hand and he pet him.

He wouldn’t get any answers from Buster, obviously.

Tonight he’d opened a door with the Vampire King that most people would be terrified of even thinking about. If it all turned to shit and he wanted to close it again, could he? Or was this feeling he had with Hannibal real?

Will got up off the floor after a while, and headed for his room. He had half expected to see Hannibal in the hallway but found himself alone. Would Hannibal listen to him sleep tonight?

He left the door open just in case.

Tagging because they asked: @creatures-that-wont-die, @clehjett, @skallarr , @mxrderhxsbands

#ambrosia au #hannigram au #my aus #my writing #not beta'd #yes next chapter is the sex and the biting #lots of biting

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crqstalite · 4 years

Text

prelude.

doing another little sprint for my red queen cousland au (working title being: at what cost to reflect a lot going on in that au) with her and leliana just before the royal wedding. discussions ensue.

“you look troubled.” a soft voice infiltrates her quiet sanctuary, sweet as the cake she tasted days just before and it makes her jump, going for the knife attached to her leg underneath her dress.

red hair pulled back into a ponytail, startling blue eyes staring back at her in the reflection of the vanity. lithe form leaning against the door frame. rhosyn is comforted by the sight, the thumping in her chest now tinged with one of caring instead of concern. a sigh of relief, “just a bit. you know, you could announce yourself properly, love. you don’t have to sneak around.”

leliana steps further into the room, closing the door behind her and looking around in curiosity as rhosyn turns from where she’d been admiring the cream white dress in the vanity, “i could, yes. i apologize if i scared you, rhosie.”

rhosyn smiles anyway, she’d missed her lover as of late. the castle had been much too empty, and there were only so many shenanigans one pair of to-be-wed friends could get up to. it had been such a surprise when a letter arrived for her and it turned out that her wife would be back in denerim for her wedding.

the other woman’s arms slip around her waist, pulling her into a hug against her chest. she sighs into the touch, not even minding that leliana’s armor may not be the cleanest against her gown. how long she had been gone after alistair’s coronation is immediately forgotten, pressing her lips against leliana’s in a chaste kiss.

“then your mission was successful, i assume?” rhosyn asks after they pull away, still on the cusp of giggling like schoolgirls, “i didn’t expect you back for another few months at least.”

“and miss my wife’s wedding? love, you underestimate me. it wounds my poor heart,” leliana chuckles, “if i could’ve stayed in denerim, i would’ve. but now, i will be here at least a little longer than last time.”

“that’s good to hear. what a wonderful wedding present,” rhosyn answers, intertwining her fingers with the bard’s, “court is absolutely insufferable, i don’t know how you ever deal with it in orlais. nobles always want and want but never want to give, and no one ever smiles enough. never enough help these days.”

“you either need a week away, or you need someone taken out, i presume?” rhosyn’s expression must be startled enough to give leliana pause, “or not?”

“no, no not yet at least. should anyone have an attempt on my life, well, zevran has reminded me that chances are, they won’t even make it close enough to shoot first.” rhosyn admires her, gently brushing her hand against her cheek, “did you say hello to alistair when you arrived? he’s been asking after you.”

“i did. he seems beyond nervous about today, terrified even when he asked if i knew where you were. something about not being able to see the bride until during the ceremony today. he told me you were asking after me,” an uneasy expression sets itself in on her face. this couldn’t be an easy time for her, but that was also why rhosyn was assuming she wouldn’t be back for the party -- and nearly didn’t want her to. getting married off to someone who was decidedly not her lover, she was afraid she would run the poor girl off before they even got to build some semblance of a life together, “i am happy to be here though. so many opportunities to dress up for the occasion, and i’d never want to miss something so important to you.”

“leliana, you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be,” rhosyn considers where the crown sits, among the makeup and various other decorations that her handmaidens had doled out and applied earlier. to be entirely honest, this was already difficult. it wasn’t a matter of staving off feelings for alistair (she had none -- they were nothing more than friends), it was a matter of confidence she could keep their relationship together.

they’d been quietly married a few months ago, maybe not as official as either of them would’ve liked to be in the eyes of the Maker, but it was the best they could do. they were still on shaky ground then, but she was hoping that they’d properly solidified it by now, “i would’ve written you about just how exquisite the dresses were, or just how many speeches were given.”

“alistair is your friend, yes?” leliana asks, her eyebrows knitting together in genuine concern. fear maybe, and rhosyn tenses.

“he is. a good friend but-”

“then that’s all i need to know. it may be something to get used to, to know that you will be his love to the rest of the country, but i, and our friends, know that your heart belongs to me,” she pauses again, “i hope.”

“love, you mean the world to me. and if i didn’t have to, i wouldn’t. you know i would love nothing more than to go to orlais with you, travel the world as we know it.” rhosyn holds the crown in her hands, looking at her reflection in the silver. how much she had given up to stay in fereldan, to be a leader of a country proper. it’s been suffocating for the last six months, she wonders how she’ll feel six years from now, “i couldn’t leave anora here to take advantage of alistair and to be entirely honest, how naive he is to court. and as much as we respect him, you know that he’d need help if he attempted to rule alone.”

“i know that much. and i believe you and him will lead fereldan into a new age, one that is significantly better than the one before it,” leliana pushes one of her curls back behind her ear, “how funny, i get to call you ‘your majesty’ whenever i see you, no?”

rhosyn groans at the title, “please don’t. for the love of andraste if you do i will never hear the end of it from zevran.”

leliana smiles again, and her heart lifts with hope. standing back in front of the vanity, she gently places the jewelry atop her head. she’d worn it before, along with ceremonial garb during her own coronation, but it feels different today. different in a good way, sure. she could get all the fancy crap out of the way.

but different also that this was real. she used to dream that she was a princess when she was a child, a paper crown on her head and running around with fergus to slay dragons.

this was all realer than she’d really prefer.

her lover’s arms slip around her waist again, her head on her shoulder, “you look beautiful. just like a real queen.”

“was i not one before?” rhosyn asks, turning away from her grinning reflection, “just playing pretend?”

“you were always the queen of my heart, but now you are one proper. complete with the title and the crown.” leliana responds, pressing another kiss to her cheek, “i do like this look on you, very very regal.”

“do not mistake it for a lack of wanting to go riding or hunting. there’s a corset under this and it feels as if it gets tighter every single time i put a dress on. i believe the handmaidens may be the ones trying to kill me.” rhosyn rolls her eyes, “i can barely breathe in this cursed thing.”

“you were a noble in highever once, yes? didn’t you enjoy dressing up even a little?” leliana queries.

“maybe? i was more of a troublemaker than a proper lady, if that’s what you’re asking. when i was younger, i didn’t have to wear them,” she responds wistfully, remembering the terribly lacy dresses that her mother used to dress her in for parties and functions at the castle.

she wonders what her mother would think of her now, “i’m not amused by how complicated they did the knots though.”

leliana impishly grins, “then you’re saying alistair wouldn’t be able to get them undone with little trouble?”

rhosyn’s face flushes at the comment, suddenly not particularly interested with what it implied, “i hope so. he can sit there and struggle all night if that’s what he wished. leliana, i feel with your fingers you’d be able to get it off faster than i would.”

it’s her wife’s turn to be surprised, and then exasperated, then intrigued, her fingers tracing along her spine, “i could get it undone now, if you gave me the chance.”

“i’d believe whoever comes to retrieve me would have a heart attack, leli. though i might take you up on that offer sometime later,” her arms loosen around her waist, but the thought is still enough to make her worry, “you do know we won’t be sleeping together, right? it’s not unusual for the monarchs to sleep alone, surely you understand that.”

“i am aware, yes. but...you understand that the country will most likely not wait for an heir?” that thought sends a shiver done her spine. she and alistair had discussed it...at length beforehand but she still is made uncomfortable by it. by her age, her parents would’ve selected a nice, handsome man from highever should they have been alive. her mother would start pestering her for grandchildren as soon as he arrived, really.

leliana, unfortunately, isn’t wrong. it was less of a matter of teenage rebellion against her parents than it was doing a duty to her countrymen. she couldn’t rely on fergus’ children to take the teryn title this time, “you know grey wardens aren’t the most fertile people in thedas. and it’s not as if i’ll be spending the night on a whim.”

“you make it sound so...planned out.” there’s another comment behind it, but she’s not sure if that’s jealousy she hears. rhosyn hopes it isn’t.

“it has to be. alistair will surely go on to find someone that makes him genuinely happy, and i’m not interested in stepping on her toes. nor is he interested in stepping on your’s,” she shakes her head, careful not to let the crown slip off her head, “i’m not interested in discussing it right now -- i’m only twenty leliana. i have at least another fifteen before i’d begrudgingly consider it.”

“i was only asking is all, should i come back to you waiting on...oh what would it be, my stepchild?” she plays with her sleeve, one of her tells that she was becoming nervous again, “that is, if you want them to be.”

rhosyn is forced to pause and truly think. she’d never considered how leliana would receive the heir because she’d never considered how she’d receive the heir -- her own child. yes, they would be born to her and alistair instead but...no. not today, today was supposed to be at best, interesting and amusing to play the dutiful wife. those thoughts were making her head spin already, it was too early to be thinking about such things. not when she was supposed to be enjoying the time she had with her lover.

and yet...she’d still want leliana to be involved regardless. leaving her in the dark was never intended. after another moment of deliberation, “if you would like, you can come and talk to me in my quarters afterwards. the reception will be rather tedious and will probably take all night, though. i can’t promise i’ll be entirely conscious, and you haven’t even gotten dressed yet.”

“that is true, yes,” leliana’s eyes are wanting, oh ever wanting in a way that rhosyn couldn’t please right then and there. the future ebbs at the back of her mind, but she pushes it away, “my things are in another room, i will see you soon then?”

“of course,” rhosyn bites her bottom lip before hurriedly moving to hug her, to reassure her. careful not to trip over the train of the dress, “we can make this work, love. i promise you that. you’re my everything.”

“i know you will. you always have, and i have no doubt you will continue trying,” leliana’s features soften. she understands the situation, and she’d be by her side throughout it all. rhosyn loves her more than she’s ever loved anyone else, to lose her would destroy her.

though, she’s aware she can’t force leliana to stay. not if she no longer wishes to be with her. rhosyn wouldn’t be surprised, hurt, but not surprised. they have lives outside of each other, and both have responsibilities the other wouldn’t understand.

“i love you.” leliana responds, turning from where she’d been to open to the door to the hall.

“i love you too, leli.”

#rhosyn cousland #rhosyn/leliana #oc #original character #dao fanfiction #i??#actually haven't written leliana before #i hope i did okay lol #this would be before rhosyn has any feelings for alistair #like #long before

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romancingromanoff · 5 years

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The Wolf Queen Part 1/? (Sansa Stark x female reader)

As the new Lady of Bear island you are called to the coronation of the new Queen in the North. After a harsh winter that seemed to take all hope of future happiness away from you, a certain red headed beauty’s kind heart rekindles a flame in your heart brighter than ever before. This is just you meeting Sansa and the two of you becoming acquainted. Things will definitely heat up as the story progresses and I’ll let y’all know when the next part will be up real soon :)

House Whitewater had lived on Bear Island under the banner of the Mormonts for thousands of years. Between the War of the Five Kings and the Great War, there had been too many loses across the island for you to handle. Personally, your brothers had been taken from you when they went off with Robb Stark and then your mother, the matriarch of your family since your father died when you were two, had been lost to the army of the dead. Soon after you saw her engulfed by a wall of wights as she pushed you to safety, you learned of the loss of your fierce lady: Lady Lyanna Mormont. She had been your lady but more importantly your dear cousin, since your mother was born a Mormont. After you had lost her, you struggled to find a reason to continue living.

However, with what was left of the Bear Island population, you were technically next in line to take over for House Mormont and you were encouraged to take the name due to the special circumstances. So at the tender age of 17, you were called to attend the coronation of Sansa Stark, Queen in the North, as the Lady of Bear Island.

“The Queen in the North! The Queen in the North!” the people chanted as the eldest Stark girl, clad in a gown of such delicate details you could not help but gasp at, took her family seat. Grey was a simple color but you thought it had never looked more regal on someone else than it did her. Sansa Stark was, indeed, truly beautiful as everyone else had said. She had a stoic look on her face that was very fitting for the plain Stark colors, but her fiery red hair seemed to compliment it in a way you had never thought was possible. But of course that was just an objective observation, wasn’t it? Yet for some reason her presence seemed to take away your ability to concentrate; your breath was simply taken away.

Faithful to most northern celebrations, the coronation ceremony was followed by a large feast also filled with spirited music and dance; members from houses all across the North filled Winterfell’s great hall with their jolly, drunk sounds of laughter and cheer. That, however, made it quite difficult to talk to anyone else further than a foot away from you. Seated at the end of a long table, you quietly picked at your own food half-expecting to be doing so until the night was over when a young boy tapped on your shoulder.

“My Lady, the Queen would like to speak with you.”

“With me?” you were surprised that she would call upon you; not only because Bear Island was such a small part of the vast North, but also because you had occupied the position of Lady of Bear Island for less than three days time and frankly felt under qualified.

“Yes, you are the new Lady Mormont, are you not?” Lady Mormont. How strange that sounded. Sure, a few times in your life you had thought of how your mother might have turned out to be the one with that title had she not married your father, but never had you ever guessed that it would be used to reference yourself. It felt wrong thinking of yourself as such; you felt like you were pretending to be some type of character as you caught a deep gulp in your throat and slowly nodded at the question.

As you were escorted to the front of the table and the center of the hall where the Queen sat watching over the entire feast, you tried to recall everything your mother had taught you about being a highborn lady. Technically, you were one by birth but living in isolation on an island where the only other highborn house was more like your extended family, formalities hadn’t been stressed too much between you and the Mormonts. You feared you would have no idea how to correctly behave in front of Sansa Stark.

“Your grace,” you offer before bowing at her seat, never taking your eyes off of the floor. Just at one up close glance, you could feel the breath in your lungs hitch itself almost like you had a hiccup and you nervously pleaded that you would not lose your voice. She was extremely tall, even sitting down, but her arms were placed neatly in her lap as she wore a small but pleasant smile on her face. She didn’t seem to try and be intimidating in any sense, yet somehow her raw beauty still managed to have you shaking.

“Lady Mormont, please, it is my pleasure to have you here,” she beckoned the servant to pull out the chair next to her. “Please, sit,” you eyed the chair a bit unsure of what to do but carefully took the seat to her right, trying to remember to smooth out the back of your dress before you did.

“Lady Mormont,” there was that word again you said to yourself. “I’m afraid the name doesn’t truly fit me. There has never been a Lady of Bear Island declared such from a lower house before.”

“There’s never been a Queen in the North before either,” the Stark girl offered catching on to your feelings of uneasiness. “And yet, here we are.”

“Yes,” you sigh in agreement. “But not without cost.”

“No,” she nodded. “Not without cost.” Similar to yours, the Stark family had been hunted down over the last few years on top of their ancestral home being taken by multiple enemies. Having lost all of your family left you existing in a perpetual state of guilt. Why were you the only one spared after all? In what way did you deserve to live anymore than your mother, brothers, or cousin? Those questions rang in your head every single waking moment and you wondered if Sansa felt the same way.

“It’s funny how when you’re a kid you think you know what you want in life; you think you know what loss is... but none of that matters to the rest of the world.”

Lady Stark looks at you quizzically, considering your words with intent before filling your goblet with some more wine herself. Her smile is a soft, yet solemn one. She gives it to you as if to convey that she understands what you mean and feels a mutual sadness. “No, it doesn't... So then why do you carry on?”

You sit confused for a second at the question. She doesn't call you Lady Mormont this time and you don't think it was just coincidental. No, now she’s speaking to you not as a Queen would speak to one of their banner men, but like how a young woman scarred by tragedy and misfortune would speak to another survivor. You bite your bottom lip, a bad habit of yours, before answering, “To honor them, your Grace. Just because I am alone it doesn’t give me an excuse to be selfish; so I try to carry out their duties, or, at least some of them and what I can take on. So that way, they aren’t completely gone.”

“Sansa.”

“What?” you ask confused.

“You may call me Sansa,” she gives you a warmer smile this time and you feel yourself smiling back at her. You can’t help but think you’ve just passed some sort of test the Starks give to test others’ loyalty and hope this means your relationship with the Queen is at least off to a pleasant start. For too long, conflict between leaders and their people had caused bloodshed across the continent and peace seemed unattainable. But now, you had a truly devoted, just, yet sharp-minded ruler of the independent North that you were certain would lead you all to prosperity.

“Alright, Sansa. Then I must insist you call me Y/N.”

“I would be glad to,” she holds up her goblet and you lightly touch your own to hers in the air.

“To winter,” you improvise, first thinking about the Starks’s infamous house words. “And the darkness and cold we must first face to be greeted by spring.”

“To winter,” she stares into your eyes, but not invasively. Like a bewildered baby animal seeing the world for the first time, you’re completely helpless under her sight and you quickly bring the goblet up to your mouth and drink in an attempt to hide your flushed cheeks. You feel is if she could ask you anything right now and you’d be defenseless against the truth spilling from your mouth. It put you in a pretty uncomfortable position considering that feelings for her that you didn’t even understand were growing inside of you.

After a moment you realize you’ve been staring at her with a blank expression for a bit too long so you try to change the subject. “Your dress is very exquisite. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this detailed of a pattern before though,” you point to the intricate leaf shapes all across her gown.

A somber smile struck her face again. “Thank you, the fabric belonged to a friend of mine back in King’s Landing.”

“You made friends in King’s Landing?” you asked genuinely surprised. She seemed to sound serious but you had heard enough stories from the south to know that Northerners generally don’t do well in the capital.

“Just one. Her name was Margaery Tyrell.”

“Oh,” a lump formed in your throat. The former Queen and the Rose of Highgarden had supposedly been so beautiful that she could melt any Northerner’s cold frozen heart. You’d heard tales of her beauty and didn’t doubt that they were wrong, but aside from her charm and grace the only thing you knew about her was her unfortunate fate. “Then I am so sorry for your loss, Sansa. Truly.”

“Thank you, Y/N. But she did teach me a lot and was kind to me when I had nobody else. She gave me hope when I needed it the most.” You nodded in agreement at her statement. In your darkest hours, had it not been for the small gleam of hope you held onto you might have been entirely consumed by death. Just imagining the emotional downfall Sansa must have experienced in King’s Landing while she was completely surrounded by the enemy with no hope of seeing her family again made you nauseous with the familiar feeling of despair. In her expression you could see tiny glimpses of what she had been through and it struck a chord in your own memories too.

“Well, then I am very grateful for her,” and you meant it in more than one way. Sansa was your new queen, of course, and your sense of duty held you to your new position as Lady of Bear Island, but you had also struggled with trying to find a reason to live since those closest to you had died. You had found that being a leader when it is expected of you is entirely different than being loved and valued for who you simply are as a person. Sansa was the first person to reach out and get to know the real you: The girl you were afraid was long gone or a thing of the past. It felt invigorating just speaking to her as if the two of you were just friends; little did you know, but the hardened Stark girl felt the same way and imagined different circumstance where the two of you could have easily grown up as best friends giggling with one another over boys and playing dress up.

“I’d like for us to be friends,” Sansa’s statement took you by surprise and you froze, even though your body was actually hot and warmth filled your chest as your heart sped up. “Would you walk with me?” she pushed herself up from the table and looked at you inquisitively while you tried to find the words to express yourself without completely giving away the fact that you were more flustered than you’d ever been before.

“Of course! I would be delighted. I was hoping to leave before the new Lord Umber gets too drunk anyway. He can be very handsy after a few glasses of wine,” you joke which makes her laugh for the first time in a long time. It’s so gentle and it lights up her face so marvelously that you can’t help but think it is the most beautiful thing in the entire North and you hope to make her laugh again. No, it was not your new Queen that had captivated you. It was simply a girl named Sansa Stark.

#sansa stark #sansa stark x reader #sansa stark x ofc #sansa stark x you #sansa #stark #sansa stark imagines #imagines #game of thrones insert #reader insert #game of thrones imagines #got finale spoilers #the queen in the north #both you and Sansa are super femme #I also miss margaery

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no-d4y-but-tod4y · 4 years

Text

Listen. My two brain cells and I don’t know how to put the cut in. May a wise elder please enlighten me?

I finally did a first kiss fic who’s proud of me.

Enjoy!

———

Close Encounters

‘I wish we were playing spin the bottle.’

Frank sat in his living room amongst a circle of friends, playing traditional party games, talking themselves hoarse and taking advantage of all the Transylvanian wine the attendees had commandeered back with them. ‘Proper wine,’ Frank exclaimed in delight, ‘not that juice they have here.’ In a situation like this, Frank could pretend he was still on his home planet. That he’d never left. Had it not been, however, for one very significant addition that he held under his arm, and hadn’t left his side all night.

As far as real life aliens go, Alma had only ever known Frank, and had but a moderate friendship with Magenta and Riff Raff. Therefore she didn’t know how to react when she found out that a whole gaggle of aliens were due to arrive in Frank’s castle that very evening. He didn’t pressure her into anything but Alma thought it important to make an effort and show interest in Frank’s culture and heritage.

And, nerves aside - a whole group of spacey friends. How cool was that.

However sitting in a circle of complete strangers with unusual and scary faces who all had a fascination with her as if she were a puppy, proved to be much more daunting than she thought.

‘No,’ declared an impossibly beautiful woman dressed entirely head to toe in pink (from her ludicrously long eyelashes to a the small piercings on each finger) with the ironic name of Orchid. ‘We’re playing truth or dare first.’

Alma’s stomach dropped. She had no doubt they would be kind and friendly towards her. But still...

‘Who wants to go first?’

‘Draw names.’ A man’s voice spoke next, without a doubt the most unsettling man there. Alma thought herself a respectful person, and Frank had already warned her that his people did look different and it might come as a bit of a shock. However none of that could have prepared her for the impressionistic steeliness of Nabokov.

He was the only one Alma couldn’t keep her composure around. Of course she felt guilty for being afraid of him, but with his impossible height, meshed eyes, skin completely covered in tattoos and piercings, a forked tongue and a mouthful of sharpened metal teeth, she found herself running to Frank like a child. She couldn’t be swayed by anyone, until the man himself sank down to her level, reached behind her right ear and produced the most enourmous blue jewel. He allowed her to stare in awe at it for a few moments. Letting the stone catch the light from different angles, Nabokov asked if she’d like to keep it. Of course she said yes, and her left ear produced an exquisite good chain of equal value. He attached the stone and clasped it around her neck and asked if they could be friends.

She adored the present. She didn’t like to think of it’s value. She still struggled to look at him.

A guest clad in nothing but a skin coloured, jewel encrusted body stocking removed a bowler hat from the non-verbal attendee with the pointy ears on their right, upturned it and placed it on the table. A seventh guest, not alien-like at all except for the watchful eyes and fae-like features, put down a handful of pens and the final member with feathered hands and a treacherously long tail threw in a packet of post-it notes.

Orchid took the pen and paper and began writing down names, saying them as she went.

‘Me... Halcyon... Wilford... Frank... Nabokov... Lorian... Serephine...and Alma.’ She winked and kissed Alma’s paper before she dropped it in. She shook up the papers inside the hat and swirled it around with her fingers, keeping her eyes closed. She plucked one and held it in the air before unfolding it and gasping in delight. ‘Frankie!’ She beamed at him and everyone seemed to suddenly be paying more attention. ‘Truth or dare?’

Please don’t say dare, please don’t say dare...

‘Go on then. Truth.’

She held the paper close to her chest, thinking hard. The most human of the bunch nudged Orchid’s arm and mouthed something that looked like be nice.

They were thinking of her. She was associated with Frank now, and they didn’t want her to feel embarrassed.

‘Describe your first kiss.’

‘Ever?’

‘Well obviously not.’ She didn’t need to say anything else.

Frank squeezed Alma’s hand. ‘We’ll both answer.’ He cleared his throat and got comfortable. ‘I was a charity gala...’

———

Frank scanned the function hall full of decorated tables. Every ticket sold, not a single refund. The black and white theme of this prestigious fundraising event shrouded the room in a sense of sleekness and sophistication. Luxurious black velvet on expensive white tablecloths. Elegant champagne flutes blown with glossy wisps of dark glass. Benefactors and patrons, chairmen and spokespeople dressed in fine ivories and hues from the deepest midnight sky.

In short, he’d done well.

A hand clapped on his shoulder and he jumped out of his skin.

The uniformed man pumping his hand was so animated he didn’t seem to realise he’d nearly given his counterpart a heart attack. He couldn’t sing Frank’s praises loud enough, and went on to explain in great detail all the funds he would set aside after such a wonderful feat and which figures were going where. ‘I wasn’t too sure about advocating for such an unusual cause but after your splendid performance tonight, my friend, I certainly am now!’

‘Oh, thank you sir,’ replied a slightly bewildered Frank. ‘You’re too kind, really. I’d like to take this opportunity credit my phenomenal team, they are the real stars of the show. I couldn’t have done this without them - hello gorgeous, what are you doing here?’

Frank blatantly turned his back on the man (who didn’t even notice, he spotted another patron across the room and made a beeline for them) in the middle of talking to him as Alma had appeared in the room. He hadn’t been expecting her presence at all, but this pivotal night had just become even more memorable. She threw her arms around him and he returned the embrace with equal ferovr. He picked her up and twirled around once, twice, three times, mindful of her beautiful dress for the occasion. ‘Oh darling, what a lovely surprise to see you here!’ He set her down carefully, keeping a gentle grip on her waist. ‘Tell me - are you here to see me?’

She shook her head, smoothing down her hair with an endearing little grin. ‘No, but what a coincidence. I’m actually doing work experience. That’s a friend from my course over there. We ran the campaign.’

‘You did all the advertising?’

‘And the branding, and the social media and the logos! Didn’t you know?’

‘No, I-!’ He stopped and looked around, pretending to scowl. ‘I hadn’t the slightest idea sunshine, I shall be having words tonight.’ But aren’t you a clever girl!’ She giggled and bowed her head. ‘Come with me, darling, you can be my PA.’ He offered his arm, pretending he hadn’t noticed the pink flush in her cheeks.

They stayed joined at the hip for the rest of the night. Alma held her own when they were approached by hundreds of people with varying degrees of importance, but didn’t like it too much when most of them inevitably asked, some with mild confusion: ‘Who are you here with tonight?’

She relied on Frank to carry the conversation and trusted him to act accordingly, which he always did. He never did anything to make her feel uncomfortable or put her on the spot. And never once did he give the same answer.

In the small hours of the morning Alma began to lag. Frank noticed how she leaned heavier on his arm. She’d gone quiet in the last half an hour. When he asked her a question, she didn’t respond.

Frank brushed her hair away from her face. ‘Darling?’

‘Sorry.’ She stifled a yawn. ‘What?’

He smiled gently, ghosting his fingers along the soft line of her jaw. ‘Do you want to get some air before we get you to bed?’

She blinked. She didn’t say anything about wanting to go to sleep. But as usual, Frank saw right through her. Stifling a smile this time, she nodded.

Frank put his arm around her and led Alma to the balcony, helping her over the step and into a chair. She kicked her shoes off and loosened the bun in her hair. She massaged her scalp, sighing in relief.

‘You’re so beautiful.’

She jumped as if someone had whispered it in her ear. It could only have been Frank. But Frank was leaning against the wrought iron bar looking out into the sprawling landscape.

Alma laughed softly and tried not to feel too disappointed. She must have imagined it, tired and aching as she was now.

‘Frankie?’

He turned, cursing himself for being so irresponsible. He couldn’t believe he’d let that slip out. Fancy saying that right in front of the poor girl! He’d explained the situation in a mature and grown up way enough times to the blatant heartache of his little shadow without fanciful ideas coming from Frank himself.

Besides, she’d never go through with it if she knew everything.

Alma’s arms stretched out towards him imploringly. She wanted to come to the edge and look at the view with him. She must be worn out by now, he should really put her to bed at this hour. Though he supposed he could entertain her for ten more minutes.

He helped her stand and guided her over to the edge with a firm and gentle hand. She could lean on the bar for a few minutes, and then they’d both call it a day.

‘I had a really nice time tonight.’ Alma’s little voice was tired and worn, though he understood.

‘I’m glad. You earned it.’ He put his arm around her, rubbing at the goosebumps on her shoulder. She could lean on him then rather than that precarious structure.

She sighed contentedly. ‘I love being around you.’ She peered up at him with her big eyes. ‘You’re my favourite person.’

Frank felt it like a knife in his heart. He didn’t expect it to feel like that. He didn’t expect to feel it this soon. But he had always expected to feel it with her.

‘Well aren’t you just the sweetest thing.’

Frank had a few more moments to think.

Frank would look after her. She made him feel sane. Frank wanted to be that person for her - the person she so badly wanted him to be - but it had never been the right time.

But the way he felt now, the way she’d always felt about him, the situation a cool night and a picturesque landscape had brought them, and just to cover all bases, her eighteenth in less than a month...

Was it really worth fighting it?

He could handle it from here. And she would understand.

Frank took her in his arms and waited for her to drape her own arms loosely around his neck. He closed the distance slowly, not wanting to frighten her and anticipating her to change her mind. He almost couldn’t believe it when they were but hair’s breath apart. Playfully, he nudged his nose against her own and to his complete devastation, she turned her face away.

‘I don’t know how-.’

‘Oh, give it a rest.’

He turned her face back to him with one firm hand under her jaw and closed his mouth around hers in one swift movement. She responded eagerly, to Frank’s relief, and due to her endearing lack of experience he was more than willing to take charge.

By her own admission Alma hadn’t a clue what she was supposed to be doing, so she let Frank guide her, after parting her lips to accept him. He chased her tongue right to the back of her mouth and continued his affectionate administrations in a slow, sensuous manner that had her burning up despite the cool autumnal air. If it weren’t for his strong arm around her waist and the other massaging the back of her neck she would have gone down long ago. From disbelief, fatigue or arousal she couldn’t be sure.

The sensation of exploring the girls mouth was driving him mad. Hot and moist, her chest heaving against his own, touching her tongue, rubbing it, chasing it, feeling her make little noises, trembling, grasping at him blindly as if she couldn’t get close enough, and when her hands crept up the back of his neck and tentatively tugged upwards on his hair he involuntarily moaned into her mouth. He hadn’t responded involuntarily since that advanced session in the Northern Sector...

Alma pulled away first - not used to holding her breath for so long - so Frank continued to leave a trail of kisses down her chin to her jaw and finishing on her neck, where he couldn’t resist taking the vulnerable exposed skin between his teeth. He dragged that moment out longer, using his trademark skills to immediate effect. He licked and sucked and nibbled at the sensitive skin of her neck, paying attention to what she was responding to and remembering it for later. As for love bites, he left it at three - and one on her shoulder. He didn’t want to embarrass her.

And if she made any more noise she’d wake the guests in the penthouse.

He brushed his lips along the curve of her neck, nipped her earlobe and tilted her head forwards, pressing a gentler kiss to her forehead. No need for words this time.

Enough now.

‘Have dinner with me,’ Frank said before Alma could pull herself together to think at all.

‘I’d love that. But it’s one am.’

He stuck his tongue out at her. ‘Feeling proud of yourself, I see?’

‘Oh no I was just-.’

‘That’s alright, darling, I’m just teasing.’ He stroked his thumb under the curve of her eye. ‘Go on up to bed now and we’ll have a talk in the morning. Would you like me to take you to your room?’

She nodded.

Frank carried her upstairs this time, but not, to Alma’s mild regret, to Frank’s bed.

———

Whether the pair in question noticed it or not, they had the entire room hanging off every word they said.

‘You really were meant to be together, weren’t you?’

Alma didn’t know who said that, and didn’t have time to locate them before Frank said, ‘Enough of this love fest. Romance, feelings? I don’t know her.’ He didn’t react it when everyone grinned or rolled their eyes.

Frank squeezed Alma’s hand.

‘Spin the bottle time now. I’m going first!’

———

Alma <3

#my favourite obsession #my writing #my fic #oneshot #f/o fic #f/o oneshot #f/o #my f/o #first kiss #selfship #selfshipping #self ship community #self shipping community

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bluerene · 5 years

Text

RobStar Week #2 - Stardust

...and so, in a jet-lagged delirium, after sixteen hours of traveling, I present to you all another fic that has not been proofread in the slightest. Yet. We’ll see what happens.

Feedback is love! I hope you all enjoy day two of RS Week 2019 <3

wayne manor | stardust | lost |

Stardust

And her heart burst like the stars do in the end, and She fell on her knees. But the whole world looked her in awe. She lit the whole universe with her fire for a moment. In the end, she was as beautiful as the stardust falling from the sky and her heart didn't ache anymore. - Akshay Vasu

He was becoming accustomed to the idea of hosting an alien on his own terms. That is to say, he couldn’t just let her roam free after all the damage she had caused the night before, and he refused to ask Bruce for advice or help. So the simple studio apartment he had been using as a temporary base in Jump City went from housing Robin, the Boy Wonder, to also housing a pretty little alien girl who called herself ‘Starfire’.

He was keeping her at an arm's length. He may not have been as paranoid as his father, but he had enough reasons to not completely buy into the bubbly persona he now bore witness to. All traces of the fierce warrior lady, who had hefted a car with the toe of her boot, and kissed him so bruisingly he felt he might faint, had vanished. And the woman that remained seemed impossibly different from the girl he’d met before.

“You can stay with me on a trial basis until we have things sorted out with the others. I can try to get you something more permanent if you’re planning on sticking around for a while.”

“I am ready to do whatever you ask of me, Robin.”

They had been like that for about two hours, seated across from each other in his small kitchen. Robin was dead tired and deep into his fourth pot of coffee. The others - Raven, Beast Boy, and the guy they now called Cyborg - had agreed to meet with him and Starfire at the island later in the evening, so they could discuss a few things. Until then, or until she had somewhere else to go, Starfire would be staying with him. So there they were, a few hours after dawn- ground rules needed to be laid out before anything else happened.

“We’ll have to go over some cultural review as well. You’ll need to brush up on Earth’s laws and fill out some paperwork formally declaring your presence in Jump.”

“If that is what you require, I will take care of it.”

“You might want to contact your planet of origin and sort out those affairs as well. If you were taken by those other aliens by force, you might have a case for -”

“I was not,” she interjected, a painfully tight smile drawn across her lips, “taken by force, unfortunately. But I will be sure to contact the ambassadors of my home planet and confirm I am well.”

Robin was surprised that she never questioned his requests, no matter how uncomfortable they seemed to make her. Sometimes she would fidget under his gaze, before taking a deep breath and staring at him with her wide green eyes. Her back would straighten and her fingers would release whatever they were gripping. And with a sweet smile, her nerves seemingly melted away, she would tell him,

“I trust you, Robin.”

Which was the strangest thing she could have possibly said.

Trust.

She trusted him. She took him at his word in matters that concerned her life and well-being. She trusted him to save her. She trusted that he cared.

And Robin, while flattered, was far too pragmatic to let this slide.

“You...trust me?” He asked slowly, testing the word on his tongue.

She nodded emphatically.

“Very much. You have been unequivocally...nice to me, even though you do not owe me anything, nor have you asked for anything in exchange for your kindliness. It does not go unappreciated. I admire your willingness to assist me in my hour of need and am indebted to you beyond measure. The very least I can offer is my full trust in your words.”

“Starfire, you can’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Put that much faith in any one person,” he snapped, his temper beginning to rise, “you’re going to get yourself killed or worse if you don’t build some walls soon. Go back into crazy warrior mode or something. I don’t know what it’s like on your planet, but around here, it’s common for people to lie and cheat and steal. ”

“I do not believe you are one of those people.”

Robin rolled his eyes, “quite frankly, you don’t know anything about me. I think it’s pretty naive of you to think that every person who comes along and saves you at the right moment is going to be in your corner forever.”

He could have sworn he saw a ripple move through her, a sharp flash of green in her face. Just as quickly as it came, it had disappeared. Her hands came to the edge of her skirt, fingers digging into the shiny purple fabric.

“I was offered as a prize by my own people,” Starfire said quietly, “given into service under one of the cruelest races in the galaxy. I was disillusioned by promises of loyalty and protection long before then. I do not offer my trust so freely and I am not as naive as you may believe. But if there is someone who has been as kind and just as you have been, who has succeeded in saving my life and gifting me the freedom I have always wanted, I am going to choose to trust them. I am going to choose to see the good and believe in something more. Just like you did.”

His brow furrowed, confusion crossing his face.

“I did what?”

She rose from her seat and approached him slowly, holding both of her fists outwards. There was a crackle of green light around her palms, a warm flicker of energy that danced at her fingertips.

“I was standing like this. I could have killed you in an instant,” she said.

His fingers itched for his utility belt, but he set his jaw and allowed her to make her point.

“I had already destroyed much of your home. I was angry. I was a threat to you and many others. But you saw through me. You gave me a chance to prove I was worth more than what I appeared to be.”

Starfire drew her fists back to her sides and returned to her seat, looking at him squarely in the face. Her eyes drank in the curve of his jaw, the smooth line of his nose, and the slight flush on his cheeks. She stared into his mask so intently, he wondered if he was wearing it at all.

“I will choose to see the good, Robin. I will choose to trust and believe in others,” she said finally, “But most of all, I will promise to always trust and believe in you. Now you may call me naive or foolish, but do not forget - I will always have these to protect me.”

She held up her hands and allowed a flare of green to pass through them, enjoying the look of surprise on his face as it was worn down into amusement.

“Well, then,” Robin said, clearing his throat, “you know what you’re talking about. I’ll...I’ll trust you can take care of yourself, at the very least.”

Starfire beamed and allowed the flames to die out.

“Then it seems we have an understanding. If there are any other items you believe I must take care of in order to establish my presence on Earth, I am eager to know what they are.”

He felt his lips twitch before he gave in and allowed a genuine smile to take place.

“What do you say we get something to eat, rest up for a bit, and finish this conversation with everyone else? I’ll pay for food.”

Starfire grinned.

“As I do not have any Earthen currency, I am afraid it would have been your responsibility to cover the costs regardless. But yes, that sounds satisfactory. If it is not too much trouble, may I use your balcony for a moment?”

“Uh...sure. What for?”

His eyes widened when she yanked her tall purple boots down to the ankle and kicked them off, unbuckling the wide silver belt around her waist and setting that aside on the kitchen counter. Starfire made quick work of discarding her armbands and reached for the gorget around her neck, only to hesitate and draw her hands back to her sides.

“Tamaranians require sunlight to recharge our energy,” she explained, moving a few feet past him to access the sliding glass doors that led outside, “it is preferable that the maximum amount of skin be exposed during the process. I do not yet know the Earthen standard for indecency, but I believe it is safe for me to assume nudity is frowned upon.”

Robin coughed and rubbed the back of his neck, fighting the urge to allow his eyes to trail past her long, ruby colored hair and down to her longer, deliciously golden legs.

“Yeah, uh, you’d be correct in that assumption.”

As soon as the first drops of sun hit her skin, she closed her eyes, tasting the pure energy as it flowed through her veins.

This girl was dangerous. Ethereal. Wondrously and impossibly captivating.

Robin didn’t dare speak. Teenage boy thoughts be damned, he was a professional. If he let himself turn to goo over every pretty girl that came his way, he would be no better than Bruce.

“You know,” Starfire said, tilting her face towards the sky, “I could inform you of the exact composition and properties of light and solar energy by a single taste. I know of the greatest beings in the galaxy, the structures of strange planets, the feeling of stardust as it grazes your body. And despite how normal these have all become for me, I cannot help but feel small in comparison. My power and strength is nothing compared to what the universe has to offer. In many ways, I am like stardust itself - the tail end of something far bigger and greater than I could ever be. Is that not a curious notion?”

It was the first of many incredible things she would say to him throughout their friendship as their feelings grew and bloomed and blossomed and changed and remained. But at the time, it was the most exquisite thing Robin had ever witnessed in his life, and his heart felt a hundred times more foreign in the moments that passed afterward.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, allowing himself to melt for her, just this once, “it really is.”

#its robstar week bitches #robin #starfire #robstar #dick grayson #koriandr #woo im tired guys #so tired #like super duper tired #idk how i feel about this #i kind like it i kinda hate it #c'est la vie

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searchingwardrobes · 5 years

Text

If I Die Young

Happy birthday, @followbatb ! This fandom isn’t just made up of writers and artists, it’s also made up of faithful readers like you. I so appreciate you following my stories, and I hope your birthday is fantastic! This story will seem in the beginning like it’s tragic with the title and the whole “major character death” tag, but it’s not what it seems. Just remember the Underworld arc and the whole “mostly dead” thing in The Princess Bride 😉

Summary: Killian reached the edge of the river and sank carefully to his knees beside the bed of reeds and roses he had spent all night weaving together. He deposited his love gently upon it, the soft petals of the middlemist roses seeming to embrace her. He stepped back, pressing his eyes closed in a silent prayer before pushing the precious cargo gently into the water. He clung to the tenuous hope that the rumors were true; that this river fed into the most legendary of waters: the River Styx. A Captain Duckling Enchanted Forest AU in which Killian goes to the Underworld for Emma instead of the other way around. Based on the song by The Band Perry.

Rating: T

Trigger Warnings: Major character is dead (but Killian goes to the Underworld, so . . . )

Words: 2,000 and some change

Also on Ao3 and part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist

Tagging: @kmomof4 @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @thislassishooked @bethacaciakay @teamhook @tiganasummertree @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @kday426 @let-it-raines @shireness-says @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @distant-rose

If I die young, bury me in satin. Lay me down on a bed of roses. Sink me in the river at dawn. Send me away with the words of a love song.

Princess Emma’s arms swung limp against black leather. Her head was flung back at an uncomfortable angle, her long golden hair tumbling like a waterfall. She hadn’t gone completely cold yet, but her face was unnaturally pale, her lips void of color.

Captain Killian Jones, known by most as the fearsome pirate Hook, carried his load with a grim face, a single tear tracking down one cheek. He should have known the Dark One would take this love from him just as he had once taken Milah. He had doomed the princess from the moment they met. He should have stayed far away from her, but he was weak. Weak or his Emma was too stubborn and feisty to take no for an answer. Probably both.

He reached the edge of the river and sank carefully to his knees beside the bed of reeds and roses he had spent all night weaving together. He deposited his love gently upon it, the soft petals of the middlemist roses seeming to embrace her. They seemed fitting. It was a field of middlemist roses where they had shared their first kiss. Ever since, they always made him think of her and the love they shared. She looked exquisite, even in death, her white satin dress giving her the aura of a goddess. He bent and kissed her cold lips, another tear falling upon her cheek as he pulled back. Those weren’t the lips he had come to love; they weren’t warm or pliant or eager.

He stepped back, pressing his eyes closed in a silent prayer before pushing the precious cargo gently into the water. He clung to the tenuous hope that the rumors were true; that this river fed into the most legendary of waters: the River Styx. If not, he would most likely be dead in a matter of days. No one would believe that Emma had not died by his hand. He was a pirate, after all, one with a vicious hook at that. Her body disappearing wouldn’t bode well for him either, nor the secrecy of their romance. He was bound for the gallows if this didn’t work.

He would welcome the gallows if this didn’t work.

The little raft bobbed gently on the water, the current taking it softly as a fog rolled in. Killian was scarcely aware of his feet taking him into the waters, his eyes straining as he waded in, desperate not to lose sight of his love. Yet the fog was unrelenting, and he could no longer see her golden hair or the blush of the roses. Tears coursed down his face now, his chin falling to his chest as his eyes slid closed.

“Come aboard.”

Killian startled, looking up to see a dark hooded figure aboard a small boat. He stood in the bow, extending his bony hand to Killian, yet he could not see the being’s face.

“Come aboard, mortal. The Queen Persephone wants an audience with you.” When Killian still hesitated, the being sighed in irritation. “It is what you seek, is it not? A way to save your love from the Underworld?”

At that, Killian shook off this stupor, and took the sailor’s hand. Charon, he realized, ferryman for the dead. How the craft sailed, he had no idea. It had neither sails nor oars, yet it glided through the misty waters all the same. All concept of time fled Killian’s mind, and before he knew it, they were on a dark and foreboding shore.

Wraiths swooped through the air, and the fog seemed ever present as Killian made his way to the castle not far from the river. Charon had stayed behind, assuring Killian that he needed no guide. The man (being?) had been right. Something intangible seemed to pull him towards the castle, keeping him on the right path.

The castle itself was made of something like obsidian, it’s towers black and sharpened to points. The gate was made of a mixture of charred bones and spikes that resembled black ice. They opened for Killian automatically, and an invisible hand seemed to push him forward.

The floor was ebony marble, polished like glass. The throne room was empty but for the two thrones at the far end. The one on the right was as black and sharp as everything else, the man upon it white as a corpse in contrast. Yet Hades was handsome in a sharp and angular way, his long elegant fingers idly petting one of the large heads of Cerberus, the three headed dog of the Underworld. The imposing creature, as large as a horse and broad as a lion, hummed through one of its frothing jaws, taking obvious pleasure in its master’s ministrations. Yet the other two large heads growled as Killian drew near.

“Calm Cerberus, dear,” the figure on the left said gently.

Queen Persephone, in contrast, was soft and bright in every way. Her skin was tanned, like someone who spent most of her time in the sun. Her hair was a soft brown like earth turned over in the spring. Her eyes were as a bright blue as the sky, her lips and cheeks as rosy as flower petals. Life itself married to death. It was a perplexing picture.

Hades gave a command to Cerberus, and all three heads immediately calmed, resting their chins on the dais. Hades turned to Killian then, steepling his long fingers beneath his chin. Yet when he spoke, he addressed his wife.

“You know they always look back. Why waste your time?”

“Love is never a waste,” Persephone argued. Hades actually smiled then, clasping his wife’s hand and bringing it to his pale lips. Persephone smiled fondly in return, then looked back at Killian. She rose from her throne, made of cherry wood instead of black marble, and stepped down from the dais to approach the pirate.

“I am honored to be in your presence, goddess,” Killian said as he bowed. He didn’t think “majesty” was the right word for a deity, and hoped he had addressed her correctly.

He was relieved when the goddess smiled at him. “I think you just might be different from the others, Killian Jones. A princess and a pirate, a most unlikely pair. Like the god of the dead and the goddess of spring. Most people think my husband tricked me into eating that pomegranate, but I ate it willingly.”

Killian was surprised at the fondness in her eyes. Persephone turned then and snapped her fingers. A young woman in a gown of deep purple and a bronze colored hooded cape hurried to the goddess’s side.

“Guide Captain Jones down the hidden road out of the Underworld.”

“Yes, my queen,” the woman said, bowing low.

Persephone turned to Killian again. “I am sure you have heard the tale of Orpheus.”

Killian bowed once again. “Aye, most honorable Queen, I am not to look back or I will lose my love.”

Persephone gently took Killian’s chin and lifted his gaze to hers. “That is right. Go and do not look back.”

The sad expression on her face wasn’t at all encouraging. Neither was the sinister expression on her husband’s. He had the oddest feeling this was a game to them.

Nevertheless, he followed the hooded woman out of the throne room and out of the castle. She led him past the desolate royal grounds, past the fields full of wraiths and fog, and into a dark and foreboding forest thick with gnarled trees and thorns. Just as they entered the woods, she turned to him and threw back her hood. She had the alabaster complexion and colorless lips of one of the dead, yet her beauty was unfading. Her mahogany hair shimmered despite the darkness, and her chocolate brown eyes swam with both sadness and intensity.

“I am forbidden to assist those I guide, so listen to me carefully now.”

“Who are you?”

Her gaze lowered to the dead leaves at her feet. “One who knows more of love and loss than most can imagine.”

Killian’s eyes widened. “You’re Eurydice, the woman Oprheus loved. The one he almost rescued from death.” She simply nodded, and Killian’s jaw clenched. “How cruel to give you this task!”

She gave him a sad smile. “It wasn’t given to me, I requested it. Perhaps one day love will conquer death, and I wish to be there to see it.”

He clasped her hands in his one. “Thank you.”

“Now,” she said, putting her hood back over her head, “not only can you not look back, neither can you reach back. So keep your hands at your sides. Don’t try and check in any way that she’s there behind you. Also, Hades doesn’t want to let any soul go from his kingdom. Believe nothing you hear, no matter who the voice sounds like. And finally, you can’t look back until both of you are out of the tunnel to the Underworld.”

Killian nodded. He knew the story of Orpheus well, and that had been his mistake. He had stepped out into the land of the living, and thought it would be safe to look back at Eurydice. Sadly, his love had not yet crossed the threshold, and she had disappeared like mist before his eyes. The voices she was warning him not to listen to had to be Emma’s, who else could tempt him to look back? So he filed that away as well. He threw back his shoulders and drew in a steeling breath. He could do this. For Emma.

“I’m ready.”

Eurydice nodded. “I can’t look back either once we begin, so keep your eyes on me and don’t stray from the path. Emma is to keep her eyes on you in the same way, so she is depending on you as well.”

Killian swallowed hard, and sent up a quick prayer to whatever god or goddess would listen and take mercy on them. Eurydice faced forward and plunged into the wood.

Killian quickly learned that it wasn’t just what the voices said. (Are you sure she’s really there? Can you really trust Hades? What about your brother? Doesn’t he deserve to be saved too? Don’t you love him just as much?) It was the pull they had on him, the tugging on his heart to doubt, to fear. It took much more willpower than he had anticipated not to give in to their suggestions to glance back or turn around and go back for his brother. And though he had been prepared for Emma’s voice, he had underestimated how strongly it would affect him. Her pleas sounded so desperate, frightened, and broken. (Help me, Killian! Please! They’re hurting me! I can’t see you! Where are you, Killian?) So afraid was he of losing sight of Eurydice and getting them both lost, his eyes went dry staring at that bronze cloak as she wove between the trees. It was no simple trail, that was clear, and without a guide he and Emma would be hopelessly lost.

Finally yet suddenly, he was in the bright sunshine, just a few miles down the riverbank from where he had watched Emma’s body sink at dawn. The urge to spin around, to see if his love was really there was strong, but he resisted the temptation. It would be just like Hades to trick them. To tell Eurydice to guide him, then go back later for Emma. Instead, Killian went to the edge of the water. It wasn’t the ocean, but the gentle rush of the current calmed him nonetheless. He took in deep breaths as the sun sparkled on the water, praying, waiting.

“Killian,” a familiar voice whispered at his side. The slender fingers of one of her hands wrapped around his bicep, the other closed around his hook. Though it was only cold steel, he swore he could feel the warmth of her hand through it.

He turned to look at her, her bright jade eyes, her pink lips, her rosy freckled cheeks. He choked on a sob as he pulled her close to him, breathing in the familiar cinnamon scent of her hair. He buried his fingers into the soft strands and trailed kisses along her cheeks.

“You’re here, you’re really here,” he choked out.

She laughed as he kissed every available spot on her face; her nose, her chin, her forehead. Then his lips found hers, and the memory of them cold and still fled as she kissed him back with abandon. They kissed until their lips were swollen and they were gasping for breath.

“I love you,” Killian told her, his forehead pressed to hers.

“I love you, too,” Emma whispered back.

In the shadows just beyond the threshold, Eurydice smiled beneath her bronze hood. She watched Killian Jones scoop Princess Emma into his arms, watched the princess wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him with passion and exhilarating happiness. As she turned from the scene to descend back into the cold darkness, she couldn’t wait to tell Queen Persephone that love had finally conquered death.

If I die young bury me in satin. Lay me down in a bed of roses. Sink me in the river at dawn. Send me away with the words of a love song.

#cs ff #enchanted forest au #captain duckling #greek mythology #hades and persephone #eurydice #the underworld #fandom birthday playlist #for followbatb #on her birthday #if i die young

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lisaontheroadagain · 5 years

Text

On Tokyo

Everything here seems to function as it was meant to. Trains, traffic, pedestrians. Despite 13 million people inhabiting metropolitan Tokyo, I witness no jay walking, no traffic jams. In five days, I literally hear someone honk their horn once. Everywhere I go people seem patient, waiting in single files lines, for restaurants, for elevators, for buses and trains. When the train arrives, notoriously on time, the train car aligns perfectly with markings on the ground, the commuters quietly stand in two single file lines on the side of the car doors until everyone exiting has deboarded, then enter themselves, quickly, orderly. On the escalators, everyone stands to the left, so those walking more quickly have free passage on the right. On the streets, everyone walks to the left, keeping to their own lane, staying off the raised yellow tile navigation system of lines and dots for the blind, a kind of braille for the feet. The whole of Tokyo seems like a well-oiled machine, each denizen aware they are a cog in a larger system, willing to play their part.

I count five pieces of trash on the ground in five days of walking my way through Tokyo. Despite walls of boarded panels covering up construction, not a single one is grimied with the familiar markings of a graffiti tag. I see no homeless people, except for a small tent city under the train tracks in Shinjuku. Each denizen has a large cardboard box, taped into perfect orderly rectangles and squares of varying sizes with thick blue tape. Pairs of shoes sit neatly outside, even the homeless feeling enough dignity not to sully their makeshift home with dirty shoes.

Every toilet has a bidet. Most have heated seats. Some of them have “privacy” buttons where the sounds of chirping birds or crashing waves will play loudly enough to hide whatever squeeches and pffts want to work their way out of your body. Even in train stations the toilet paper is so often folded into neat triangles, I wonder if it’s an anonymous origami gesture from whoever peed there before. Every seat is clean and dry, the floor of every stall without a single stray piece of ply.

I never see a single Japanese person in yoga pants or casual “comfy” clothes. Everyone looks like they have a stylist. Perfectly manicured and coifed, fashionable, in sync with the latest trends, attention paid to every inch of their look from the tips of their nails to the lace lining on their ankle socks. I feel self-conscious of my messy wave of curls, the stray frizzy hairs out of place, the bra strap occasionally slipping into view. The masses of passerbys – both men and women – create a dizzying scape of haute chic, a magazine spread come to life, each individual worthy of their own page. Some are more alternative, gothic punk, “kawaii” cute, Anime cosplay, Lolita-esque life-sized dolls with contacts to make their irises the size of a cartoon. But everyone – everyone – looks to have thought carefully about their look for the day.

I am astounded by the attention to detail. In the fashion, the interior design, the service, the food. Every plate, every chopstick, every corner of every room, every morsel of every meal, the size of the ice cube, the shape of the cup, the type of flower in the vase. It all seems chosen, intentional. Remarkable, more for what is not there than what is – the finesse is in the editing, the negative space. Everything is an elegant composition. An homage to efficiency. Even the signage in the public bathrooms, perfectly clear instructions in any language, to sit, not squat, to put toilet paper in the toilet and everything else in the trash. The organization of the train station, each car of the subway, each exit of the station, with its own number, so you know where to stand, where to walk, to exit closest to your destination. Someone has thought about this in advance, someone cared deeply about my experience of the bathroom, my experience of the train. In Shinto, the Japanese religion, everything has its own spirit – the trees, the rocks, the leaves – every object meriting respect. I can feel the dignity with which objects are treated here, the care with which they are imbued. It makes me want to slow down and pay more attention to the details in my life, to have fewer, nicer objects, worthy of my care.

We, too, are treated with the same dignity and care. Everywhere we go we are greeted with the utmost courtesy and respect. Everyone wants to please us, to make us feel honored. We are thanked and bowed to so many times entering and exiting an establishment, I feel awkward and embarrassed by the attention. They bow and I bow back and they bow again and I bow again, unsure when we can politely stop. Almost everyone is incredibly kind, helpful. But almost no one is friendly. There is so much respect I feel trapped behind a wall, simultaneously welcomed in and completely shut out.

I get frustrated by the persistent pleasing. When I ask our travel guide for advice on what to do for the day, she doesn’t give me a straight answer. She is shy, uncomfortable giving her opinion, searching for clues of what she thinks I want her to say.

I get exhausted by the intensity of Tokyo. The nonstop onslaught of people, places. The streets show no letting up, no reprieve. Buildings are stacked 9 levels high with businesses, neon signs in foreign symbols piling on top of each other, stretching into the sky. Shops and restaurants upon shops and restaurants, packed with people, ten story fashion malls seemingly on every block, with sprawling basement food halls hawking perfectly curated bento boxes, wildly expensive single pieces of fruit, beautiful pastries, gleaming sushi, slices of marbled wagyu, yakatori skewers, tonkatsu, onigiri, karaage, donburi, mochi, and on and on. More shops and restaurants fill the train stations, floors of underground malls beneath the tracks. Vending machines line every spare inch of street side real estate, a brightly lit convenient store on every corner, all busy inside. The constancy of the commercialism is crushing. I can barely breath.

Until we step inside and off the streets. The whirring of the city in unceasing motion quiets as the door shuts, giving way to an oasis of calm. Inside the restaurant, or teahouse, or bar, with just six seats, maybe twelve, it is jarringly serene. Like the clothes they wear and the food they serve, the design has been flawlessly fashioned. A single flower arranged inside a bud vase to arch perfectly over the bar. A shelf with perfectly arranged sets of cups, liquor bottles placed side by side, an exacting two inches apart. A set of rattan baskets, one arranged neatly by my seat as a receptacle for my purse. I am greeted kindly, in sync, by all of the staff. Then it is quiet, no music, perhaps a few hushed voices, speaking in low conversation. Time stands still inside. Tokyo, outside of this one room, ceases to exist. Here is serenity. I could stay for hours, barely remembering there is anywhere else.

For a while I’m grateful for the respite. To know that whenever I need, there is a nearby establishment I can escape into for a moment of peace. But then even the quiet begins to suffocate. If outside is chaotic order of overwhelming magnitude, inside is delicately crafted, oppressive calm. Though seemingly opposites, they are but versions of the same strive for perfection, two different expressions of the same exquisite restraint, varying functions of the same set of rigid rules. I want to scream. I want to throw my beautiful plate of pea tofu with sea urchin foam and a single curled carrot strip at the walls. I want to claw my way out of the suffocating precision and tear my hair and jump up and down headbanging to Rage Against the Machine. I suddenly think I have insight into the high rates of suicide, the infamous lack of sexual desire, the fascination with violent manga and tentacle rape porn. I think I get the escape into virtual worlds, the otaku obsessionism, the gritty shibari/BDSM scene. After only a few days I need an outlet for my individuality, a place to express my energy, a way to kindle my life force before it quakes beneath the conformity.

In the middle of all this, I find myself eating a 14-course meal at a restaurant called Inua that won best new restaurant of the year. Each dish is spectacular, creative, colorful, beautiful, an homage to the nature from which its components came. One dish – a sort of savory sweet fruit rollup created from local plums, laid like an artwork on a piece of honeycomb inside a wooden frame, baked with edible flowers and a variety of herbs – somehow tastes simultaneously new and familiar, exotic and comforting. It is so beautifully plated, so magical and delightful and whimsical in concept, so confounding in its flavors, it awakens all my senses and reminds me how exciting it can be to exist in a human body that is able to see and smell and hear and touch and – above all, in this moment – to taste. To taste! I am so humbled by the dish and the experience the chef created for me in this bite of food I am moved to tears.

I find myself at TeamLab: Borderless, an immersive digital art museum filled with wide halls and hidden rooms of moving images. Ceiling to floor digital sunflowers, a parade of traditionally-drawn 6 foot bunnies I can follow across the walls of the entire exhibit, a room filled with lanterns that grow brighter or dimmer based on the proximity of its viewers, fields of digitally lit lily pads, floral tigers and elephants stampeding by, screens of digitally dripping water that change their flow pattern when I interrupt them with my hand. It is a maze of art work that responds to me, knows that I am there, is changed by my presence, allows me to become part of it. I watch a four-minute experience known as the Cave Universe, a dance of birds flying in such dizzying immersive beauty that I feel like I’m doing somersaults, turned inside out, unsure which direction is up. I lose my balance, assure myself I haven’t done any drugs. It is so thrilling, a rollercoaster ride standing still, I watch it at least four more times.

I find myself in the middle of Tokyo’s busy streets, six inches off the ground in a red and yellow go cart, wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle onesie. It is the most fun way I’ve ever explored a new city, wind in my face, foot on the gas pedal; there is an immediacy to the experience I immediately love. Plus, we are clearly bringing joy to hundreds of pedestrians as we whiz by. They are waving, taking pictures. I feel adored. Like I am famous. I am delighted seeing their demeanors change, serious grimaces and blank stares breaking out into huge smiles, excited eyes, when they see us pass. Hordes of school girls make heart shapes on their heads for us to mimic back, business men in taxis roll down their windows to say konichiwa. It is the first time I feel a bridge to the Japanese people that isn’t completely shrouded in politeness and etiquette.

Thankfully it isn’t the last. We bond with our bartender in the tiny ten seat bar, one of 200 in the Golden Gai. He speaks almost no English, but he pours good Japanese Whiskey, and he smiles and makes charade-style jokes like we’re old friends. The chef at our Michelin starred sushi restaurant stands in front of us and makes us nigiri piece by piece, telling us about a day in his life, waking up at 4am to go to the fish market, living on three hours of sleep per night, smiling and laughing, eating up our experience of his meal like we eat up his fish, clearly devoting his life to the thing he loves. The owner and waitress at the neighborhood soba shop teach us how to slurp soba and ask our help translating a few lines on their menu, giggling at the fact “beefsteak plant” actually means “shiso leaf.” But so far these experiences have been the exception rather than the rule.

The language barrier certainly makes things challenging; not many people speak English well. But it feels like it’s more than that. I have a sneaking suspicion that, like most everything else here, the distance is intentional. We are here, as tourists, as their revered and honored guests, and they our venerable hosts. It is not lip service – service is an art form here, completely genuine, a great source of pride. The formalities, they are the tools of the trade, a signal of how seriously they take their hosting, how important the exchange. And yet, I can’t help feeling the politeness is also obscuring something more. What? Whatever the “real” Tokyo might be? I am not sure. All I feel is the wall. This sense there is something else I can’t yet see, some way I can’t yet connect. It leaves me feeling lonely. Isolated. Hungry for meaningful interaction. Yearning for depth. I am craving authenticity. Personality. Someone more themselves than they are pleasing. Someone who will tell me like it really is. I can’t help but wonder what this city would be like if I had a way in, someone who could show me behind the courtesies…because there must be something behind the courtesies...right?

Perhaps the next time I am here, for I feel fairly certain this won’t be the last. Until then, we board a train for the countryside, leaving Tokyo behind….

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t-hiddlesbaby-blog · 5 years

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Slipped Away - Tom Hiddleston Imagine

|| intro ; so I won't be using (Y/N) since I am not quite fond of that form of naming, instead I will use you most of the time. though there would be an inevitable where i have to use (Y/N) one day but i dont know we'll see. ||

If the clock strikes one and he isn't home yet, it's over, I'm done. You told yourself, repeating the painful sentence like a chant.

It's been the third time this week and it's barely Friday. He was improving though, you thought, he doesn't come home as drunk as he used to.

You were sitting in your and Tom's living room, waiting. The TV was on, but muted as the light from the screen sprayed onto you, the only source of light in what have became a too-big room.

Maybe it was because you were alone. Or because you're lonely.

You had been staring at your phone for almost an hour, watching intently as the clock passed minutes by minutes.

Until a jiggle from the door hit your hearing.

1 . 1 5 a.m.

Despite everything you told yourself earlier, you noticed it was going to end with your heart lurching in excitement and happiness as he comes back home drunk, with the stench of someone else's perfume on his suit.

But it's okay, as long as he comes back home to me.

You jumped out of the sofa and greeted your husband with a bright, yet soft smile on your face.

"Hey love," You whispered, a sharp pain slicing your chest as you look into his redened eyes and hazy expression.

"Hey." Was all he said. He shrugged his suit off and stumbled slightly.

"Woah." You giggled at his clumsy and intoxicated self, "Careful there." You pulled him into a steady position, your hands gripping his waist.

You noticed what your movement did to you both's distance, he was much closer, and maybe he hated it, but you loved it.

You can smell her perfume. You noticed how good it smells. You find yourself wishing you were her.

You looked up and noticed he had been staring down at you, his beard giving his eyes more definition.

You leaned in, wanting to kiss him more than ever.

"Sorry – " Tom whispered. "I - I can't."

You pulled away completely, nodding way too much and muttering the phrase I understand like a chant.

It's been that way. Ever since the unfortunate incident, it's like he can't even look at you. No matter how many times you say to yourself you won't let yourself be treated that way, you couldn't stop hoping that it will be okay one day.

And just like that, another night was wasted, you both were sleeping back to back, and you couldn't help but notice how cold this room was, how cold the bed was.

How cold he was.

You listened to his light breathing as he slept, a constant reminded of what you have but still out of reach for you. He was right there, his bare back covered halfway by the duvet. Every particle in your body vibrates in desperation of feeling his warmth.

And again, you cried. You felt the tear drop from your eyes onto your cheeks, flowing down your neck and wetting your shirt. Don't make a noise. You said to yourself.

You didn't want him to know how much pain your heart is in. You hoped if he noticed how happy you always seem could show that you loved him no matter what, that you'd be waiting behind him every time.

You scrambled out of bed, not wanting to wake up tear-stained. Your legs almost gave out as you head towards the bathroom, your silent cries still going on.

"Where are you going?" His voice echoed in the silent room, filling your heart with a sliver of warmth.

You took a silent breath and stabled your voice, "Just going to take a loo, you go ahead and sleep, love."

You were glad that you could act well enough to fake your expressions. His silence proved that he bought your lie.

So you wasted no time in getting inside the toilet and locking yourself in it. You ran the tap, hoping the streaming water could cover the sound of your cries.

But you couldn't cry. And all you could think of was how suffocating this pain in your chest was.

You looked at the reflection in the mirror, revealing a young, yet empty eyes staring back at you. A contrast of how you looked a year ago.

It's almost our anniversary, you remembered, in three more days.

Everything seems to untangle, the secrets, the acts, everything. Yet all you can wish for is so that the tied knot between you both would stay the way it is.

How much things have changed in less than a year, making your world dimmer, you always thought getting married with the man of your dreams would be your happy ever after.

Clearly there’s no such thing as a happy ever after, you thought.

Feeling like you’ve spent enough time in the bathroom, you decided to get out. The cold air of the room hitting you directly as you sat on your bed.

You could hear everything. His breathing, the air conditioner machine’s silent hiss, your heartbeat. It was all too silent. Your thoughts started to raise, and you hated it, you loathe your imaginations. How could you not when every image you see was the love of your life entangled with someone else, lips stick stains on his white dress shirt.

You leaned your back onto the headboard, feeling like tonight was going to be restless and you saw no point in lying down if you won’t be sleeping anyways.

You remembered every single happy moments with him. How at restless nights like this, he’d hold you close and just talk about anything and everything with you. I miss the feeling of us against the world, you heard your heart whispered.

But it feels like the world is so bent on breaking you both apart.

And you believe Tom wouldn’t mind if it did. Countless of nights you wondered, have you slipped away from reality? Are you even holding on anymore? Are you going crazy?

Is he slipping away?

You glanced around the dark room, no lights at all yet your eyes have gotten used to the dark. You looked at a piece of clothing, you knew what you were going to do was going to bring you a great deal of pain, yet you needed to do it.

You took the suit he wore earlier, breathing in the intoxicating smell of alcohol and perfume.

She smells so exquisite. You thought, almost able to understand why he’d rather spend his nights with her than you. She’s perfect.

You felt your throat clog up, the burning sensation making it hard to not sob but you had to keep it in. Your eyes were way beyond wet, they were pools of despair and misery, the kind that’s damaged beyond repair.

Suddenly the night light flicks on, you froze in your actions, listening to the shuffles of the bed sheets.

You turned your head to face him slowly, the piece of clothing heavy and hot on your palms.

Tom’s eyes widened slightly, noting your eyes first before the suit on your hands. He must’ve realized you’ve been sniffing the perfume.

And you hoped, you prayed, you begged for him to show you something. To show you that he still felt something for you.

But he stayed silent and watching, his body was turned uncomfortable, his neck craned in order to be able to see you. It took him a couple of minutes before he turned the lights back off.

You stayed silent, for what's the use of answering. All you could think of was should you listen to him? Do as he said?

You couldn’t pretend and say you didn’t expect that. You sniffled a bit and wiped your tears with the back of your hands.

“Stop crying.” He said, his voice hard as he laid back down to his previous position.

“I will, sorry Tom.” You sighed, feeling a tiny bubble of anger in you.

"Throw that to the laundry." He ordered.

Do you want this?

Every single tear you had shed was it because you were holding down the anger in you? To keep your anger inside and let go in the form of tears?

It feels whatever held your anger now had disappeared, you were angry. Red was all you see and you were slightly afraid of this new emotion.

It felt like he was blaming every single thing that happened in the past to you. And it was unfair of him to do so.

“She smells amazing, doesn’t she?” You looked deep into his eyes once you got his attention, my voice raw with emotions you yourself can’t even decipher. “I bet she feels amazing too, right Tom?”

Quickly you stood up from the bed and threw the suit at him. He flinched as the fabric crashed his chest. His eyes were guarded, not revealing anything.

“Have you had enough of me?” Your voice came out pained, so terribly pained that it hurts yourself to listen to your own vulnerability. “Is that it? Do you want to end all this?”

You fell to the ground and watched as your tears dripped on your carpet. Still he didn’t move. He did nothing but watch.

“I’m done.” You said shakily, “You go figure your out bloody mess Tom, I’m tired.”

“You can’t blame me for being this way.” He snapped.

“Oh but you can blame me?” You whispered in confusion. “Is it my fault?”

“It sure as hell isn’t mine!” He yelled. “We lost her! She isn’t here! And it happens because you can’t even take care of yourself well enough! Maybe if you aren’t so selfish you would realize you’re carrying a life inside of you.”

“So it is my fault.” You cried. “Blame me all you want Tom. But I need you to realize that it’s me who carried her for seven months, who talked to her everyday, who felt all her bumps and movements. Where were you Tom? Where were you when I was carrying her? You were too busy with work that you can’t even call me!

“Is it wrong for me to worry about my husband while I was carrying his child? You weren’t there for me Tom, I needed you. Where were you?”

All of the pent up rage surely got out. You felt like a stone in you was lifted, yet you weren’t any less angrier.

“I was working so that I can provide for our child!”

“Yeah, I mean, surely you were that busy that you can’t even be bothered to tell me how you’re doing! Just a phone call or something? I got nothing, I was left to worry about you for weeks!

“She was the one keeping me company and giving me strength when you were gone. Losing her is hard Tom. Losing both of you is. I don’t think you feel the same way anymore.” You cried, heart aching as you see your husband also covered in his own tears and was already standing three feet away from you.

“You don’t see me blaming you Tom, because I don’t. I want us to be whole again, to be there for each other after what happened Tom. But I think you’ve got loads of company don’t you? Surely loneliness is a stranger to you.” You spat at him.

“Love...” He whispered.

“Don’t Tom. Just for tonight, I actually want to be alone. We’ll talk about how we should go on in the morning. Tonight I want some sleep.”

He blinked in surprise. Not expecting you to be the one pulling away this time.

“I’ll sleep in the guest room.”

“Don’t. Please love.” He begged. “Can we talk?”

“Tomorrow morning Tom.” You sighed. “I’m exhausted.”

He nodded and held your wrist. “I love you.”

You wished you could replay what he said. It took months of wishes and desperation to finally hear him say that to you again.

And it felt too good to be true.

So you nodded, yet you backed away. Opening the bedroom door, wanting to be alone now more than ever, you looked at him once more.

“I will always love you Tom.”

#tom hiddleston #imagine #angst #sad #painful #baby #baby daddy #loki #i love tom so very much

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aimeetiggzx-blog · 5 years

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I Used to Think My Abusive Relationship Was My Fault. Now I Know I’m worth more.

I have spent most of my teenage years in emotionally and physically abusive relationships. Until a almost a year ago, I thought I was the worst kind of damaged goods, a girl who could only love men who hurt her I means that’s been my past since I was 15. 5 years now! I didn't want to talk about my experiences at first because I thought that my kind of pain was self-inflicted. If I was stupid enough to stay, I deserved it,

I know there are three sides to every story. In this article, you're going to hear one and that’s mine - Aimee Carver. I don't write this with venom. The men I've been involved with were handsome, smart, charming and talented. There were good times. The bad times outweighed them.

Most people don't know I've been in (to clarify again) emotionally abusive relationships. From the outside, I'd bet my life looks pretty great. Some parts of it always were. I guess I am proof that there is no likely candidate for abuse.

For a long time, I found my romantic past, when the hits started happening I started dreaming of all my ex-boyfriends again.

Trauma is a funny thing. It hides in the shadowy corners of your mind, resurfacing when all you want is for it to be erased from your memory forever.

I'm writing this for a lot of reasons. Some of them are:

I think abusive relationships are an epidemic in our society. It could help someone understand their friend, their sister, their daughter who keeps going back. It could help someone who keeps going back. Because articles like this helped me. Because what trauma really wants is a voice. To anyone who needs help, You think you are crazy. You're anxious all the time. Your heart beats quickly. You have a lot of questions for your boyfriend at the time that you don't feel like you can ask. You wonder if you're always being lied to. You spend a lot time in the past, likely when you first fell in love him. You apologize constantly two your new lover, When you explain your fights to anyone who will listen, no one understands why you're apologizing. You are always confused. You're high as a fucking kite when he's nice to you. He says "one small thing," and with an embarrassing clarity, you are reminded of all the parts of yourself you hate. How can he see those parts so clearly? You cry a lot, you hide a lot. Sometimes you know why. Sometimes you don't.

You are not crazy even if you think your going insane your not.

When you're with your boyfriend in my case my ex you're usually with just him alone. You feel weird around your friends and family, the people you used to feel the most yourself and safest around. You can't remember how to feel like yourself anymore. Now, being in your own skin is like a long dull headache that won't lift and then that slowly feels like normal. Pretty much all your thoughts about yourself are negative.

"I used to be funny, why aren't I funny anymore?"

You think you are crazy.

“Why ain’t I perfect”

“Why ain’t I skinny”

“Jumping over a hug”

There will be good days with your boyfriend. There will be miraculous days of exquisite and suffering beauty between you two.

The sad truth - On these days, you will feel better than the best and like everything's okay. You will believe that the chaos has made you stronger; that he loves you more than anything. These days are bright spots in the darkness that has descended upon you. They are the moments of hope that you'll cling to, your proof that everything is okay, until one wrong word is said and your in hospital due to his harsh actions.But at that time moments aren't a life. Moments aren't enough. You deserve weeks, months and years of feeling like everything is okay. You deserve a lifetime of that.When your relationship ends like mine did, you will drown in the confusing, competing narratives in your head, just like you did while in the relationship. Memory is going to be a weird thing for you for a while. Grief is a delusional state.

We really loved each other (so you thought) I could've helped him if I'd tried harder (but you tried and failed) I'm not perfect. And sometimes, I don't think love should feel like this.

The latter will be quieter, the former will roar inside you. Some days, you will think you left the most beautiful relationship and the truest love in the whole world. Some days you will think you are just hysterical and crazy and that you weren't being abused at all. Until very recently, I still had days like that. After you break up with him, you might not feel an immediate sense of relief, empowerment or really anything that resembles "I know this is the right thing." You will likely feel very alone. Unfortunately, coming out of the fog with your eyes open is more painful than slipping into one without noticing.

But just always remember: feelings aren't the truth. You aren't the worst off you've ever been. Expect the sadness. It sounds crazy but welcome it. That sadness is going to live in you for a long time and it will teach you a lot. I know you don't believe me, but that sadness is your friend. That sadness is your becoming.

Not everyone you lose is a loss.

Tell your story no matter how murky the details seem at first. Keep talking. Read every article you can find on abuse until you feel an intellectual understanding of what happened tunnel into you emotionally. The head will come first, your heart will follow; it will all become clearer.

If you're lucky like I was, you'll find a therapist that can help you. And now I’m in a healthy, beautiful, loving relationship with my boyfriend Louis. It’s early stages but it’s the best kind of love feeling ever. He taught me what love is like, he taught me care but most of all he taught me to be myself again and for that im greatful every single day to you!

Don’t get me wrong you will have to reflect on your past relationship. Don't blame yourself for not leaving sooner, and don't let anyone else blame you, either. In moments of trauma and shock the brain has a funny way of protecting itself. It's called disassociating. You have done a lot of this. You will remember about three months in your ex-boyfriend did something and it was like a mask was lifted. He showed you a person you had never met before. I mention this because statistically an abusive person will do something that throws you completely off balance within the first three months. Then, they will be really sorry.

You will come to learn that real love is not a cycle of cruelty, effusive apologies, a honey-moon period, then a dreaded waiting for the other shoe to drop followed by more cruelty. Abusive relationships are defined by this pattern. When you do leave, you will realize that the space that your relationship took up was enormous. It was, whether you knew it or not, the monkey on the back of every thought you had. When it's gone, the emptiness left in its wake will feel like an ocean around you

It will take way longer than you want to "get over it," and you will think you will never reach the shore.

You will. When I was newly single and going on dates, this is how it went. First, I dated blindly and way more than I should have. I was attracted to guys who were like all my ex-boyfriends, physically and emotionally. Then, I started dating people who were completely different but whom I was not ready to love. Like a teacher, I observed how they treated me with a confusing detachment and thought, "Oh, so this is what it should be like."

"So, this is what kindness is like."

Dating made me feel like the loneliest person in the world for a long time. I wish now I hadn't done it at all, but withdrawal is painful and uncomfortable. I was willing to try anything to feel just a little better. But trust me just like me your king will find his way to you and it will be a little weird at first but that weirdness goes and it will become the most perfect thing in your life.

But in every process till you are full over it You will miss your ex boyfriend in a way you didn't know was possible and you don't think should be allowed. You will want to get back together. Abusive relationships fuck your brain chemistry up. They're addictive, and the withdrawal is not fun.

Don't worry tho baby girl.. with time, your brain will even out. In awhile, you won't want to be with him anymore. Crying helps you detox, so do a lot of it( I still cry alone due to all the horrible flashbacks and memories) you just have to find someone who’s willing to understand and help you over come them not make them worse. So does sleeping, exercise, therapy, eating healthy, seeing your friends and laughing.

For me, alcohol didn't really help I broke down every time trying to kill myself due to the fact of feeling so dirty and broken Or I guess, it did, until it didn't.

When you're in the withdrawal phase, you'll begin to understand why you thought being in an abusive relationship was okay for you. You're going to have to look at a lot of your past and your inherited patterns it’s best to do that alone.. It can get heavy but knuckle through it. You can do it. I’m proof that it can be done.

You will tell people that know your ex-boyfriend about what happened and how he treated you. Likely, no one will be surprised by his behaviour. Likely, no one will confront him. This is one of the saddest parts of our world. You will feel like the last one in on a sick joke.

Your ex-boyfriend will probably never apologize to you. If you do hear from him or see him, he will make you feel crazy. He's really good at that (like sending pics of him and his new girlfriend kissing) He will likely minimize your history, dismiss your relationship and pull the rug out from under you again. The way he frames you and your relationship will be distorted.

I believe that amends can happen, but usually, not in a timely manner. Like you need time to really unpack and understand why it all happened, so will he. Now factor into this that you have the desire to understand yourself and your behaviour. The closure you desire is a myth and it's not reachable in one conversation. Closure happens slowly and keeps happening. You'll give it to yourself.

If you leave your boyfriend for someone else, beware. Until you truly understand why you were in the situation you were, emotionally and intellectually, your subconscious will have a sad way of attracting an identical relationship that looks completely different from the outside. This is not always true.

At first, when the fog is lifting, you will look at your past self with shock and disgust. Then, later, you will look at your past self with sadness. Then, with understanding. Finally, you feel the most visceral pride for the moment you left, even if you didn't want to because you did that on the blind faith that life might be better on the other side. You did that on hope alone. You didn't know what you do now. That's so brave.

“You are so brave”- the only words I need to hear yet waiting for it.

I know how scared you are. I still get scared. My years of all the recovery has been the most challenging and rewarding of my life. It's not perfect and I don't think it ever will be. I get lonely and restless. I live with those feelings. Actually, I try to understand them. One day, your life will look like a version of mine. Things will keep getting better and better, faster and faster. Good things will keep finding you. You will be really happy. That happiness will get so big that you won't notice how the sadness is lifting until it's almost gone.

My life is full of hard work, art, friends who love and support me, friends that I am lucky to know. I have more energy than I know what to do with. I am the most productive I have ever been. I sing, I dance, I have meaningful conversation, I rest, I laugh a lot, I stay out too late. I am closer to my family than ever before. I found my way back to my old friends.

Maybe I'm becoming myself again.

Finally, (I know you're worried about this) you will meet someone else. You will fall in love again and this time, it will be about more than your wounds matching up with someone else's. It will be different and it will be better(I’m proof of that too my new boyfriend is my world for all the good reasons) But something becomes more important to you than romantic love and it's called self-worth. It will feel like it happens almost over night, but you will grow to love the person you are.

You should.

You fought hard to become her.

So love her.

Love Tiggz

AimeeCarver

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schlenanigans · 5 years

Text

A Tale of Two Cities

Well, there has certainly been a change.

It’s been just over six weeks since I left the US and I can tell you 2 things: time is FLYING; and there is absolutely no way to prepare yourself for being thrust full-on into these places where it is expected that you just pick up your life like you are home again… in a different place.

I am not sure where to begin. I suppose you arrive in Marrakech, and immediately notice a shift… in the whole energy of the city, the country, the landscape, the architecture, the urban planning, the language, the weather, the animals, the PEOPLE…. Not one thing can really compare on any real level to what we had in January.

I will say, one thing that has struck me (and many others)—aside from the obvious above, which I will get to—is the complete 180 in terms of sustainability and environmental awareness. I stopped and had a moment this morning when I showered, thinking how ingrained it was in Cape Town to save water with 3 min showers and do the absolute most to leave a small footprint… and that is widely known and adhered to in the city itself. Day 1 in the workspace here I drank a huge bottle of water and bought some pistachios in a plastic container; time to leave rolled around and we were going to walk home (yes, walk…. Marrakech is MUCH safer than CT at night), albeit freezing, so I gathered my items and asked the office reception if they recycled. I was answered with a that’s-cute chuckle and told that all refuse goes in the same receptacle. YIKES. First of all, we are told upon arrival to not drink the water……… so put 50 non-Moroccans together and do the math: 80% are paranoid as hell, the other 20 are either completely unaware or don’t care… but for argument’s sake, lets say 40 people are buying bottles on bottles every single day for 35 day. No wonder there is a plastic pile the size of Texas in the ocean. I tried to plan ahead and had Fern get me a water bottle with a filter. Guess who left it in Cape Town (where the tap water is FINE)?

Anyhow, the whole waste management/natural resources thing is a trip here. Cape Town makes you very aware of just how much trash you generate; Morocco makes it very, very easy to forget.

But that is the very surface.

Morocco itself is this fascinating anomaly in so many ways. We came from a place where race is about as dividing a factor as you can have… a place where in my own lifetime some really horrible, crazy shit happened. And then we come here, a place that has been in existence for literal centuries, has more history than many, many places, and has a completely different take on it. We took a culture and history seminar and the thing that stuck and that I find so intriguing is the attitude that it does not matter what your race is, if you are Moroccan, you are Moroccan. That’s that. As a place that has never identified as totally African, European, or Arabic, it is a place that has its interracial interactions within, but one that places nationalism—in the most literal way—before anything else. It is refreshing and foreign and totally different from what we know in America.

A brand new language barrier - Parlez vous français? La? Shoukran!

Language in Morocco is something. Kids are taught Moroccan Arabic at home, but in school learn formal Arabic first, followed by French, and then, if they are still in school, English. Then you have the Berbers, or Amazigh (Berber has its root in the word barbarian, so turns out it is actually somewhat derogatory, albeit widely used), who have their own versions of many words. It has been an adjustment different from South Africa, where there are 11 official languages, but English is one of the top ones and spoken by all in Cape Town. As someone who has never studied French or Arabic, I have found it challenging to not let myself slide into Spanish and I have relied on the few words we have been taught and a lot of charades to communicate. It does go to show, however, how far a smile can go. And knowing how to say thank you (shoukran!) is priceless. And no (la). OK, and haggling taxi prices (Hamseen! Safi!)

☝️TILE.

Everyone asks about being a woman here. I have to say, everything I have ever heard about it makes it sound scary and like something you really have to prepare for. For what it’s worth, they all made it sound way worse than I have experienced.

I have found that yes, you get your catcalls here and there, some lascivious looks, but by and large the people are kind and respectful and will never ever touch you. They will hassle you when you are shopping in the Medina, they will slow their motorbikes when you are jaywalking and whisper or blow a kiss, but I have never felt in danger or severely uncomfortable. As long as you are firm when telling people no (or when you say “safi!” — “enough!”), they pretty much get the point. And if all else fails, ignoring people usually does the trick. I know that I am tall, I don’t take shit, and I don’t often walk alone around here—I am less of an easy target. But, I wouldn’t discourage a woman from coming to Morocco based on looks and gestures and blown kisses.

☝️Homecooked meal in the medina

THE. FOOD.

Ohmygod. The. Food. Tajine on tajine. Couscous with every imaginable deliciousness. Meat, veggies, salads, sweets, fruit. Every kind of exquisite bread and crepe with sugar, honey, butter. SUGAR. Mint tea. Morocco is NOT the place to come if you are trying to do any kind of low carb situation (well, fine, you COULD, but it would be an exercise in real deprivation/torture). They serve bread and french fries with just about EVERY meal. Cape Town was meat-heavy, but you were able to find a plethora of health-conscious options, the trendier the better. Here, you can find those, but again, you want to eat the local food which is, oftentimes, bread-forward (use bread instead of a fork, duh), and not afraid of pounds on pounds of sugar. Moroccan mint tea is really just tea-flavored sugar water, and man do I love it. I could wax philosophic on the food for pages, but suffice to say I am enjoying every bite (even that camel burger I had to try!).

☝️Pastilla, a specialty of Tangier. SO. DELISH.

☝️Another homecooked meal enjoyed on a rooftop in the Atlas Mountains. Most delicious tagine...aside from the other most delicious tagines...

THE SHOOOPPPPPINGGGG….

….is too much. The Medina, or old, walled city, is full of souks, shops and sellers of various food and wares. Leather, rugs, ceramics, lanterns, glassware, wool, trinkets, shoes, every imaginable THING you can think of. And it is all so cheap, with prices usually up for debate. It is easy to get lost in the labyrinthine streets, which don’t make a whole lot of sense, yet locals navigate with ease. I have only been on a heritage walking tour of historic buildings and one very famous synagogue (Jewish history in Morocco is fascinating) and have had breakfast once in the Medina; I am still looking forward to losing myself in the walkways and beautiful riads and rooftop terraces found within the walls of the old city—more to report on that once my sister gets here this weekend!

☝️Rugs.

☝️Chefchaouen

.....tobecontinued......

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professor-stomachache · 6 years

Text

The Good School, ch. 1

Title: The Good School // AKA the Good Place High School AU no one asked for Chapter: 1 Summary: Eleanor Shellstrop has been plucked from her ordinary life in Phoenix, Arizona, to attend prestigious boarding school, Iverson Academy for the Gifted, thanks to her intelligence, social activism, and passion for the performing arts. Except for one thing: they’ve got the wrong forking girl. Pairings: Chidi x Eleanor

There were only three things on Eleanor’s mind: her headband was itchy, it dug into her scalp, and it was the actual worst. It was a required part of her new school uniform, since the dress code explicitly stated that all hair must be held firmly in place. What kind of rule was that? Hair must be held firmly in place? Please. The racial undertones were not lost on her.

The secretary, whose name Eleanor hadn’t bothered to remember, called from her desk with a sticky-sweet smile, “Miss Shellstrop? The headmaster will see you now.”

As she stood from the ancient chair she’d gotten comfortable in, a tall, white-haired man popped his head out of his office and smiled. Everyone loves smiling here. “Eleanor Shellstrop? It’s so wonderful to meet you.”

“Yes,” she said, shaking his hand, “it’s great to meet you too, Mr—“

“All students are welcome to call me Michael.”

“That’s…progressive of you,” she replied.

He ushered her inside his office and handed her a small water bottle and an individually-packaged sugar cookie covered in blue and gold icing — the school’s colors. “I like to encourage an open and transparent environment here amongst student and faculty. I’m sure you and your parents read through the brochure before your arrival, and I must say, I’m surprised and disappointed they weren’t able to come see you off.”

“That makes one of us,” she mumbled.

If he heard her, Michael made no comment and continued on with his spiel. “All of the main housing and academic policies will be gone over at orientation in just a few minutes, I’ll even walk you there myself. But I just wanted to review your file with you, especially because it’s so rare that we even accept students so close to the start of the school year.”

“Thank you for allowing an exception,” she interjected.

“Nonsense, Miss Shellstrop,” Michael said as he opened a folder marked with her name. “You are an exceptional student and it would have been my biggest failure had I not successfully championed your application with the rest of the school board. You had a 3.9 unweighted GPA transferring in, volunteered with your local city government, and your passion for the performing arts made you an incredible candidate and a shoo-in for our program here at Iverson Academy for the Gifted.”

“Iverson Academy for the Gifted,” she repeated, “Cool.”

“Enough about your accomplishments, I’m sure you’ve heard praise all your life, so why don’t I walk us over to the first day orientation and I can start selling Iverson to you?”

They stood together and Eleanor tugged on her sky blue plaid skirt, just one more thing about the whole situation that made her deeply uncomfortable. Michael guided her down the hallways, which were decorated with various portraits of presumably past headmasters and founding figureheads. She mused, “A lot of old white men roamed these halls.”

“Iverson Academy was once an exclusive boarding school for privileged sons of wealthy families,” Michael replied, “it’s a bit of a sore spot, understandably, but in 1975, we opened our doors to everyone.”

To everyone who could afford it. He continued, “Of course, the price tag is still hefty, but several of our alumni are kind and generous enough to help fund scholarships for those who wouldn’t get the chance to be here because of a silly thing like that. Like you.”

They arrived at a pair of huge wooden doors that looked important to Eleanor. “One question: how did you find me in my little podunk part of Phoenix?”

“Paradise Valley is only thirty minutes away,,” Michael reminded her, chuckling at her description. “At the end of every year, the school board will appoint a search committee tasked with finding students that exceed the expectations of their surroundings. Normally, I wouldn’t boast, but I was the one who found your records at Thunderbird High School.”

She didn’t know what to say. “T-thank you.”

“Nonsense, Miss Shellstrop. It is my pleasure to provide you with the opportunities you deserve. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to find you until your senior, but you’re here now.” Michael pushed the door open to reveal a grand hall, filled with students in matching uniforms, all buzzing with excitement for the new school year. “It’s time for orientation.”

It took all her strength and willpower not to roll her eyes or comment about how ridiculous it was for students in uniforms to be as cheery as they seemed to be. Michael vanished from beside her, suddenly appearing near the steps of the stage. She was on her own now, but Eleanor was used to that.

She walked towards the back of the hall, hoping to avoid the peppiest of her new pep-filled classmates. There was an empty seat next to a boy who’d already thrown his jacket off, onto the back of his chair, slouching over in a light slumber. Anyone who couldn’t even fake caring about the rules was the type of person she wanted to be a little associated with.

“Is this seat taken?”

The boy, who looked somewhere between Chinese and Filipino, opened his eyes and nodded, going back to sleep once more.

“Cool.” Eleanor sat back into her new seat, eyeing her new peers. She smoothed her skirt over her knees, noticing that all the other girls’ skirts were pressed and wrinkle-free. Is this really my new normal?

“Good morning, everyone. I hope you are all as thrilled as I am to be here today!” Michael cheered, kicking his leg up from his excitement. “As most of you recall, I was a teacher last year, but am pleased to announced that I am now Headmaster here at Iverson Academy for the Gifted.”

The hall burst into applause, most students whooping and hollering. “Thank you, thank you. To all the returning students, welcome back! I am certainly looking forward to what the new school year will teach you. This morning you have the choice to head over to your homeroom or stay here to help your new classmates acquainted to Iverson after their own orientation.”

Majority of the room stood and started to walk out, their mindless chatter acting as white noise for Eleanor as she felt herself drawn to sleep. Michael added, “Oh, there’s tea and breakfast pastries in the cafeteria as well! Help yourselves.”

A few of the teachers ushered the remaining students to move closer to the front. Eleanor wanted to push back, but decided it was in her best interest to make a decent first impression. The sleeping boy followed her with his jacket crumpled in his hands.

“You’re awake.”

He nodded.

“You don’t talk,” she stated.

“Not much,” he replied. The boy didn’t bother to continue or go back to sleep, instead sitting straight up, ready to listen to Michael’s welcome spiel.

She whispered, “I’m Eleanor Shellstrop, senior.”

“Jason Mendoza, junior.”

Eleanor tugged on her blonde hair, scratching her neck in the process, and sighed. She knew she needed to make allies soon, people to study with to help keep her grades up. The fact the walls were probably made of really expensive wood, like mahogany, was proof enough this school meant business.

“Only the brightest and most diligent,” Michael was saying, “are granted an invitation to come here. You are all here because you are the best, the true cream of the crop. So welcome to the most challenging and rewarding experience you could ever dream of. We are not just the ‘Good School’ as our neighborhood reputation claims, we are the best. Welcome to Iverson Academy.”

“Is there anyone that I would have heard of that graduated from here?” Eleanor asked as she followed Michael to her new dorm room. She quickly added, “I’ve known about Iverson’s spectacular status by just being in Phoenix, but I’ll admit, I’m not well-versed in its alumni.”

“Of course, Miss Shellstrop. As you saw in our Hall of Headmasters, this school was originally dedicated to the education of privileged, but incredibly intelligent sons. Mostly the sons of politicians and foreign diplomats. And in all honesty, that’s still true for today. Majority of our students, boys and girls, come from political backgrounds all over the world.”

“Wow,” she replied, doing her best to sound impressed. She doubted it really was the best and brightest here -- just the ones who came from the brightest families who could afford it.

“Ah yes, this is your dorm.” He handed her a small envelope, heavy in her palm, and she slipped a bronze key from it. “Yours is a single, as you were a last minute addition to the roster, and this is a co-ed floor. I hope you don’t mind that.”

She exhaled, and her shoulders relaxed. I don’t know how I would’ve made it living with a bunch of girly girls. “That’s perfectly fine.”

“Wonderful, Miss Shellstrop!”

“Why do you call students by their last names but encourage us to call you Michael?”

“I’m from a very traditional family, it’s quite the habit to break,” he replied, ushering her into her room. He hovered at the doorway and explained, “Faculty are not allowed to step into a student’s room in any circumstance except for emergencies.”

“Faculty...of the opposite gender?” The walls were a faint blue-grey with a floral pattern, and more wood paneling that matched the rest of the school. There was a large window with an exquisite view of a well-kept courtyard with a working fountain.

“Of any gender. It’s a relatively new policy.”

Eleanor dropped her two duffle bags on the floor next to her full-sized bed. They really don’t cheap out here. “That the traditionally conservative school board approved?”

“We haven’t experienced any dangerous situations without the policy; however, we felt it was better to ensure our students’ safety with a preventative policy instead of waiting for an issue to occur.”

“Excellent.”

“As this is an old building, its original use was not to house students for extended periods of time. So there are no closets or attached bathrooms. All rooms do come with wardrobes, a chest of drawers, and a bookcase for your things. As you can see, there is a desk already stocked with notebooks, binders, and every other office supply you can think of.”

“That’s impressive and generous, thank you. I didn’t bring any other than the school uniforms.” Since that was all I could afford.

“You are welcome, Miss Shellstrop.” Michael looked at his wristwatch. “Your floor advisor should be coming to greet you and take you to your first class. Here is your schedule.”

She walked over to him, uneasy about allowing him full entry to her room, and took the slip of paper to read through. Modern American Literature, British Literature, Advanced Calculus, Advanced Government, Economics 1, BioChemistry, The Philosophy of Ethics, and Woodworking. “Woodworking?”

“It was the last elective with open seats, my apologies.”

“It’s fine,” she waved him off.

“Do you find the rest of the schedule suitable? We didn’t want to overload your first semester with us.”

“This is just for one semester?” Eleanor snapped her jaw shut.

“Yes, you will be able to pick your own classes for the spring semester.”

Eleanor groaned internally, but stuck a smile on her face, hoping Michael wouldn’t notice the dead look in her eyes.

“Hello, Michael, and you must be Eleanor. I’m Tahani Al-Jamil. Oh, look at you, you are so sweet and teensy,” a leggy brunette with caramel-colored skin said, gliding into her room. The girl poked Eleanor’s nose and smiled. “Boop.”

“Oh, you booped me.” Eleanor kept the scowl off her face.

Tahani gave a clipped laugh. “Yes, I did.”

“That’s fun.”

“You two look like you are going to get along swimmingly. Any questions you have, Miss Shellstrop, should be directed to Miss Al-Jamil here. She’ll be happy to entertain you, isn’t that right?”

She reached up to clutch her necklace and gave a long sigh, like she was wishing for something else. “I simply adore entertaining.”

Michael said his goodbyes and strutted away, Eleanor listening to his footsteps grow faint. “Can I ask where that accent is from?”

“High society London. Go on and grab your things, I ought to take you for your first class.”

“Why would you leave London for bumfu-fork Arizona?” Eleanor picked up her backpack, emptying its contents, which were mostly snacks she had doubted would be available here. In this prison. She grabbed a notebook and a couple pencils from the desk - her desk - before stuffing them into her bag.

“Well, I was born in Pakistan,” Tahani replied, flipping her hair gently over her shoulder, “had some schooling in London and then Paris, before my father decided it was time to do business in the States and brought me along, leaving my mother and sister Kamilah in Paris.”

The pair of girls walked down the halls, with Eleanor struggling to keep up with Tahani’s long stride. “I noticed Eleanor that you almost swore when describing Arizona. While the description was rather precise, I do have to warn you that the teachers here do observe a more conservative outlook on language.”

“You don’t say,” she said, rolling her eyes. She couldn’t stop herself this time. Of course, she could tell that swearing wasn’t exactly welcome here, it’s why she said bumfork. Bumfork. Who was this girl?

“Now, you’ll attend 4 classes per day, excluding homeroom, and the schedule alternates. Somehow by the end of the term, it’ll all even out so you needn’t worry about that.”

“I wasn’t, but thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Tahani said, placing her hand on Eleanor’s shoulder, and ignored the blonde’s obvious recoil. “Due to orientation this morning, we’ll be skipping homeroom and here’s your first class at Iverson Academy. The Philosophy of Ethics.”

Eleanor hovered at the door, hesitant to enter, until the small Asian woman sitting at her desk looked up and called her in. The teacher had short black hair, and thin, wire-framed glasses, and smiled, “You must be Miss Eleanor Shellstrop. I’m your Ethics teacher, Jessica Yeh.”

“Ethics,” she repeated, breaking the word up into long syllables.

“It’s a senior requirement,” Jessica replied, before turning to the rest of the class. “This is one of the new transfer students, Eleanor Shellstrop. Where are you from?”

“Just down the street in Phoenix.”

“Nevertheless, welcome to Iverson. Please have a seat next to Chidi.”

A lean, athletic boy raised his hand and she did as she was instructed, dropping into the seat next to him. He had deep brown eyes, with light flecks of gold she noticed when the streaming light from the windows hit him just right, black framed glasses, and dark skin that looked soft and inviting. Eleanor shook her head and introduced herself, “Hi Cheeto, you can call me Eleanor.”

“I-it’s Chidi,” he corrected her. “Chidi Anagonye. Nice to meet you. Do you like clowns?”

She had pulled out her notebook and placed it on the desk, not even noticing the giant clown on its cover. “Oh my fu-forking god. Is everyone’s notebooks like this?”

“No, our school supplies are actually customized by the school,” he whispered. “Mine has Plato and Socrates making the Spy Vs. Spy pose. I love it.”

“Right, nerd,” she said under her breath.

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing, I didn’t say anything. What’s the rest of your schedule look like?”

He rattled off his list of classes, his excitement growing with each one, before ending with, “I have BioChemistry today too.”

“Perfect!” She exclaimed just a touch too loudly, drawing the attention of her peers once again. Ignoring Chidi’s side-ey, Eleanor quickly lied, “Iverson is perfect! The revelation is just happening right now. Sorry, Miss-- Jessica.”

“That’s fine, Miss Shellstrop. Please continue to focus though.” Their teacher smiled and continued going over the semester syllabus and what she expected each of them to learn by the time finals rolled around.

In a hushed voice, Eleanor asked, “Can we meet after this class? I want to make sure I’m all caught up in Biology and Chemistry. Because that’s what BioChemistry is, right?”

“Y-yes. BioChemistry is the study of chemistry within living biological organisms.”

“Right, exactly, so what do you say? Partner up?”

“Sure? Sure, I guess.”

Eleanor beamed at him and turned her attention back to Jessica,who was now giving a brief rundown on the most famous philosophers.

Five minutes into their short break between classes, Eleanor had finally stopped dragging Chidi and freed his hand from her deathgrip. He cupped his own hand, massaging lightly, and flinched at the pain. “Eleanor, what’s wrong? Is everything okay? Also, you’re really strong.”

She noticed he spoke with a faint accent. “Where are you from, Chidi?”

“I was born in Nigeria, completely accidental, apparently I couldn’t wait to get out of my mom before she got home from her business trip. So I grew up in Senegal,” he explained, sitting down on the window bench in the empty hallway. “But my dad was an esteemed ethics professor, and was asked to do speaking engagements all the time, so he took me along. I spent some time in Hong Kong and Paris, picking up a little bit of both languages, before he died.”

She sat beside him and reached for his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“It happened when I was 12, and since then, my mom and I have lived in the States. She helped out on the Obama campaign, but not publicly. Wouldn’t have helped the American part of his angle.” Their hands were still intertwined and he immediately pulled away. “How about you?”

“From Phoenix, Arizona. Dad died when I was 15, but I hadn’t seen him in 3 years since he left my mom and me. Then I got emancipated from my mom because she was an alcoholic who forgot she had a daughter still.”

“And despite all that, you got into Iverson Academy on an academic scholarship. Is it true that you worked on the Paradise Valley’s mayor’s office?”

She didn’t say anything, instead letting an awkward smile rest on her lips. Chidi smiled back and admitted, “I don’t make friends every easily, Eleanor, but I feel like I can trust you. Is that stupid?”

“No, that’s great!” She took her headband off and ran her fingers through her hair, feeling weightless. “In fact, I need you to promise me that you would never betray me. Like a friendship vow.”

“I promise you that I will never say or do anything to cause you harm.”

“Good, because I’m not whoever Michael thinks I am. I didn’t have a 3.9 unweighted GPA, I barely had a GPA. I didn’t volunteer in the mayor’s office and I’m afraid of clowns. Like I don’t even eat those delicious Mexican clown candies you see on the street for 50 cents.” She finished with jazz hands. “There’s been a big mistake. I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Paleta Payaso,” he replied, before whipping his gaze back up to her. “Wait, what?”

#the good place #the good place au #tgp fic #chidi x eleanor #cheleanor #the good place fic

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