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ohmightydevviepuu · 3 years

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for tonight you’re only here to know / part three

(artwork used with permission from carpedzem) part one | part two | part three AO3

A/N: no beta on this one. we die like real small creatures from alpha centauri.

Sometimes on the rarest nights Comes the vision calm and clear Gleaming with unearthly lights On our path of doubt and fear Winds from that far land are blown Whispering with secret breath Hope that plays a tune alone Love that conquers pain and death

We shall never find that lovely land of might-have-been I can never be your king, nor you can be my queen Days may pass and years may pass and seas may lie between We shall never find that lovely land of might-have-been

Ivor Novello

There is applause and it is thunderous as it echoes off the rafters and the walls and sneaks into the crevices between the bookshelves where every manner of humanity is squeezed in, side-by-side; he feels as if he can hear them all breathing, or trying to, hung on his every word even as he is reliving it. Every second.

There is a voice next to him, poking at the edges of his consciousness, and he remembers.

Who he is.

Where he is.

Here, and now.

He shifts in his chair and glances with only the barest hesitation at the device on the table in front of him that records his voice and transmits it even farther, to those who are not physically present. He directs his question at the woman seated next to him, pert eyes and short hair and a beaming smile.

“Apologies, love,” he says. “Can you repeat that last bit?”

“How does it end? Do the princess and the pirate--?”

“Oh, aye. They get their happily-ever-after. It’s a thrilling tale, to be sure.” He suits his tone to match his words but the truth, of course, was rather more gruesome. He shuts his eyes, an attempt to stave off the flood of memories that threatens to overtake him, replacing the brightness of the bookshop’s event stage with the bleakness and the blackness of the dungeon and how it felt to fall, to catch his breath--his breath, he was breathing. His view of her was magnificent, her hand outstretched in defiance, the purple glow of the squid ink he’d given her--pressed into her hand in a moment of desperation and trust and love--enveloping the Evil Queen and binding her, immobilizing her on the spot. Emma twirled--dancing--spun on sure feet the three steps between herself and the Queen and caught his heart in her hands before it hit the stone floor.

“Killian!” It was a scream and sometimes he hears it, still, in his nightmares.

He coughs, swallowing bile.

There is--as if by magic--a bottle of water being pushed at him and he braces it against his left wrist, bringing into view the black glove he wears on his left hand as he twists off the cap and sips greedily, wishing it was possible to wash away the taste of a memory. The Dark One’s laughter as he smiled, as his teeth glittered and he straightened, pulling a sheet of paper from his pocket and blowing gently across the page as the words disappeared and re-formed in the air and settled on the bars, causing them to vanish. As if the bars were nothing more than an illusion, a trick, a plan. The creature lifted a single finger--in warning, in disappointment--pointed it at the Queen as he spoke. “You should have come to me for help when the Curse failed,” he whispered. It was conversational and chilling and the Queen her mouth to speak but said nothing, moved not a single muscle as she was bundled into the Dark One’s cell and the bars replaced, as solid as they ever had been. “You should have listened when I taught you the proper casting of it. And what have you to show for it, Your Majesty, after all of these years? Nothing.” The creature sighed. “Whereas I have a deal to conclude with this lovely young woman. Emma.”

The way he said the name was a caress and it was Emma’s turn to shiver, blinking as her palm turned up--the hand not holding Hook’s heart--and her knife pointed at the Dark One.

“Put that away, dearie,” the creature said. “I have other weapons I prefer. And you have something I need. And as soon as we are done--”

The plastic crinkles in the tightening grip of his fingers; sometimes the sound it makes still surprises him, soft and loud at the same time.

The water spills and the woman jumps.

“I’m quite all right,” he assures her, and she does not know enough to know he is lying.

She giggles, gives a grin that flashes the whitest and most perfect set of teeth he’s ever seen.

“So the princess, does she give Hook his heart back?”

He pulls at the chains around his neck as if it is a reflex, and maybe it is--maybe every time he feels the weight on it he thinks of nothing but her fingers and the way she smiled when she tangled her hand in the chains and pulled him upright, golden hair and glittering eyes as she smiled at him, the rush of success and victory coursing through her though he could not feel it.

“That would be telling,” he says, raising a single eyebrow and plastering on another smile as a wave of laughter rumbles through the audience.

(Her sad smile and the nervous way she said, “I’ve never done this before.”)

(“Held my heart in your hands?” Hook’s hand on her wrist, the warmth and the energy there. (“You’ve had it for longer than you realize, love. It is--and always will be--yours.”)

“We’ll just have to read and find out,” she laughs, gesturing at the bound book stood up for display on the flimsy table.

The Land of Might-Have-Been.

By Killian Jones.

“So, Killian.” Her eyes flutter. “Tell us more about your main character. Hook. Where did you get your inspiration?”

He smiles, his hand rubs at the back of his neck before he leans forward, anchoring his elbow on the table and settling his hand under his chin. “In some ways I think of him as the man I used to be,” he says. “The man I would have been, if I had not found my way to a change.”

He put his life on the line for two things: Love and revenge.

Captain Hook had been forged in the fires of the former.

Killian Jones had been set free by another kind of flame.

“I had a brother once. And a first love.” He rubs unconsciously at his right wrist, though the thick fabric of his shirt more than covers the tattoo there--more than covers all of them, the details of his life inked into his arm like a sleeve, that told the story as easily as the book did and in fewer words. “I was hurting, and chasing after anything that might help me to overcome that pain, to regain control.” The octopus curling around his shoulder and down the side of his torso; the roped sailor’s knots; the tangled thorns of the vines digging into his bicep, dripping black venom. “I realized that I could be a better man. That I wanted to be, and what I needed was to try something new.”

The Dark One’s voice was silk and oil, smooth and greasy. “--as soon as we are done, Regina, you are going to give me Belle. You are going to tell me what you’ve done with her. I will flay you while you speak, perhaps, or--”

“Rumplestiltskin.” It was the first time Hook had spoken the man’s name in decades.

Names had Power.

Such as the power of distraction; Hook struck as the creature turned, blocking Emma’s whitening face from his view as he stepped in between them and grasped the creature’s wrist with his hook, wrapping his hand around the other. Wrapping his hand and the object he concealed there--for while Hook may have been fatally unprepared for his first encounter with the Dark One, he’d vowed never to be without recourse again.

The creature screamed as the cuff closed around his wrist and Hook said, “Surely you did not think I only traveled to Neverland in my quest for your demise? Cora sends her regards, crocodile.”

The Queen’s gasp was audible--as well it might be, for she had banished her mother to Wonderland almost thirty years ago--and Emma’s face was blank, a cipher, as the creature whirled back to face her, clutching his wrist as if his hand had been sliced off, and pleaded. “Missy. Missy…”

Hook stepped in between them, blocking the princess from the Dark One’s sight. “You want to make a deal, Dark One? Then you’re going to deal with me. That cuff will block your ability to access your magic unless or until I decide to remove it, and not a minute sooner.” He turned to Emma. “Promise me, Swan, that you will see to it that Ariel truly got away safely, back to her prince and to her home. And perhaps you can do for Graham what you have done for me.”

“Killian.” Power. Magic. Fire. “What are you going to do?”

Lunacy.

The room around him is fully silent and even the interviewer is holding her breath when Killian says, “I thought about what it would be like for him--for Hook--if he had a chance to be a part of something. Because I know a little something about that, about not being able to forget your first love, to believe that you can’t move on. But all it took was meeting the right person--”

And on his left shoulder blade, just above his heart, a swan.

“It’s like he said. The Curse failed, love,” Hook said. “None of this was meant to happen--none of this is what he foresaw, or what she planned. Isn’t that right, crocodile?”

The Evil Queen moved as if to strike, as if she had--or would ever have again--that freedom of movement, but the Dark One merely smiled.

“It wasn’t just your parents that were meant to be swept away by the Queen’s curse,” Hook said. “It was all of us. This entire realm sent someplace else, into a Land Without Magic. That’s where Baelfire went when he left his father.” Hook paused before continuing. “When he left me. He believed it was the only place he would be safe.”

“What’s your point, pirate?” The Dark One snapped.

“My point is that all magic comes with a price. My point is that when the spell failed, something went wrong. And now is your chance, crocodile--to tell us. The truth. And in return--” he held up his hand, pointed it at the Dark One in attempt to forestall the protest that was surely imminent “--I will tell you where the maid is, your precious Belle. Where Regina has kept her all of these years. Perhaps I will even remove that cuff and allow you to do something about it.”

It took all of his strength not to mention the other thing, the object that consumed his days and his nights and his nightmares for the better part of three decades. The object that could kill the Dark One--his crocodile, Milah’s murderer. But Hook had made his choice.

He just wished he could feel it--feel her--the fire--the magic--because now he had a name for it, the way he felt about her--all of the things she made him feel and want and believe.

“Tell us, and I will use the portal to bring back the King and the Queen; I will leave, so long as you leave Emma out of this. Emma and her family will be free of you and all of your schemes, hereafter.”

The creature cocked his head and tasted the air with his tongue, considering, until--

“No.” Emma was definitive.

The creature giggled as Emma moved, deliberately switching places with Hook to place herself between him and the crocodile, so she could force him to look at her and her green eyes. “I don’t need saving,” she said.

Hook smiled and said, “That’s good. Because I’m not a hero.”

“I can handle it. I’m not a damsel in distress.” She was lying; there was distress written all over her face, but this--this was something he could do for her, something he wanted to do. Something with purpose, with meaning, something new.

“Emma, think of yourself. Of your family. Of your kingdom. You can’t leave--and even if you could--there would be nothing left for me here. Not even the pursuit of my revenge. I cannot be that man any more. Darkness and hatred have left my life empty.” He cupped his hand over her cheek and stroked the tear forming there, brushing it aside. “I do not want to end up like Regina. Please.”

It was then and not a moment sooner that the world he’d so carefully constructed over the long years shattered, finally--completely--to pieces. As he stepped forward and pulled her against him, a drowning man grasping for a rope. As he pressed his lips to hers and she kissed him as if he were dying and she alone had oxygen.

“So, one last question, then, Killian. We’ll take it from the audience this time.”

In the crowd, someone rises--there is a flash of blonde and blue and Killian cannot--he cannot--

The woman’s eyes sparkle with amusement as she speaks. “Killian,” she says, “do you believe in True Love?”

Killian smiles. He forces himself to. He exhales a laugh.

He exhales a laugh to cover up the fact that all of his breath seems, suddenly, to leave his body.

Again.

On account of a kiss.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like that, slow degrees of feeling welling up inside him, coming from someplace deep and unfamiliar except for the heat and the magic that seemed to guide it; he had no defense for it, no protection against it, and it built into a wave so powerful that to feel it crest over him, exploding in sparkes of rainbow light, was nothing so much as a relief. He staggered back under its impact and braced himself against the bars of Regina’s cell and watched as a door formed before his--before their--eyes. His heart, so recently returned to him, pounding so hard that everything around him seemed to vibrate--his mind a thick haze of fire and light and magic. The torches in the dungeon ablaze and every kiss before this one merely a prelude, flint to light the kindling.

The door was three times the height of a man, taller than the dungeon as it seemed to pierce the ceiling. When it opened there was a lonely stretch of forest bisected by a strangely-paved path and a sign.

“Welcome to Storybrooke.”

At the sign--or more properly at the edge of it, just where it met the road--was a vessel unlike any Hook had ever seen before, heaving and steaming as a man kicked at it, swearing under his breath as if his invective would serve as fuel.

“Father,” Emma whispered.

And--from inside the vessel--a woman’s voice; “Mother.” There was the sound of something opening and closing as a piece of the thing swung open--a door--and a boy slid out.

No. Not a boy.

A young man.

The Evil Queen growled.

The Dark One hissed.

And Emma said, “Oh. Oh, shit.”

The lights are dim and the crowd dispersed as he leaves, waving a hand behind him and walking away from the storefront branded Housing Works Bookstore. It’s dry--a rarity in this city, he has found--dry and cool and clear, and if he angles his head just so between the so-called ‘skyscrapers’ there is a faint glimmer of the stars that are very nearly the same here as they were there. He still remembers them, the way they shone in her eyes as the truth of what they were watching through the portal struck her.

“I have a brother,” she said, and her voice seemed to carry across the portal, across time and space, because a petite, dark-haired woman nearly fell out of the vessel as she looked up, looked around.

“Emma?”

It was a sound of disbelief and doubt and hope but it, too, carried; the man straightened, the vessel forgotten as he started walking unerringly toward the portal that surely he could not see.

Emma swore again and turned to her grandmother, to the Evil Queen, and said, “They remember?” Out of all the possible questions, of course she chose the least expected. How--why--what--none of them was as salient as the simple fact. They remembered.

The Queen raised in eyebrow in pure hauteur and Emma grabbed his hook and pulled him toward the door. “I must go to them,” she said, and he followed.

He would follow her to the end of the world and beyond; with a cry and a lunge she hurled herself at them, at her parents, at her brother.

Hook watched as Queen Snow took her daughter’s head in her hands and kissed the forehead, delicately--as King David pulled his daughter into his arms and cupped the back of her head, gently--as Leo introduced himself.

“Please don’t call me Leopold,” he said, and Emma laughed through her tears.

“This is Killian,” she said. “Captain Killian Jones.”

David’s eyes narrowed as he took in the silver prosthetic where Hook’s left hand used to be. “Captain Hook?”

But Snow said, “Now is not the time, David,” and her green eyes shone almost as brightly as her daughter’s as she looked at him, up and down from his boots to his eyes that were lowered, respectfully--as she stepped forward and took his face in her hands the same way she had taken Emma’s. “Thank you,” she said.

Hook blushed. “I--milady--gratitude is hardly necessary,” he said. His voice was low and gravelly and, for the first time in a long time, uncertain. He was uncertain and his hand reached, unthinkingly, for Emma’s, for the warmth and the comfort he found there.

“You found us,” Snow insisted.

“Emma found you,” Hook said.

“And I never doubted she would,” Snow said. “But I know what you did for her, why she is able to be here right now.”

“What--” Hook swallowed. “What did I do?”

Queen Snow looked at him, and looked at her daughter, at their hands clasped together and said, “True Love’s Kiss. It’s the only magic strong enough to break any curse.”

“Oh,” Hook said. Oh.

He dropped Emma’s hand and stepped back.

The King grumbled. “Let’s discuss this at home. We have a kingdom to take back.” Then, under his breath: “Again.”

The word hung in the air. Home.

Hook took another step back--turned away--opened his mouth--all he knew, with certainty, was that he could not go back there. He could not go back to that place and that person who carried around all of that darkness and anger and hate. He wanted to stay. He was a pirate, a Lost Boy; it would not be the first time in his life that he found himself in a new place with nothing but his wits and his hook and the things he carried.

But Swan--

Emma.

Princess Emma.

She--

He would follow her. Of course he would. He could just as soon live without air as he could live without her.

(He’s known that since the first morning he’d woken up to find her gone; he’s known that every night he’s dreamed of her and every morning since.)

“Oh,” Snow said. “Oh.” Mother and daughter watched each other, identical eyes matched in understanding. “Emma’s not coming home,” Snow said.

It is very nearly midnight when Killian returns home, unlocking his front door with practiced ease and slipping the keys into the pocket of his leather blazer.

What he is not prepared for, or expecting, is her.

Waiting for him.

(Truth be known, he might never be.)

Emma Swan, his True Love, is waiting for him, her green eyes twinkling in the streetlights that are shining through the windows of their flat and still--always--nothing prepares him for the sight of her. Her golden hair is lighter now, streaked with very fine strands of silver; the blue leather of her jacket is bright and adorned with zippers instead of gemstones. She wears no jewelry, in this place--they sold most of it a long time ago. Her only adornment is a silver chain around her neck and the ring he gave her--his brother’s ring--between her breasts.

“You beat me home,” he says.

“You had your adoring fans to contend with,” she says, and laughs. Killian shuts the door behind him and inhales, slowly, savoring it the way he always does--sweet and spicy--and she watches him.

“Your eyes,” she says. “I love the way you look at me. Still.”

“Always.”

And it’s not a dream, but sometimes it still feels like one, when she grabs him and says his name and--somehow--he can feel the Power in it. She grabs him and he forgets where they are and when they are and he remembers the day she decided to stay here. With him.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” she said, looking at her mother and her father and her younger brother, the heir-presumptive once the King and the Queen were back on their rightful thrones. Killian had no doubts that they would see to Regina, and to the Dark One. Snow would give Graham back his heart and make certain that Belle was safe and cared for.

For the moment, there were more important matters to attend to.

Snow White ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair. Her voice was somehow strong and brittle at the same time--understanding twinged with sadness. “No,” she murmured. “You didn’t.”

Emma didn’t cry when she said, “I want something free of all of this. Free of the past and all its scars. Something I’ve chosen. Away from--”

“Us,” King David--the man once known across realms as Prince Charming--said.

“No,” Emma said. “But--yes. I’m sorry.”

That’s when David took her in his arms. “You have nothing to apologize for. Not to us. Not ever. We love you. All that matters is that you know that, and are happy.”

And they were.

They are.

Together; they still make a good team.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she whispers. “Do you believe in True Love, Killian?” She stands on her toes and kisses him and it’s full of sweetness and love and he can feel it--the warmth and comfort and the magic that they were both told couldn’t exist in this place but which they kindled with the light they made for each other. The past, here, is nothing more than a bad dream from which he’s awakened, finding himself in her arms until the nightmares are banished and there is nothing but the two of them.

Killian lifts his mouth from hers and takes her hands and kisses them, the backs, each knuckle, before he settles them over his heart. It beats, hard but steady--so steady--as he holds her hands there. “Aye, love,” he says. “You are my happy ending.”

She pulls her hands away, pulls his hands in hers as she says, “That’s not what this is.” He feels it through the layers of her clothing as his hand rests over her abdomen--the flutter there--and he laughs, as she smiles a real smile, that same smile, from the night they met. “It’s a happy beginning.”

And that, surely, is nothing short of magic.

-30-

@profdanglaisstuff @katie-dub @thisonesatellite @carpedzem @captain-emmajones @kmomof4 @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @karl0ta @mariakov81 @tiganasummertree @stahlop @scientificapricot

#cs fic #enchanted forest #true love and other stuff

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realityhelixcreates · 4 years

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Lasabrjotr Chapter 43: Blár Ljóss Dreyma gnimaerD thgiL eulB

Chapters: 43/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: None Relationships: Loki x Reader (Someday) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Loki Wants To Be Fancy, I Wonder What All This Blue Light Is About, Summary: Loki acts very soft towards you, and you discuss your shared dreams.

Loki wheeled you through the halls of the palace complex, Andsvarr on one side, another young guard on the other, keeping everyone at more than arms length from you. The concept of a wheelchair seemed very new to everyone around you, raising serious concern about disability accessibility in New Asgard.

You chatted back and forth with him about it as he pushed you towards your room. If humans were eventually going to be allowed in the city, then it would have to be accessible, and it was best to build that accessibility in from the very beginning, so extra money didn't have to be spent fixing it later. Since the city had barely been built, there was still time to include accessibility plans into the blueprints.

“And you'd better do it pretty quick, because I'll be old and frail in what seems like no time to you guys.” You joked. “I mean, I know you could probably just lift up the chair with me in it, and carry it everywhere, but it's way less awkward to just have a ramp.”

Loki seemed withdrawn for the rest of your trip. Probably thinking about accessibility, you figured. He parked you in front of your desk, which held a few new books.

“The Complete Icelandic Sagas.” You read. “And the Nibelungenlied?”

“Classics, apparently.” Loki said. “Though I must warn you; there are some very unpleasant things in these stories. They are rather like your modern day action movies. Full of violence, revenge, and adrenaline. I have helpfully marked each one with warnings, so that you can know what they hold before you start reading.”

You flipped the book of sagas open to find little notes tucked in between the pages.

“This one contains many bodies, but the hero is a decent fellow after all.”

“A horse is harmed in this story.”

“The protagonist is a horrible person, and does many unforgivable things. Perhaps skip this one. It leaves a bad taste.”

A smile crept across your face. “That's very thoughtful of you, Loki. I'm glad you remembered to think of me.”

Loki preened at the praise. “Of course! You are the most important!” He declared. “Of my entourage, that is. As my seidkona.”

“Your entourage...Which consists of whom? Just me? Andsvarr?”

“There is you, and Andsvarr, yes.” He'd had the flowers brought from the healing wing to your room, and began arranging them idly. You were pleased to see that someone had been tending your houseplants in your absence. “Technically, since Thor and I rule together, we share some people between us. Several guards, since there is a shortage of them, and all the palace servants for example. Brunnhilde is an advisor to us both, and Heimdall as well, though he is far closer to my brother. Well,” Loki said a touch sheepishly. “That is probably my fault.”

“Probably?” You said sarcastically.

“Cheeky woman. Give you an inch, and you take a mile.”

“Isn't that my job?” You leaned back in your chair, gazing out the window. The sun was dipping down in the sky, and you realized with a little relief that night would soon return.

“And you just love your job, don't you?”

“Well, there are some parts I could do without.”

The light triple rap of Andsvarr's signature knock sounded on the door. Dinner had arrived, and he gave you a thumbs up as Loki took it from him. Now where had he learned that?

“Good to be home?” He asked. “Feeling all right?”

“I'll be fine. But yeah, it's better to be in my room, than cooped up in the healing wing”

His smile was so fake. Loki had said he was stressed, now he was probably trying to put forth a cheerful front for you. Poor kid. He should have never gotten caught up in all this, but sometimes parents left troubling legacies for their children, whether they meant to or not. You just hoped he wasn't facing too much trouble at home.

Loki shooed him back to his post, and set dinner down in front of you. It was a good, thick chowder, with soft bread, easy for a convalescing patient to eat.

“Do you need any help?” Loki asked, pulling up your desk chair and sitting next to you, very close.

“Pretty sure I can manage soup.” You said.

Eventually, you did need him to help you lean forward to eat, because doing so on your own made you dizzy. He held you effortlessly with one arm, eating his own dinner with the other.

“Hey Loki...I had another one of those dreams.” You mentioned.

“Ah. You remember. I wasn't sure you would, since you were so deep in your unconsciousness.”

“So it did happen. Are they real?”

“I honestly don't know. I know that we have shared dreams that are not real, because they pertained to things that never happened. But Titan and Jotunheim...I simply do not know. The Titans are extinct, but we brought dust out with us. I do not know the state of the Frost Giants now, but there was snow in our hair when I awoke. I do not know if our magic is creating the things we see in the dreams, or if we are truly there on some level, and bring things back with us when we return.”

“Do you think it means something? Should we be trying to interpret this as some kind of prophesy?”

“I certainly hope not.” Loki said with a sour expression. “The less I have to deal with either Titans or Frost Giants, the better. We have quite enough on our plates with rebuilding, frankly.”

After dinner, he carried you to your bed, and massaged your arms and legs again, this time with a nice, vanilla scented oil that warmed and smoothed your skin. When you realized you would need help bathing, he looked oddly hopeful, right up until you requested Saldis's help. He tucked you in tenderly, and made to leave before you stopped him.

“What if I need help?” You asked. “Can you hear me from your room?”

Loki had a hard time hiding his excitement as he bid you wait, leaving the room and returning minutes later with a folding cot, and his blankets. He set this up happily beside your bed, humming to himself.

It looked to you like Loki really, really liked feeling needed. Maybe due to many years of being overshadowed by his brother, the feeling of someone wanting him specifically was novel to him. If that was the case, you should probably ask him for help more often. He seemed so happy about it.

Loki turned off the lights and drew the heavy curtains to darken the room, then snuggled into his cot, thick blanket up to his neck, black hair spread out over his pillow, smiling at you like a kid at a sleepover. He sneaked his hand under your blanket, and took your hand.

“Just squeeze if you need anything.” He said at your questioning vocalization. “I'll awaken at once.”

This all felt so nice. Someone sleeping next to you, holding your hand, knowing that any needs you had would be fulfilled. Knowing that there would be food tomorrow, that this room would be here to live in. Knowing that your medical needs would be seen to, that your mental needs were being taken seriously, that your government took your well-being seriously.

As much as you sometimes missed Iowa, you had to admit that none of those things were guaranteed back home.

His hand felt so large and warm, enveloping your own. You drifted off, feeling full and as comfortable as your head would allow.

*****

You held Loki's hand, runes of light trailing up your arms and filling your eye, the both of you walking slowly towards a pulsing blue light. There was something important there, the answers to everything, you just knew it, but you could only approach a few steps at a time. It had completely filled and banished the void that had once threatened to harm you, replacing one mystery with another, but this one you didn't want to run from.

Till death do you part. A voice that was almost not even a voice repeated over and over again, a background for the pulsing light that filled your mind and poured out through your runes. Loki looked down at you, the lines of hardship gone from his face, blue light glowing from one eye. You noticed with a little fascination that his other eye had gone black, only the iris showing bright blue. No doubt yours were the same.

“Forever?” He seemed to ask, though no words were voiced.

“Forever.” You agreed.

“Gods among gods. Legends. The whole of all things. Galaxies at your fingertips. Till death do you part.”

Squeezing his hand, you both walked into the light.

*****

You awoke to a soft shaking of your shoulder. No need to ask: you had squeezed his hand in the dream.

“What does it mean?” You asked groggily.

“I do not know, not for sure.” He whispered. “I wonder...but maybe it has something to do with the nature of our magic together. Your teleportation, my enhancement. You may be taking us to these distant places, in a sort of half-solid form, without even meaning to. I do not know that for sure though. You have yet to physically teleport a whole person. It might not be that at all. But I wonder.”

“Should I go back to sleep?”

“Yes, my darling.” He said fondly. “Go back to sleep.”

*****

You barely remembered the dream the next day, just a strong impression of blue light that you had seen in dreams before. Your head hurt, but Loki got you your medicine, and some breakfast, then called for Saldis to come help bathe and dress you. Saldis surprised you by lifting you up as effortlessly as Loki could; for a moment you had forgotten that she was Asgardian, and fully as strong as any of the rest of them.

She carried you off to the bath as if you were a new bride, and scrubbed you thoroughly, but carefully. Dressing was a bit more of a challenge; trying to get clothes on over your head without hurting.

“Oh dear, I do not think this is going to work.” She fretted. “However shall we get you dressed? Must I send out for another healing gown?”

“I might be able to help.” Loki said through the door, startling both of you. “I use magic to change clothes very often. It is much easier.”

“Might be our best bet.” You muttered.

“With your leave.” Saldis said, draping a towel over you. “He may be my Prince, but he does not get to cheat.” She said with a wink.

“All right, come in you eavesdropper!” You called, and he entered instantly, a cheeky grin stretching his face.

“Let's see...” He said gleefully lacing and stretching his fingers. “What shall you wear today? How shall we enhance that natural beauty of yours?”

“Oh, cut it out.” You said. Of course he would embarrass you in front of Saldis. It was perfect payback for the time you had done it.

“How do you feel about green, my darling?”

Saldis giggled, clearly enjoying herself. You rolled your eyes.

“As long as it doesn't clash with my bruises.”

“Oh no, never. I have a much better fashion sense than that! Besides, they are almost gone. You won't need my help much longer, so let me enjoy this, will you?”

“Oh, okay, get as fancy as you want.” You conceded.

“Just remember, you gave me permission!” He said swiftly, the emerald glitter of magic sparking from his hands.

“Okay...” You said, staring at all the flowing, green gauze and shining jewels in the mirror. “That's...a bit much.”

“You said as fancy as I wanted!” Loki pouted. “You said-”

“I know!” You cut him off. He certainly was the youngest child, wasn't he?

“I think you look lovely.” Saldis said, but the giggle was still there, behind her words. “Like a high-born lady.”

“But I'm not!” You protested. You weren't sure why you were so uncomfortable with being dressed like a princess, but it made you feel dangerously fake. Like an undeserving impostor that would insult all the real noblewomen.

Why did that matter? You were well aware that, having grown up poor, you had been bombarded with covert propaganda to make you believe that you didn't deserve better. But here, you had been shown just how dangerous an offended noble could be. Loki might be trying to impress you, but you weren't impressing his subjects.

“You are just as important as any Lady in our court.” Loki said firmly. “You must believe it, and own it. You are just as good as they are. You hold a place of supreme importance. In my entourage.”

“And besides, with his new reputation as Tyr's-bane, people will think twice about raising their precious hands to you.” Saldis interjected. “They are such a limited resource.”

“All right you impudent little thing.” Loki said. “You have other duties to attend to, do you not?”

“I can think of a few things, your Highness.” Saldis said, graciously taking her leave.

You still stared into the mirror, trying to recognize yourself. Your face, your clothes, all the jewels, all so different than the usual you. He'd even given you a tiara, for goodness sake, made of golden flowers, crusted with colorful jewels. Was this what Asgardian women wore in the prime of the realm's power and success?

It felt almost obscene.

Loki stood behind you, hands on your shoulders. “Does it really make you that uncomfortable? Do you not find these things beautiful?”

“I do, but...you know, all my jewelry was cheap plastic, all my clothes were clearance, almost everything I owned was just...” You trailed off.

“Prosperity...troubles you?” He asked, brow wrinkled in confusion.

“No, no, I'm just not used to it, that's all. Shouldn't these things go towards funding the rebuilding?”

“Oh, my darling. You are such a caring and generous soul. But we cannot sell every cultural artifact, now can we? Would we not lose some important part of ourselves in the process of commodifying our culture?”

“Oh. Well...”

“Besides, most of this is illusory anyway. I just thought you might feel better being stuck in that chair if you were also sparkling with riches at the same time.” A wave of his hand, and most of the gold was gone, tiara included. The green gauze remained, flowing over your figure like a wave.

“I could really get used to seeing you like this.” Loki said softly. “Could you?”

“Are you really the same guy who pulled me out of a bog half a year ago?” You asked jokingly.

Loki smiled brightly, with a slight shake of his head.

“No.” He said.

#lasabrjotr #loki x reader #loki (marvel)

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shadysadie · 5 years

Text

The level of how fast and loose corporations blatantly disregard human life is staggering to me.

The planet is on fire, the coral reef is dead, and we have garbage patches in the oceans that are quickly becoming the size of continents. But really, to me though things have always kind of difficult to fully comprehend. Maybe because there are so many players involved so its harder to point fingers, maybe it's because that scale is so big I can't wrap my head around it, or maybe it's just too far away.

But I live in Superior, WI. Last year the oil refinery in town started on fire.

The first explosion happened around 10 in the morning and since the daycare I work at was so less than half a mile away our whole building shook like a semi landed on the roof. Bookshelves fell over, toddlers fell over, things fell off tables, one of the dramatic pre-schoolers yelled, "We're all going to die!"

We told the kids a dragon had landed on our roof, what else were we going to say? We had twenty panicking pre-schoolers and no idea what had just happened. We figured it out pretty quickly, a coworker and I went outside to see what happened and already there was a giant mushroom cloud.

We all spent most of that morning watching the news on our phones because surely there was going to be directions to tell schools and childcare facilities what to do right? Nope. Well, okay, technically there was, but the directions were, 'don't panic, don't evacuate, everything is under control.'

Surprise, things were not under control. By 1pm here were 3 more explosions, all way bigger and louder than the first. FINALLY, we get word that yeah, maybe we should evacuate after all. A mandatory evacuation zone is established in a 3 mile radius of the refinery. At this point they inform the public, by the way, the fire is right now only burning oil, but its right next to a tank full of hydroflouric acid and if that catches fire it will completely wipe out everything within a 10 mile radius. Comforting to know when your stuck in a building less than a mile away full of small children.

Obviously staff couldn't leave until kids left because we didn't have any way to transport them anywhere safer, but my boss made sure to send the staff members with children of their own off right away. My wife was picking up our girls from their school's evac site, so I stayed with my boss and one other coworker until we were down.

The roads became gridlocked really fast so it took about two hours for most parents to arrive (Superior is small, so it usually takes 15 mins or less to get from one side to another) But after two hours we were still left with 3 brothers, a baby, a toddler, and a pre-schooler. At that point my boss decided we NEEDED to leave, the parking lot was covered in thick, black smoke and it became clear if we stayed we would not be able to escape at all. So we packed the kids into her car, (figuring it didn't matter that she didn't have car seats, traffic was going 2mph anyways) and headed out. I found out later that the boys' single mother couldn't get off work to get them. She worked at Wal-Mart, and even though it was inside the evac zone the employees couldn't leave without permission from corporate. Corporate did not grant permission at any point. Employees who left during this were fired and blacklisted, same with people who didn't show up to their shifts. In one case that meant a mother had to choose between leaving her kids in a cloud of poisonous gas or not being able to feed them, but luckily my boss is not a monster.

I eventually make it to my wife and kids and we head out of town, here's a picture from the top of the hill in the next town over, about 15 miles away.

We went to my friends farm in the country to stay and watch the news coverage. The fire went into the night and got to the point fire fighters couldn't even get close enough to combat it. There were fire balls, literal fire balls the size of cars, shooting out of it. We were safe, but we still knew a lot of people who couldn't get out. Like our elderly neighbors who we had to leave behind because Ma was too sick to get from the bed to the car. It was the longest, scariest day of my life.

Eventually the national guard showed up and got the fire out, they did manage to keep the hydroflouric from combusting, so after a couple of days we could go home. They told us everything was fine, but we knew they weren't being completely honest. The tap water tasted weird after that, it still does. It leaves a strange filmly feeling in your mouth and somehow makes your mouth feel drier after drinking it, but so far it hasn't killed us so I still drink it. Lung problems were rampant that year, particularly with children. All the babies and toddlers had constant chest infections all through the rest of spring and summer. Pre-schoolers did a little better but they still all sounded like a group of 80-year-old chainsmokers. A year and a half on and that's pretty much cleared up, though there's a huge spike in kids with asthma. Doctor's assure us its probably unrelated. Rashes are another thing that increased in prevalence. Big tough, splotchy, dry patches. But they don't hurt, they're just ugly.

We found out the fire started because a bunch of safety protocols had recently been abolished to make the plant more efficient. Husky Oil paid us for lost wages during the evac as well as money spent on hotels, gas, and food but so far they've refused to acknowledge any responsiblity for the strange health conditions nor have they put any money into studying the long term health affects of the fire on the citizens.

Today I found out that the plant is reopening and they still plan on using hydroflouric acid in their operations. I can not express how deeply disgusted I am by this. That day felt like being in Hell (truly, fire and brimstone Hell) and now I find out the company learned nothing from it. They are 100% okay with sacrificing our town (which by the way is named Superior because it is on the tip of Lake Superior, the biggest source of fresh water in North America, and connected directly with the other four Great Lakes, so NOT a lake we want to fuck up) to make a profit.

I might not be able to fathom the severity of global climate change, mass extinction, or garbage continents because my brain is unable to comprehend a scale that large. But I can share with you an example of one very dramatic event with a very clear culprit to highlight the complete lack of responsiblity and human decency that corporate America has. That we allow them to have.

#corporate #america #environment #enviromental #superior #lake superior #true story #long post #oil companies #husky oil refinery

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thorne93 · 5 years

Text

12 Days of Christmas (Baking Cookies with Thor)

Prompt: December 14 Baking for Christmas with Thor turns into something unexpected...

Word Count: 1352

Warnings: language... maybe??

Notes: First Thor fic, platonic, for the Marvelous Christmas Challenge @until-theend-oftheline @like-a-bag-of-potatoes.... Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes and @carryonmyswansong (thank you both, very much).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh my god,” you gasped. “So much powdered sugar,” you remarked as you pulled out every ingredient you needed to make your treats. On the menu was cupcakes, cookies, and cake pops. You shook your head as Tony walked in, eyeing the goods.

“You’re really gonna make all of this?”

“Yes, why not? It’s Christmas,” you reminded him. You were the resident baker around the compound. Whenever it was someone's birthday, you were the one who whipped up a cake, cookie, or cupcakes. Everything always turned out moist, flavorful, and beautiful by the time you were done. You absolutely loved to bake and watch how people’s faces lit up as they bit into your baked goods.

“You’re either nuts or you have a heart the size of a building,” he mocked slightly. “Well, have fun. I’m going shopping with Pepper. Need anything while I’m out?”

You shook your head. “Nah, I’m good. Thank you though.”

“Alright,” he said. He patted the granite countertop. “Have fun. Clean up when you’re done. I don’t want to come home to a total pigsty.”

At his request, you nodded and rolled your eyes. “I know, I know. It’ll be clean.”

He flashed a smile and carried himself out of the kitchen. As far as you knew, Wanda was out with Clint getting his family gifts. Steve and Sam were out looking for a tree and decorations. Natasha was… well you didn’t know where she was. Thor was somewhere in the compound, probably training.

You got underway, beginning to bake the cupcakes first since they needed to cool for their icing. Only twenty minutes had passed and you were just getting the first batch into the oven. You wiped your forehead, realizing this was going to take all day long.

Suddenly, Thor showed up in the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge.

“Ah, hello,” he greeted sweetly.

You and Thor weren’t… close. You had nothing against the god, or even his brother for that fact. But you two never really got a chance to talk. You were closest to Steve and Clint on the team. It just seemed that whenever Thor entered the room, he was so imposing and impressive, you just clammed up, not wanting to sound like an idiot in front of him.

“Hey,” you greeted kindly back as you looked at the recipe again to start over with your next batch of cupcakes. “Training?” you inquired.

“Yes. I feel rejuvenated,” he boasted with a wide grin.

“Oh, I’m glad,” you sweetly said.

Small talk, that’s all you got. He was kind, you were sweet, but the conversation never went any deeper. He always seemed to be in a hurry, and you never knew what to say.

“What are you doing?” he asked, gesturing to all the dry ingredients, milk, eggs, and oil.

“Baking goodies for Christmas,” you informed happily. “Some for us, and some for the kids at the hospital with cancer, and some for the homeless shelter.”

“That seems like a large undertaking.”

You nodded, smiling. “It is, but it’s a labor of love.”

Thor took a step closer to the giant island. “Well, how do you do this?”

“Bake?”

He nodded.

“It’s easy. You pretty much mix your wet ingredients, while they’re mixing get your dry mixed together, then you slowly incorporate them. Once everything is all mixed together, you get them in the correct container. Cupcakes in liners, cakes in cake pans, cookies rolled into balls and put on a sheet…” you told him, trailing off as he nodded.

“Would you like any help?” he wondered.

You beamed up at him, shocked. Thor, in the kitchen? Seemed… out of place.

“Yeah, sure. I’d love some. I have a lot to do. Are you sure? I don’t want to keep you from something you have to do or something…”

He shook his head and smiled. “Nonsense. I’m happy to help. Just point me in the right direction.”

A large grin popped on your face as you looked up at him. “Okay. Let me see. Can you measure out a cup of flour for me?” you asked while pointing to the measuring cup.

Thor nodded and began measuring. He did splendid. Other than telling him what some ingredients were, he was a great help and after two hours, fifty cupcakes had been made, and the cookies were finishing up. Next, you were about to start working on the cake pops.

“May I ask you a question?”

“Sure, Thor. Ask me anything you want,” you encouraged, wanting to be closer to the Asgardian.

“Why do you do this?”

“Bake?”

He shrugged and bobbed his head side to side. “Well, bake for all these people. You don’t know them… This is a lot of work.”

You frowned, chewing your lip. “Why do you protect Earth? You only know like ten humans. It’s the same thing. You think people should be happy, safe, protected. You want to help those who can’t help themselves… Well, for me, I love all of you on this team. You have my back, you lift me up, make me a better person. I sort of see this as a way of giving back. If I can make you smile and feel good for just a few minutes while eating a little treat, then I want to…. The children in cancer wards…” You shook your head. “What do they have? Their lives are full of wires, sterilization, pain, missing their family. To know a stranger out there took their time out to bring them a treat, that someone cares about them, maybe it’ll bring a little bit of joy to their day… The homeless… What else do they have? This might be one good thing they have during the holidays, and I’d like to give that.”

Thor nodded, leaning against the bar.

“That’s very kind and noble of you.”

“That’s our job, isn’t it? To make the world a little less crappy, one action at a time?” you quietly asked, almost rhetorically.

Thor smiled fondly at this.

“And what made you want to bake to begin with?”

You sighed, leaning against the opposite counter. “I suppose my family. I grew up without grandparents, but my parents told me all about my grandmother who slaved over a hot stove in a kitchen just to make these individual chocolates for all of her children and their spouses, and their kids. My aunt used to make us caramels every Christmas and send them to us. They were the best caramels you ever tasted…” A smile of adoration touched your lips, as you remembered your aunt. “Baking, cooking… It reminds me of the holidays. My dad in the kitchen, the smells. Learning tricks and trades of how to get the perfect turkey or how to make the perfect pie… It reminds me of being with family, doing something fun.”

Thor listened intently. You shrugged.

“I just wanted to be like the people in my family who put their heart and soul into making something sweet, something unique, for the ones they loved. I feel like it connects us and maybe it would make them proud… Sort of silly,” you said with a slight laugh.

“Nothing is silly about honoring your family. I think it’s very admirable.” He reached forward and his large hand clapped down on your shoulder, making you slightly yelp. “You’re a good person, Y/F/N.”

“Thanks, Thor,” you softly replied, looking up at him. “So are you.”

He pulled his hand away and then clapped, rubbing them together. “Alright, what’s next?”

“If you want to mix the cake pops, I’ll start on icing the cupcakes.”

“That sounds divine to me,” he remarked, grinning at you.

From that moment on, Thor saw you in a new light. He thought of you as a kind, selfless soul. Often gravitating towards you, and wanting to talk to you. He found you fascinating and sweet and before long, he saw you as a little sister, and you saw him as a big brother. The two of you became fast friends, close at the heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forever Tag:

@essie1876

@magpiegirl80

@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked

@iamwarrenspeace

@marvel-imagines-yes-please

@superwholocked527

@missinstantgratification

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@sea040561

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@thisismysecrethappyplace

@sarahp879

@malfoysqueen14

@ellallheart

@breezy1415

Christmas Tag List:

@stooch-betch

#baking with thor #thor x reader #avengers #thor odinson #thor fic #thor odinson fic #Kari and Ida’s 12 days of MCU Christmas

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fattygraves · 5 years

Text

Nashville

My weekend did not have a proud start. On my 8:30pm flight to Nashville, I was exhausted. When exhausted, I also feel frisky and cuddly. This was not helped by the fact that I was flying next to a man who was the epitome of Canadian masculinity—avid winter sportsman with rough hands and rugged opinions. What magnificent hands he had. He was married with children, but we were flirting heavily anyway. I told you– I’m not proud. There was a lot of wonderfully unnecessary leg-touching. We sat in the back of the plane and ended up creating a little foursome with a Norwegian oil-worker, an obese southern health care worker, Renee (the masculine Canadian), and me, a wide-eyed woman in finance. I landed in Nashville at 9:30pm & was ready for bed, but ended up taking an Uber with Renee to his hotel in the opposite direction of my brother’s workplace. We thought the two locations were close. And, we were having too much fun flirting to double-check. I told myself it was innocent. I’m still not sure it was.

We dropped Renee at his hotel, where he hovered, saying nothing but looking at me like I look at Pizza when I’m on a diet. Then he disappeared to his room alone. We didn’t even hug goodbye because I think we both realized we were playing with regrettable fire. Renee didn’t seem to want to be the kind of man who’d do that to his wife. I didn’t want to be the kind of woman who would do that either. My hormones made me sullen, and my mind made me ashamed. So that’s how I felt when I went to wait for my brother at the bar of his restaurant/bar workplace, Bastion.

The cocktails were good and I quickly found these young artist-looking bucks. Amid joking with one that I really liked, two women walked between us and sat down. They said my brother had sent them over. Food industry friends of his, apparently. And they said “you’re welcome” for saving me from the weirdo with whom I was talking. My face did not inch towards smiling at that comment. I liked the weirdo and his too-big glasses and greasy hair. I liked him a lot. I made a salty comment about how Alex must not know me at all to send over two women to keep me company in a room of strangers because I love strangers. They were staying for good at this point as they had bought drinks, and I decided against being awkward or miserable. I definitely didn’t want to embarrass my brother, which is easy for me to do as we are polar opposites in almost every regard. So, I decided to enjoy being with them. Besides, everyone is interesting if you dig, I reminded myself. So I dug. And they were interesting. We talked post-baby bodies and post-baby shirt-on sex. Tracy, my favorite between the two, called herself corn-fed a couple times, which I learned is the same as calling yourself a heifer with a smile.

Alex took me to Attaboy after that. It’s a gorgeous bar. It’s secretive and stripped down and makes you want to curl into someone’s arm and swim around so deep in their gaze that you nearly drown smiling. I can tell you the cocktail I drank was a work of art and the people’s faces were flesh-colored, but that’s it. Because after the initial impression, I flopped myself over the bar and nearly fell asleep. I remember one thing—the male bartender was married to a man and had a beard. But that’s not distinguishing because in Nashville every man who can grow a beard grows his goddamn beard.

Thursday Thursday Thursday. I woke up alone on Thursday morning on the pull-out bed of my brother’s new house. He was sleeping at his old house as his bed was still there. He would be moving into his new home later in the day. I called him and asked if he’d be alright to meet at 2pm because I had a whim to try out Kundalini yoga. The opportunity for alone time seemed to be a relief for him. So, I threw on my tennis shoes and jogged at a tortoise-like pace for 6.2 miles to the nearest Kundalini yoga class.

I’ll give you two words to sum up my experience there: Asshole surgery. Unexpected, right? I thought so too. But that’s what we talked about after class. You see, Kundalini Kate (as I began to call her) was a 30-something yoga student who spent the ENTIRE yoga class talking, coughing, crying, belching, complaining about nausea, complaining about heartache, and farting. This is not from illness. Oh no. This is how she is at every single class and how she has been at every single class FOR FOUR YEARS. This is just her spiritual journey physicalizing itself, they explained— just like a guy who had three asshole surgeries. THREE surgeries on his sphincter, and this was an apparently healthy part of healing his soul. I was dissuaded from Kundalini by this point because if being healthy means asshole surgery, bring on the refined carbs. Nonetheless, it was a beautiful thing to see the genuine acceptance of our yoga teacher who, by the way, calls herself a Catholic Mystic and could not believe more in every aspect of Catholicism and every aspect of Kundalini Yoga. Did you know we all have ten selves and some of those selves are in love with people who we loved from other lives? I didn’t. Apparently, we should all recognize this truth to better understand ourselves. For example, she’s married but just knows she was in the deepest of loves with a man in another life and in another self but he is, in this life, a very wise practitioner of evil black magic and also a kundalini yogi. She’s also a spiritual shapeshifter, appearing as different people depending on the circumstance. I got in my Uber at this point because I had to meet my brother to help him move some boxes, but I bet there was a whole lot more.

That night, Alex had me set up to get the tasting menu at Bastion. Eating at Bastion is more spiritual than a gospel choir. God! I didn’t realize food could be like this. It was art. Art is honestly boring a lot of the time, but then you’ll hear that one song or watch that one movie or see that one painting and it stops you… like your scarf catching in a car door. This was the night I learned that food can do that to you. Soup from a can is so depressing to me now. I keep getting hungry and eating crap like that anyway, which makes me feel a little sad and frustrated. So, I think I’ll start cooking. I mean, if it doesn’t make me feel something, if it doesn’t have some intimacy and care to it, my new Foodie religion teaches me that I should wait until I can make or find something artful.

After dinner, I went to the bar in Bastion to wait for Alex to get off work. This is when I met Joey. Oh boy. If I wanted a man who was a relationship guy, it’d be him. He’s a good 4 inches shorter than me, slightly chubby, bearded (surprise), and he just sparkles. He loves people, and people love him. He zipped around behind the bar, but it felt like he was strolling around instead. He lingered and peered into each person’s soul just a bit when he handed them their drinks. He listened well. He made drinks well. He felt good in every single way a person can. Almost. You know how being on the ledge of a skyscraper, holding someone’s hand makes you feel? That’s a damn good feeling, but he doesn’t feel like that. He feels like that Attaboy bar did. He makes me want to curl up and swim in his gaze and in his arms. He’s safe, beautifully safe.

Okay, now Friday sweet Friday. My brother and I started the day at Barista Parlor. It’s a gorgeous, open coffee shop tucked away in a big garage with high ceilings, white shelves full of records, chic yet simple design, and hipsters everywhere. The coffee was good. I mean next level good. It’s famously ridiculed for the care it gives to its beans, its roasting, and its pour-over technique. But that coffee is the best in the nation. My brother was distant and irritable at first, as he had to deal with some personal finance stuff. So, I sat at the big hand-crafted wooden table tapping my fingers and looking around uncomfortably since he clearly didn’t want me to be there with him, but I had no escape. I turned from bitter to giddy when I realized that I could just get an Uber out of there. I suggested this with glee which offended him, so I stayed there, tapping my fingers. After he ate something and had coffee, he was all smiles. Not smiles, I suppose, more so smirks. But, he was definitely happier. He showed me this 3D wine map he created, which must have taken between a hundred and two hundred hours and was wildly impressive to say the least.

That night, we had dinner at a place called Rolf and Daughters, a rustic high class restaurant where we ordered nearly everything on the menu and tried different wines with each of the foods to see how they paired. It was really fun, actually. My brother finally sighed and said, “Okay. See, now I feel okay.” His month had been hectic and he was nobly trying his best to be present and kind, but the guy needed a break.

The meal was good. The conversation was better. My brother was honest about his perspective. He’s still upset about how distant and not nurturing our parents were and frustrated with their attempts to be close and nurturing now. Too little too late, he said. I said I wanted a relationship with them because they are fantastic people, albeit not so interested in being classic parents, and that I didn’t really care that they were reasonably absent in our childhood. He didn’t feel the same. That makes sense though. He has trouble seeing beyond the purity of ideas—He is an idealist to his core, worshiping the thoughtful, thorough, and pure. That means the titles “Mom” and “Dad” are more important than the individuals to whom the titles belong. If you’re a Mom, be a mom. If you’re a Dad, be a dad. I imagine this love of purity is what causes his frequent frustration with the world. No one is pure. Pure isn’t even definable.

He also told me to slow the fuck down. As I talked about my career and how much I loved working and wanted to progress, he just said, “That’s good… but slow down.” That was it. That was the whole conversation about my work. Just “slow down.” He was right. I changed my perspective almost instantaneously. I don’t need to be staring at the future all the time. It makes me feel inadequate to not yet be there. The stuff of life however is the right here, right now, person-to-person aliveness, isn’t it? That’s where the best surprises are. They’re right now, with you, right here. Smell the roses and all that. The rest of the dinner doesn’t matter really. Except the sourdough noodles. Damn, those were good.

After dinner, we went to the LCD Soundsystem concert. This is where I met Matt.

Matt and I met because of two things: One, my brother knew and loved him already because they are both top-of-class alcohol people. (My brother, wine. Matt, cocktails and some wine.) And two, he was dancing more wildly than anyone else at the venue, arms flailing, head banging, knees bending, eyes often closed, which drew me like a similarly flailing magnet. I stared smiling at his black skinny almost-handlebar mustache when my brother introduced us. The wonderful weirdo. Matt’s brother danced just like Matt. I joined in with them instantly, and Matt was downright amazed by this. The rest of the audience members were bobbing their heads to the ethereal rock tunes. It felt surreal, like we were floating on the eerie beats. The three of us, Matt, his brother, and I continued on with the head-banging and body-thrashing until the lights came up and the stage was cleared. I didn’t think much about his affection that night. I was not thinking about anything besides having as much fun as possible. And of course, I interspersed my flailing with scanning for Joey.

He was there too, Joey. And I only had eyes for him all night. 5 of us squeezed into a compact Uber car after the show—his short arm was forced around me and my big ass was forced on top of him. We both mentioned that we liked the arrangement. My brother was in the front seat. The Uber driver said, “Well, everybody’s squeezed in here pretty awkwardly.” My brother replied while chuckling, “Yeah, but it’s not as awkward as one of my best friends and my sister blatantly flirting in front of me.” This is the closest to protective I’ve ever seen him. It was surprising for us both I think.

Joey sure can hold his own in a crowd. Everyone adores him and he adores everyone. He’s short, but refuses to stand above people when they talk to him from a chair anyway. He always squats down to get on their level. I saw him do this multiple times. He just seems inherently humble and confident. Joey is a man to fall in love with. He’s a guy who I’d want my genes to mix with. He’s a guy who’d love well and parent kids well. He’s a partner kind of guy. I say all this after onle two days of knowing him, so I’m very likely wrong. Why do we do that? Make all these fantasies and plans with so little foundation to base them on.

I’m not really good for people like that. I realized this fact with my traveling of late. I love adventure and freedom and opportunity and flirting. I’ve been trying to find the perfect regimen of food and sleep and exercise for my mental health. Yet, enjoying life with all its booze, calories, and people leaves me beaming for days. So does being curled around this computer alone, typing to you in darkness. There’s a balance. But balance is so annoying to try to strike. Extremes, baby. That’s where the fun lives.

There’s one more person you need to meet from Friday. He has a first name, but he lied about what it was six times in a row so I don’t know what it is, but everyone just calls him Finney.

Finney is Alex’s manic-depressive addict ex-roommate. They lived together 3 years ago, and the experience was equal parts hilarious and hellish. Finney says more lies than truths because facts about himself (where are you from, what do you do, etc.) are not worthy of being shared in his mind. I don’t think he thinks that people actually want to know those things. Or maybe he thinks that if they do care about those things, they’re idiots because those things don’t matter. Maybe he’s right. And maybe we only want to know those things so we can decide if someone is worth knowing more deeply. Maybe he’s afraid no one will want to know him once they see he’s just as human as they are.

He said he had been in the Navy, Law school, and about 3 other false professions I can’t remember. I can’t tell you where he’s from because he gave too many different stories to too many different people. I can’t tell you what he does currently for work or what his musical preferences are as he pretended to both love and hate about every genre mentioned. I can only tell you how he felt— that was the one thing he was honest about. I know he really liked a girl named Jacqueline that night and was sad that she didn’t seem to end up liking him all that much. I can tell you that he was uncomfortable when a couple people didn’t laugh at his jokes and that he was annoyed by some man’s bro vibes at the party we went to after the concert. He was so loudly himself and so relentlessly mocking of the world around him that he made almost everyone shift uncomfortably. I really liked him, hilarious hellion that he was. I really really did.

And so did my brother, funnily enough. He likes eccentrics too, it seems. They make him smile like a dog with his head out the window. He so thoroughly enjoys the ride.

Saturday. Okay. Buckle up.

My brother and I had brunch with Tony, the 33-year-old charming horndog and Sarah, the 22-year-old sexy bundle of substances. Tony owns the house my brother moved out of over the weekend. That’s how we spent our daylight hours—moving my brother from Tony’s house to Jordan’s. Tony was, that very day, moving back into my brother’s old room from LA. And he brought Sarah along for the road trip because, as my brother eloquently put it, “he needed someone to keep his dick wet.” This is maybe a heinous thing to say but it was also accurate. We picked them up at 10:30am, and she was already drunk. She was maybe 95 pounds, glossy-haired, manicured, tanned, and scantily clad. Her most redeeming quality was her wide flat box of a nose.

She bobbed into the car and said a slurred comment about her star sign and Nashville and how happy she was to be here. Five minutes later, I kid you not, she asked, “Hey… where are we?” Alex laughed and said, “You mean, where in Nashville?” To which she responded, “OH! We’re IN Nashville. Wow. I can’t believe I’m in Nashville. I really like you guys so much. You know that? And Tonty loves Nashville so much. Do you guys call him Tonty here too? Ton. Tee. Tonty Tonty.” She rubbed herself all over him while giggling before he put her back in her spot like a child who escaped her car seat. She went back to smiling blankly out her window.

The meal we shared with them was delicious beyond words. We went to Urban Cowboy, which is a B&B that has a restaurant considered a food industry secret—everyone worth their salt in the food industry is in love with the Urban Cowboy brunch menu. We ordered the whole menu to share. Sarah didn’t experience this lovable brunch because she only ate the grapes, which were grilled. The fact they were grilled surprised her every time she ate one. All 6 times. I know this number because she mentioned that they were too warm every time she put one in her mouth to which I would respond, “Yes, they’re grilled.” To which she would go blank for a bit and then reply, “It’s weird that they’re warm, right?” I sounded like a tired caretaker of an Alzheimer’s patient by the end of the meal, at which point she was 4 tequila shots and one cocktail in, this added to whatever she was hopped up on before the meal.

When we dropped Tony (or Tonty as Sarah was still relentlessly singing) and Sarah off, Sarah told us to maybe text later, but definitely much later, because they’d be “fucking for like four hours.” Then, she giggled and stumbled into the house on Tony’s arm. As soon as that house door closed, my brother and I laughed the kind of uncontrollable laughs that only come when you’re making fun of someone. It’s sad that making fun of someone can be that fun, but damn, it really is. We drove off with giant guffaws, aching sides, and needle-sharp jokes.

That night, my brother and I bought prosciutto and basil pizza by-the-slice at this place called Five Points Pizza, where the chefs all had tattoos and casually flung pizza crusts in the air with cool smiles on their faces. We bought a bottle of wine, went home, and fell asleep watching Rick & Morty nestled into our individual spaces on the L-shaped couch, empty wine glasses and pizza crusts discarded around us.

I woke up at 11:30pm and asked my brother if he wanted to go to Matt’s big after-party for the fancy chef-centric event at the baseball stadium. I can’t remember what the Nashville team name is, but it was a Major League. Who cares about their name though? My brother said he’d do what I wanted and I said I’d do what he wanted and after a couple rounds of that I said, “If I wasn’t here, what would you do?”

He responded with, “I’d honestly go to bed. These last few weeks are catching up to me.”

“Perfect!” I said, “I’ll grab an Uber over and you go to sleep.” I threw the last of the pizza crusts in my mouth, gussied myself up, and ordered an Uber.

The Uber driver was a large, white, bald Iranian man who was thrilled to hear that I was visiting from Chicago because he loved the movie Chicago, the “beautiful, beautiful” movie Chicago. He said that the movie taught him not to “mess up with Chicago women, because Chicago women are dangerous. In a good way, they are dangerous. The most dangerous women– Chicago women.“ He then told me I look like Catherine Zeta-Jones, which I very clearly do not. The compliment made me feel powerful and gorgeous anyway.

I bounded out of the car to a dwindling after-party crowd. It was five minutes past the stadium’s closure for the night (meaning, the after party was supposed to be over) and they were ushering everyone out. I plowed right past the exiting numbers with my arms flung up in the air like I was Dolly of Hello, Dolly herself. Matt waved and sidled his way out of his conversation, but Tracy got to me first. Yeah, you’ve read her name before. She’s the corn-fed woman my brother sent over to greet me the first night I was in Nashville. We had a witty but forgettable conversation, because both of us were too distracted by the small Filipino guy dancing intently to the DJ. He was the only one dancing. And when the DJ stopped and began to pack up, he continued dancing. Drugs were very present this evening for him, I think.

The DJ group called themselves Sparkle City Disco and they were composed of three young men whose individual personalities had no hope of living up to the personalities of their clothes. They played disco music on vinyl only and accompanied the music with a series of flashing retro neon lights. I met all three of them but talked most with Jonas. He had a tight lil butt and high fashion overalls and gorgeous hair and thick-rimmed glasses. He talked to me slowly with his southern drawl, a crooked smile that wouldn’t quit, and the sweetest eyes. He told me about how he co-owned a pizzeria with a recovering drug addict, and I smiled at him like he was the most beautiful soul I’d ever met. The DJ’s and the chefs packed into cars to go to Matt’s brother’s place at 1:00am or so. They were running out of space so Matt suggested I ride with him on his scooter. I adored the idea and skipped and danced my way to the two wheels of fuel-efficient freedom.

The scooter looked like a motocross bike but was under 50 cc’s and had a horn that sounded like a kid’s toy. The horn gave him so much pleasure that he could not stop giggling when he honked it, which must have been 50 times in the 15 minutes we rode. When we were climbing on, he put the only helmet on my head and tied the strap under my chin because the snap was broken. When he did that, he kissed me on my mouth/cheek, which took me by surprise so I responded by saying “ohwoah. I didn’t realize… I would’ve…” but I stopped my sentence there because I didn’t know what I would have done. He smiled but otherwise didn’t respond. We just climbed on and rode, the slightly drunk Matt and I. Yes, I agree that was a dumb move. What a glorious ride that was though. That was the way to see the city—in the quiet 1:00am glow, whipping through the wind with my hands around his torso, resting on the small pouch of stomach fat over his otherwise muscular body. I breathed in deeply, just to smell the warmth of him. Ah, men. Yum.

Matt made me feel good in a dangerous way, like death might be a consequence of loving him. He listens to albums from beginning to end without distraction, often on vinyl. He has a typewriter, which he frequently uses. He talked about kindness and how he tried to train clients of his restaurant to be kinder, which seemed ironically patronizing to me. He spoke of politics only from the perspective of the heart. He talked music and food and drink and people only when he loved them, and oh man did he love the things he talked about. He also had a lot of idealistic arguments about how one should live life that did not make a lot of sense. His arguments weren’t arguments really though. They were impassioned perspectives. Beautiful little flimsy boats floating along without any motors or sails, boats that I liked looking at too much to bare filling them with holes.

He also offered me cocaine, an offer that I politely declined. Actually, I confidently and rudely declined, now that I think about it. I just laughed outright and said no without hesitation, which does retrospectively explain why he got sheepish immediately after the rejection and then said “yeah… yeah. Me either.” He then remarked, “Sometimes you want to be a nut. Sometimes you want to not be a nut. I’ve learned that when I want to be a nut, I have to tone it back.”

He was an angel-headed hipster through and through, wasn’t he? That Allen Ginsburg descriptor just rolled around and around in my mind like one of those carnival tilt-a-whirls that I almost killed myself on as a kid. When I was 6 or something, I tried to climb out of one of those and my dad about lost his own life trying to get on and stop me from committing self-inflicted manslaughter. All I remember is feeling sick and also angry that Dad wouldn’t just walk through the metal death trap and save me like Jesus on water. It’s so funny how confident we all were that our dads once had biblical superpowers.

During my discussion with Matt, the Sparkle City Disco DJ’s had brought in their whole set up. Flashing neon lights were transforming the white walls to lime green to blue to pink. Old disco records spun on the vintage DJ record table and filled the crates piled around the couch. There was plenty of room for the whole DJ setup too because Matt’s brother’s house, a large proper house, mind you, not an apartment, was nearly empty. Books were stacked here and there. A small couch sat in the middle. Otherwise, nothing. Just a house full of disco records, bearded chefs, and me. One of the chefs I talked to practiced Jiu Jitsu in his off time. He taught me how to choke him out and then tried to trick me into full-on knocking him out with a sleeper hold.

I talked more with Jonas, the DJ with the tight little butt, about his pizzeria before getting swept away by Matt again, that Angel Head. But that didn’t stop Jonas from tying to kiss me at the end of the night, which I was too surprised by to even know if I’d want to return the affection.

When the clock hit 3:15am, I left the party, took an Uber to get my bag at my brother’s, and then took another Uber to the airport, boarding my plane at 4:30am. I fell asleep immediately upon sitting down in the airplane, a smile plastered on my face.

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myheroacaoc · 6 years

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Part II

Surina implements her savings plan immediately The next day she starts by sending her assistant home for the rest of the week. She only buys enough fresh food to cook for her mother and eats on the cheap herself. Fortunately no one has yet to complain about the thin tasting tea as she stretches out the leaves. By the end of the first day, Surina is exhausted and her stomach is grumbling in protest as she cooks her mothers dinner.

"Have you heard from your brother, " her mother calls from the dining room. The question makes Surina flinch, a reaction she is thankful wasn't visible to her mother.

"No Mom," she calls over her shoulder. Technically she hadn't- she had only spoken to his Agents, so it wasn't quite a lie. Surina preferred to keep her mother in the dark about the villain mantle he had taken up. She typically is not comfortable with lying, but with her mother in such a fragile state Surina certainly didn't want to add to that stress.

Setting the plate in front of her mother, Surina sits across from her with her own bland dinner.

"Not feeling well again," her mother inquires, as her gaze falls upon her daughter's plate.

Surina takes a bite and nods, chewing deliberately so as to not have to answer. "Is it because you didn't get a visit from that weirdo you like?"

"M-mom?! H-he isn't a 'weirdo'..." Surina pushes the rice on her plate around, "And how can I like someone I've just met?"

"Oh, I don't know," her mother teases, "But don't think I didn't see you make a beeline to him the other day."

Surina's gaze falls towards the window overlooking the front of the shop. Of course she'd be watching... "The best way to bring in new customers is to go out there and get them yourself," she replies, "He came in a few days ago to buy some loose leaf too. So I'd say it worked out well."

"Pfff," her mom vocalizes her disapproval, "You should know that the money is in the single servings we sell and not by selling the leaves."

Surina restrains herself from rolling her eyes in front of her mom.

"Your brother knew better," her mother chided.

"Yes, and we both wish he were here rather than... doing whatever it is he's up to." Surina avoids her mothers gaze, focusing on her meal.

The rest of their dinner passes in silence, with Surina cleaning the dishes as her mother shuffles off to her room to get ready for bed.

"Do you need anything," Surina asks, poking her head into her mother's room.

The frail woman is already in bed, her reading glasses perched on the thin bridge of her nose, reading the latest horror anthology.

"No, dear, jut get yourself some sleep."

Surina nods and leaves her. The apartment above the cafe is small, but comfortable. Her mother lives in the single bedroom while Surina has claimed a part of the living room by sectioning a portion off with paper screens. She pulls out a comfortable pair of pajamas from her drawer and heads to take a bath.

So Mom thinks I like him, hm? The faucets creaks loudly as she twists it on, the hot water taking it's time in coming. She pours a bit of lavender oil in, before taking her time to settle in.

I don't have time to like anyone. She dismisses the thought, though it doesn't go away. Toshinori's face swims in her minds eye. Sure, he was kind, but she didn't really know him at all. And now that he's buying the loose leaf tea, he won't be coming around as often. Surina sighs, a little frustrated that she cares, before sinking under the warm water. The surrounding warmth muffles the noise around her, calming her mind.

The next day goes by in a daze. Her small breakfast half the size of normal so she could eat the other portion for lunch.

That's at least a few bucks saved, she sighs as she pushes the food around her plate. It's finally quiet enough for her to take a break, and she is more than grateful for the opportunity to get off of her feet. As she sits on a stool at the counter, the door rustles open.

Damnit, she stifles a sigh and stands, turning to her visitor with a smile.

"Toshinori! Hi," she sits back down with relief, "Anything I can get for you?"

He smiles too, taking up the stool beside her.

"I can wait," his gaze flicks from between her and her plate, "I don't want to interrupt your snack."

She chuckles to herself, "It's lunch, actually. I figured I'd eat while the place was quiet."

"Lunch, huh," he nods but doesn't ask further. She looks exhausted- a bit pale in color and with her usually put-together demeanor looking a bit run down.

He wonders if she's heard about the break in down the road last night. He wasn't able to get here fast enough to prevent it, but he at least helped apprehend the culprits. It should be on the news?

He reaches for the remote and flicks it on, turning the volume up. Sure enough, it is set at the same news channel and they're running a clip from the interview with All Might. He manages to make it audible just in time for them to hear his proclamation of protection.

Surina sighs, "Do we have to watch this?"

"Hm?" He turns to her with surprise, "Why not?"

"Well, it's kind of annoying to hear about other people protecting my home. If it wasn't illegal to use our quirks without a license, a lot more people would be taking care of these things themselves."

His face falls as she takes the remote and turns the volume down once more. "Do you not have a license then?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Surina stands. She walks behind the counter, tying her apron back on. When she turns, she is wearing a smile once more.

"Would you like me to brew you another cup of Vitali-tea?"

He nods, chagrined.

"I'm sorry," she offers with the steaming cup. "I, uh, didn't get the chance to go to a hero school." Surina has the grace to look embarrassed.

"But you wanted to?"

She smiles, "Of course I wanted to, any kid with a quirk wants to. They- my parents couldn't afford to send both of us, so my older brother went and I stayed."

"Brother?" Toshinori looks around at the photos around the cafe, not seeing a hint of her having siblings.

"Yeah." Her voice has hardened again, "We don't really talk about him. The one with the license ran off to leave Mom and I fending for ourselves."

Toshinori nods thoughtfully, "Well, at least you have a new hero around to help everyone."

She looks at the screen and smiles, All Might is posturing for the cameras, of course.

"Yeah, All Might. He'll help keep some of those goons away, but I don't think he's been around long enough to realize how rotten this place is."

"Not a fan?" Toshinori offers a smirk, testing for her reaction.

"Ha, who isn't?" Surina is smiling, but occupying herself with scrubbing at the counter rather than meeting his gaze. "I'm just saying that it's a bit naive to be running into situations without knowing all the details, isn't it?"

"But that's what heroes do: they put their selves at risk to protect the people they care about."

"And All Might cares about everyone," she laughs to herself. She couldn't help but to admire him despite his foolishness. He was the number one hero for a reason. He never failed.

Toshinori is only smiling, no longer pushing the conversation. He couldn't help but to be pleased with himself whenever someone spoke their praise, even if it came so off-handedly.

"What about you," Surina suggests, "Did you get your license?"

"Yeah, as soon as I could!" "Oh," she looks him over curiously, "And exactly what kind of quirk do you have? Super metabolism?" Her pointed gaze travels up ans down his lanky limbs.

Toshinori laughs at this, "If I told you mine, you'd have to tell me yours."

Surina laughs anxiously, turning her reddening face away. "No deal."

The door behind them rustles open again, a young couple entering to order two cups to-go. Toshinori watches them come and go, sipping on his cooling tea and musing about what Surina could possibly do. A clock chimes in the background, bringing him back to the present. How could so much time have already passed?

"Surina," he calls to find her attention already on him.

"Uh- yeah?"

"I need to be leaving, but I," he pauses, suddenly unsure of himself. He pushes the unfamiliar feeling down and continues, "I would like to take you to dinner, one night."

Her face visibly reddens.

"Maybe tomorrow?"

Surina nods, the flood of strange emotions drowning out any sense. With a gulp, she manages,

"Why don't you come about an hour after close. It'll be late, but I'll be free?"

He nods with a smile, "Alright, I'll see you then!" With a wave he makes his way out the door, leaving her with her heart pounding.

Maybe, I do kind of like him?

Surina's thoughts for the rest of the day are rather preoccupied, by the time she closes up shop and heads upstairs, her mom is already sitting at the dining room table.

"Did you hear from your brother today?" Her mother asked, in the same tone she always uses.

"No, Mom." Surina busies herself in the kitchen,

"Did you enjoy your visit today?"

"Visit, Mom?"

"Yeah, by your new favorite customer. I saw him walking out with a to-go!" "Yeah- I learned my lesson," Surina added a chuckle for emphasis, though it didn't seem to convince her mother.

"Mmmmm-hm," came the voice from the dining area, almost drowned out by the vegetables sizzling on the stove. Surina ignored the comment and focused on not burning the food.

"So have you decided?"

"Decided what, Mom?"

"If you like the homeless man or not?"

Surina chuckles, "His name is Toshinori Yagi and he is not homeless." "So what does he do for a living?"

Surina settles down across from her mother and gives her a hard look.

"I should know the kind of man that is capturing your attention," her mother smirks mischievously across he table. With a look like that, Surina couldn't help but wonder if the villainous streak runs through their blood. Maybe that's where Benji got it from?

Surina doesn't stop herself from rolling her eyes in full view of her mom.

"It's been a while since some one caught your interest. The last one was a musician, right?"

"Mom, please." Of course she would tell the story of the violinist again. The man would play so sorrowfully on the street outside, his music beautiful in its melancholy. Surina would offer his tea in exchange for a new song, an arrangement she enjoyed up until he disappeared. They barely spoke, but Surina had grown fond of his presence.

"And before that was even longer, wasn't it?"

"I didn't really feel like sharing these things with you then," she retorts, "Why would I want to recount them with you now?"

Her mother makes a non-committal noise and returns to eating.

"In any case, you should eat a bit better if you want to look good for anybody." Her mother means well, but she really could deliver such quips with a kinder tone.

The rest of the meal passes in silence, the two of them eating yet enjoying neither the company nor the food.

After separating ways for the rest of the evening, Surina finally has time to think. She takes a quick shower and settles under her covers, scrolling through the news before she calls it a night. As usual, it talks in length on All Might's endeavors- focused mostly around her district- as well as the rookies Mt. Lady and Kamui Woods. They certainly have impressive quirs, though she wonders how much of their show is purely for the cameras. Surely they don't need all that flair to take down every villian? At least All Might does it with virtually one punch, a feat worthy of few self-indulgent smiles.

Surina smiles to herself before pulling the blankets over her head and drifitng asleep.

The next day passes by, though not altogether too unpleasantly.

Surina focuses her effort in serving her customers- Saturday morning tends to be busier with a different crowd than the rest of the week. She had been able to resupply only her top selling teas to ensure that the more astute visitors wouldn't leave a negative review over poor taste and was hopeful that a few more positive reviews would attract more people in.

Of course, she was still woefully behind on securing the final payment. She would catch herself pondering what her brother may do about it during the slower parts of the day, but was able to successfully distract herself with thoughts of tonight.

She didn't really have anything to wear- of course, she had an extensive closet, but very little of it included something that she wouldn't wear to work. She had picked out a long, black skirt this morning and so she instead thought long and hard about what might match it. This didn't help her when the time finally came.

She paced back and forth in front of the pile of tops she had discarded once already. She was wearing the skirt, a long flowing thing- tight in all the wrong places- but it was flattering. Her legs were always something she had been proud of- strong muscle she had built up by herself over the years. She only had a few minutes to pick, and so she closed her eyes and grabbed the first thing she touched- a yellow button up that would need to be tucked in.

At least it wouldn't look half bad, she thought as she pulled it on and buttoned it up. Surina ties her hair back into it's typical high pony-tail, though she's taken the time to curl her long bangs.

"Good night, Mom," she calls.

"Good night, my dear," her sing-song voice answers. Surina smiles to herself before locking the door behind her and walking downstairs to the cafe porch.

She's a little early, but she'd rather be here than have Toshinori knocking on the wrong door.

She's fussing with her skirt when she first notices the man approaching from the alley. It isn't her date.

"Surina," the familiar voice calls from the shadows.

She grimaces and crosses her arms, "Do I have to tell you that you are early again?"

"Duty calls," the man spreads his arms out in a mock-hopeless manner, "And your brother is pretty desperate."

Her brother's agent doesn't approach further, stopping to lean his shoulder against a post.

"Listen, if you're here for the money, let's just get this over with."

Surina stands and gathers the key ring from her pocket. With an automatic motion she finds the right key, unlocks the door, and motions him inside. "I've got a date tonight."

She walks into the office, opens the safe, and again gives him everything inside.

He counts, and shakes his head.

"Not enough."

"Don't test me. Not tonight," Surina growls in response, "How the hell does anyone expect a business this small to double is profits in less than a week!"

The Agent looks non-plussed, pulling off his sunglasses. Behind them he was hiding a pair of brilliant blue eyes that demands her attention. Surina feels a cold sweat forming on the back of her neck.

"I have very specific instructions as to what i should do if you couldn't pay in full."

"You're a day early!" "You're not kidding anyone, we both know you wouldn't be able to make as much as he's asking for in the next day."

Surina crosses her arms adamantly, "So what is it you're supposed to do? C'mon, let's finish this up."

He smiles, though she can tell that it isn't a happy one. In fact, any trace of kindness is gone, replaced by a cold unforgiving expression.

Surina stands tall, walking past him into the main cafe area. If he's looking for a fight, might as well minimize the damage to the more replaceable items.

2759

#my hero aca #myoc #toshinori

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steamishot · 4 years

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I wrote the following draft on Friday, but I need to start off by saying that LA is mourning right now. It was an especially eerie day yesterday. I’m not much of a sports fan, but I grew up watching the Lakers during Kobe’s era. My dad’s best friend was a huge Lakers fan, and he got my dad into it, and my dad got our family into it. My dad would place bets at the local Cambodian noodle shop during basketball season and it was always a fun time following along. In a sense, I and many LA natives grew up with Kobe. Kobe has such a huge impact on our city (at the very least). I remember going to those Vietnamese barber shops in Chinatown, and seeing little Asian boys get their hair cut. “How do you want your cut?” the barber would ask? “Like Kobe” the kids would answer.

I heard the news after going to a yoga session at the park. My friend Steph, who also attended the yoga session with me, texted me a little right after I got home with the news. I was with my brother and SIL at the time, and we were stunned (not my SIL, she didn’t know who Kobe was), waiting for the news to unravel. My dad got home five minutes later, and I thought we would be the one to tell him the news. However, his friend Andy already texted him about it. We spent the rest of that morning waiting for more updates, learning about Kobe’s life, sitting around in shock. Til now, I still feel quite sad about the tragedy. But the best we can do is thank his contribution; legends never die.

Turned 28 last week and feel old-ish haha. Recap of the last few weeks

Sis in law threw a surprise bday party for my brother’s 30th at their apartment. Some drama has been going on between them and my parents, and a lot of it can be attributed to generational differences. My SIL is young, and in biological terms, her brain isn’t fully developed yet. She had that rich girl growing up in Cambodia lifestyle, and was pretty financially comfortable, although sheltered, when she was living in SF. My brother is kinda her bitch now, and he backs her on everything. SIL has pretty expensive taste, has a financial safety net from her parents, talks ambitiously, but we haven’t seen her progress much yet. Like Katy Perry’s song “You change your mind like a girl changes clothes” – that’s descriptive of her/my brothers plans. At one point, they decided to take over her uncles business in SF. She “moved” up there, then like two weeks later, told my brother to fly up there and help her move back down. It even gave me a headache.

Celebrated Mike’s 30th bday with a bunch of people in DTF. It was a bunch of fun and the food was surprisingly good. Mike made a little speech, saying he loves everyone who was at the table. We joked about how popular he is.

Went hiking with my aunt, sis in law, the kids, and friends.

Had a birthday dinner at pasta sisters with my immediate family (including bro and sis in law). My sis in law is a generous person, and also quite materialistic. She’s fancy for her age. This is advantageous because she got me a pair of lululemon pants as a birthday gift. I rarely receive expensive presents, so I felt pretty happy about it. I’ve also been wanting a nice expensive pair of yoga pants but thought it may be too frivolous. After trying it on, I understood what the type was about. In the back of my mind, I remembered in an episode of the patriot act, Hasan mentioned that a bunch of oil is used to make synthetics, the type of material used in lulus. Update: I wore it for the first time over the weekend to a yoga class, and it felt very comfortable, although the difference is not significant enough where I would buy my own.

My coworker decorated my office space and went out of her way to get me a specific cake from Glendale. I was never really that close or comfortable with this coworker, although we are the closest in age (3 years older than me). I felt that our lifestyles didn’t really align and that we didn’t have much in common. She was on the drill team in high school, very pretty and put together, fit body, into going to festivals/partying and drinking, not very academically inclined. Our conversations barely made it past surface level topics. However, I was really touched that she went all the way to Glendale to get a cake for me, just because she knew I liked this cake specifically and that I don’t really like sweets. For everyone’s birthdays, we normally just pick something up from Ralphs across the street. After this incident, I felt myself opening my heart to her more, and made an effort to connect with her. I find that it’s easier to connect once you actively choose to “like” a person, thus, to throw away judgment and allow human to human bonding.

Went to NOLA with G, S, and L. When people ask how my trip went, I would say, “it’s really different out there.” And it really is to me. I’m not at all familiar with that area of the country. I think the charm of NOLA lies in anachronism, and on the dysfunctionality of the city. People like the freedom of the city, the friendliness of the town, and how everyone can seemingly enjoy their lives despite any hardships that come their way. Some people on the internet refer to NOLA as Neverland, or an adult Disneyland. From what I’ve read, people there are very laid-back, prioritize fun, and it might be a frustrating place if you’re a go-getter. It seems like a good place for extroverts. I, personally, think one visit is enough. I think if you don’t gamble, drink, or party, the things you can do there are limited.

Besides that, I found the topic of voodoo interesting, although I felt like the voodoo shops we visited were largely touristy- it was hard to get an authentic feel of the locals/community’s beliefs and practices of voodoo. Luckily, one of my coworkers’ family is from Louisiana, and my student worker is from Belize. The day I returned from my trip, I got to chat with them a little and learn about their culture/religion. My coworker mentioned that her grandmother would always keep her hair in a jar and burn it every so often, to prevent anyone from getting her hair strands and practicing voodoo on her. She personally flushes her hair down the toilet. My student worker talked about their need to sweep their house every day from preventing dust buildup (I believe to keep spirits away).

Celebrated CNY with family.

Matt started on his first nights rotation last Wednesday night. It was a difficult transition because he had to work from 6am until noon or so for his day shift, then be on a 12 hour night shift that same night. He had a terrible first couple days adjusting, but now is better. It just sucks that we are now on completely different time zones. I’m unable to chat with him after work because he’s on shift. He goes home and falls asleep around 6am PST, during the time that I’m still asleep. I asked him to send me a card for my birthday. Although I received it days late, I was still grateful for his gift. He wrote me a very sweet message that filled up the card. Good news is, there will be 4 interns on the rotation that he will be on when I’m in town in February. That means that he’ll have less patients, be less exhausted, and have more time for me!

I watched Awkwafina’s Nora from Queens pilot over the weekend. In the show, she plays a “loser” 27 year old who can’t hold down a job and smokes weed every day, and still lives at home with her dad and grandma. The show is supposed to be representative of her life (before her fame). I couldn’t help but feel like I’m getting too old to still be living at home, and although I’ll need to spend money on rent when I move out, it’ll be a valuable investment.

Lastly, this past year seems to be the year of friendship confrontations for me. Growing up, I was very loner-ish and introverted. The hardest thing for me to do was socialize and “be normal”. I found it difficult to relate to people and to build connections with them. When I did start making friends, I was so behind on social skills that I had difficulty deepening friendships. One thing I am grateful for in my last relationship, is that it taught me how to handle conflict with someone else. Before that, I was never confrontational to anyone outside of my family. As I’m growing up, “finding myself” more, and developing my values and what I stand for/look for in companionship, I become stronger as an individual. I’m proud that I can be more honest with my friends, and be more verbal if someone/something bothers me. I look back on a few friendships that dissipated, and it’s usually due to something petty or fixable, if both parties let their ego down and communicated. But oh well, not all friendships/relationships are worth being salvaged.

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francescaswords · 5 years

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Chapter One | The Princess and the Dragon and Other Stories About Unlikely Heroes

Prologue / Chapter Two / Chapter Three Read Chapter Four and the rest of the novel on my Patreon!

The Kingdom of Mirrors, the loudest, southernmost and most magical of the Three Kingdoms, filled the bottom third of the crescent moon with olive trees, fishing boats and about ten thousand mirrors. It was ruled by the Durante line of the House of Stars, whose family tree was dotted with the types of people whose exploits are written into ten-minute songs about burning cities and eccentric fashion sense and enormous acts of courage in the face of fire-breathing dragons. Princess Amelia, the youngest of the Durante family, knew from early childhood that she, too, would one day have to defeat a dragon.

Nobody initially expected Amelia to face the dragon in question, partly because she was a girl and partly because she had been born second in line to the throne. Her older brother, Prince Nicholas, was both dashingly handsome and perfectly capable of embarking on such a heroic quest by himself. Unfortunately for Amelia, by the time she reached her teens Prince Nicholas found himself indisposed, so although most people were too polite to mention it, the task of dragon-slaying ultimately fell to her.

Amelia was fourteen, and in happier stories she would be learning how to dance or dabble in magic. In this story, Amelia was in charge of olive oil production. She was also kingdom treasurer, head of the royal family’s public relations department, occasional fisherwoman and part-time carer to her ailing father, the king. For someone born into a centuries-old dynasty, she spent a lot of time with ancient legal documents and recently gutted fish.

Amelia’s path to notoriety began one overwarm Monday evening in early spring when she had finished a day’s work in the kingdom treasury and was heading through the Kingdom of Mirrors’ busy capital city, Lumiere, to evening lessons in the castle. Today she would be learning mathematics with her tutor—which seemed redundant when she ran the entire kingdom’s budget from a piece of parchment and an abacus—so she dragged her feet as she walked through Market Street towards the castle.

Market Street was the epicentre of Lumiere and Amelia’s favourite part of the city. Lumiere looked like a fairytale, or a dream. It was a dream, of sorts: Amelia’s great-great-times-something grandparents designed the city themselves after the previous one was ravaged by one of those wars disguised as a marriage. Wait, no, this one was a war disguised as a war.

Neither grandparent was particularly conventional when it came to architecture, so every corner of Lumiere demanded your attention. White stone buildings rose into spires with forty sides, each one mosaiced with tiny chips of glass or ceramics. Colourful tiles trimmed every window and door, forming intricate patterns that drew the eye in a hundred directions. Only a few windows in each building held clear glass: almost everywhere boasted a stained-glass frieze of pictures or spirals. Even regular stone walls were round and misshapen, like someone plucked all the cobbles from the street and piled them on top of one another until they resembled a building. On every wall in the kingdom, from the tiniest cupboard to the largest battlement, hung a looking glass. No one was sure who had started the tradition, but they all appreciated how easy it was to check if you had food stuck in your teeth. Brightly painted doors, each competing for attention in violent shades of fuchsia or lavender or buttercup, were elegantly latticed with wrought iron. Some buildings were mosaiced entirely in silver, others in turquoise or tangerine. There wasn’t a grey space in the country and according to rumour, every colour in existence had been pressed into use somewhere in the kingdom. A staple of every primary school education in the Kingdom of Mirrors was a day spent naming the colours of each public building.

On some walls Amelia passed, mosaics formed cheery squares like kitchen tiles. On others they made bright, childlike images telling the history of the Kingdom of Mirrors. There were the olive trees, there was a woman brewing a potion, there was a boat next to some fish. The mosaiced fish were consistently bigger than the little people on the boat, which always made Amelia wonder whether the artist had no sense of scale or if they wanted to emphasise how brave the fishermen were, sailing out to face enormous krakens and territorial mermaids and climate change.

As she walked, Amelia gazed across Market Street to the little boats in the harbour, bobbing about on a minuscule breeze. Something moved near the hull of a dinghy, perhaps a school of fish or a merperson. The boat’s owner dozed on deck, oblivious. Up in the hills, lights twinkled from the peaks of each mountain. Lime green parakeets hollered over tiny sparrows, shouting over hulking seagulls.

Amelia stopped at one of Market Street’s twenty food carts to buy a snack before lessons. After a small diplomatic incident in which a local butcher replaced fresh lamb with fresh cat without mentioning it to anyone first, Amelia had lost her taste for kebabs, so she chose a cheese pastry and orange juice, praying that the cheese came from a farmyard animal. ‘You don’t have to pay, Your Majesty,’ the vendor told her as she rummaged through her purse. Although Amelia was dressed exactly like her subjects in a loose cotton dress and had the same umber skin and jet-black hair, the market knew her well. She frequently hid there to avoid going to the castle.

‘Of course I do…’ Amelia searched for the vendor’s name. ‘Sarah. Of course I have to pay, Sarah, I’m not going to go around stealing from my own people!’ Especially when you’re one of the few tradespeople who pays their taxes, she added silently.

‘Well, if you’re sure… can I put some magic in it, on the house?’

‘Oh, go on then.’ Amelia yawned and fanned herself with her sunhat. ‘Something to revive my desire to go to my maths tutorial.’

Sarah smiled and reached under her little counter for a vial labelled enthusiasm: medium strength. She flicked a couple of drops into Amelia’s orange juice. ‘Bad day at the office, Your Majesty?’

Amelia gazed across the square at children her own age. Walking home from school with cloth satchels slung over their shoulders, wearing faded patterned dresses or shorts, they jostled each other along in a way that always struck Amelia as very comradely. She tried to push back a pang of jealousy. Until Amelia’s father suffered a stroke when she was twelve, Amelia attended the same local school, wearing the same faded patterned dresses. Amelia hadn’t especially enjoyed formal education when she was forced to go, but after years of squeezing in private tutoring between royal business and gradually losing touch with her friends, Amelia would have given anything to spend eight hours with other people her own age. Especially since public schools let children take a class in brewing potions, and Amelia’s parents wouldn’t let her near any magical substances since an unfortunate incident with a dog and a growth potion when Amelia was ten.

‘Oh you know…’ Amelia shrugged. ‘Eighty per cent of our teachers and healthcare professionals have gone abroad in the last five years and we can’t afford to train anyone new. There’s also a shortage of sorcerers who know how to bewitch the weather, so we’re in for a long summer.’ She scowled and chomped her pastry. ‘Oh, and the Earl of Star’s Reach spent half an hour telling me how he plans to convert an entire room in his house into a shrine to the gods of gratitude. Gratitude! He’d do better praying to the gods of lost causes.’

Shrines in the Kingdom of Mirrors were like pairs of shoes: everyone owned at least one, but to people who considered themselves fashionable, they were the ultimate status symbol. Each building housed a shrine to one god or another, each made from chips of mirrored glass or colourful tiles. Some were the size of a post box, others the size of a shed. Some people, like the Earl of Star’s Reach, dedicated an entire room in their house to their shrine, replacing all the windows with stained glass and filling the room with candles, incense and tiny prayer scrolls. The Earl fancied himself a priest and a magician, although the rest of the court fancied him a nuisance, especially when his attempts at magic resulted in a castle-wide evacuation.

‘Is he thinking of going for any particular design?’ Sarah asked. Her kiosk’s little shrine to the water gods was the size of a milk jug and made from blue glass chips. It sat on the till, which Sarah had bewitched to open only when she touched it.

‘The Earl wants a plain mirrored mosaic floor in the shape of his family crest to remind him of his respect for the gods of hearth and home,’ Amelia recalled. ‘But his wife doesn’t like to be reminded of her mother-in-law.’

‘Maybe she should pray to the gods for a new husband, then,’ Sarah suggested. ‘Or send him south to Scavenger’s Ruin. The Sapphire Dragon will take care of him.’

Amelia tried to laugh, but something stuck in her throat.

She finished her food at the communal iron tables, soaking up the atmosphere as the evening sun reflected off the mirrors on each building, casting the entire street in strange beams of light and duplicating the market one thousand times over. When she was little, Amelia thought that every mirror contained another world, where another Amelia sat, looking into another mirror.

The temperature was starting to drop, so Lumiere was coming alive. Children scampered around fountains while parents chatted at cafés. Amelia could hear restaurants getting ready for the dinner shift, lighting fires to roast lambs and goats on spits, and she could smell oregano and bougainvillea plants. A cicada chirruped somewhere, almost drowned out by a marching band performing at one end of Market Street. The band appeared to be in direct competition with an orchestra holding a performance at the other end of the street. Babies’ cries mingled with dogs’ barks as street vendors contended with everyone. ‘Salted olives, a jar for a silver coin!’ Amelia could get two jars of olives for a copper coin; there were more olive trees in the Kingdom of Mirrors than there were people. A wasp buzzed near Amelia’s pastry wrappings, close enough to count its legs. She waved it away. Another vendor hollered, ‘Feather pillowcases, plucked from swans this morning!’ Very few swans lived in the Kingdom of Mirrors. Possibly the manufacturer had skinned several pigeons.

It was well past time to go to lessons, so Amelia hauled herself from her seat and brushed her sticky hands on her dress as the loudest voice of all cut through the crowd. ‘Magical gold amulets—guaranteed to keep your marriage healthy! Just five gold pieces for two!’

Amelia stopped at the stall, waving another wasp away from her face. Anything for another two minutes of fresh air. ‘What do those amulets do?’

‘They spice up your marriage, Your Majesty.’ The vendor, a sun-wrinkled old man called Harry, bowed when he recognised her.

‘My marriage?’

‘Or your parents’ marriage!’ Harry seemed to remember who he was talking to. ‘Not that the King and Queen need any help in their marriage! I am sure they’re blissfully happy!’

‘Yes, blissful,’ Amelia agreed. She rubbed her temples. The enthusiasm was taking its time kicking in. ‘Couldn’t the marching band and the orchestra perform at different times?’

‘Course they could,’ Harry grunted. ‘But that would be too easy. The orchestra is starring in a musical.’

‘Remind me never to see it,’ Amelia muttered.

‘You might want to, Your Majesty, it’s about the war with the Sapphire Dragon.’

‘Why on earth would I want to watch a musical about the war?’ Amelia demanded. Why couldn’t people stop bringing it up? First Sarah with her joke, now Harry. For ten whole minutes as she strolled through Market Street, Amelia had forgotten all about the war her people waged against their unfriendly neighbourhood dragon.

Harry shrugged. ‘Search me, Your Majesty, I’ve never been much of a theatre person. Can I interest you in a shell for calming headaches?’

‘No, no, I’ll take a tonic later on.’ Amelia knew that Harry’s ‘magic shells’ came from Lumiere’s beach. Although blood red and very pleasant as a table decoration, they held absolutely no magical properties. Amelia didn’t have the heart to tell him she knew the scam: not everyone in the kingdom was a magic user. Amelia never quite got over the fact that her mother, Queen Hazel, excelled at casting protection spells, while Amelia, Nicholas and their father, King Emmanuel, possessed about as much magical ability as a pair of socks.

She left Harry there as he called into the market once more. ‘Magical shells! Endorsed by the Princess Amelia!’

Miraculously, Amelia arrived earlier than her tutor. Madame Louisa taught every subject on a different day in their little room at the very top of the castle tower. Ten floors up, Amelia could still hear the orchestra and the marching band battling it out. While she waited, she flicked through the pile of newspapers they had used for her current affairs lesson the previous week. There was the war, again, on almost every page.

‘The Sapphire Dragon razes another town!’ screamed one headline. ‘Is he heading north from his cave at Scavenger’s Ruin?’

‘King Richard of the Valley of Dreams sends more troops to the Kingdom of Mirrors’ aid,’ announced another paper. ‘Meanwhile, King Emmanuel has borrowed money from Queen Margaret of Stormhaven to pay for another siege at Scavenger’s Ruin, to force the Sapphire Dragon from his stronghold.’

‘King Richard’s troops are killed in a failed siege of the Sapphire Dragon’s lair,’ bemoaned the most recent. ‘The latest failed attempt to oust the Sapphire Dragon, who has laid waste to the south coast of the Kingdom of Mirrors for 20 years, brought the military death toll up to 32,892 troops, and the civilian death toll to—’ Amelia stopped reading. She knew the numbers already.

What really depressed her was that these newspapers could have been from any year in the past two decades, ever since the Sapphire Dragon blew in from the Western Ocean on a terrible storm. Villagers spotted him curled on the beach at Scavenger’s Ruin, a fishing town at the southernmost tip of the kingdom. According to survivors, his wicked blue scales reflected the sun and his wicked grey claws left welts in the sand. Fire spat from his nostrils as he torched every building in sight, along with most villagers. War was declared immediately, of course. There’s a saying in the Three Kingdoms: sticks and stones might break your bones but they don’t do squat to dragons, so you’d better bring something stronger.

Everyone was hopeful for the first few years. Hundreds of well-trained soldiers marched south each spring, although barely fifty would make it back, and most of those spent months in the Lumiere hospital being treated for horrendous burns. The Valley of Dreams, the Kingdom of Mirrors’ closest neighbour, sent troops and extra weapons. Dragons are creatures of habit and prefer to live in secluded, enclosed spaces, so the Sapphire Dragon existed mostly in the hard-to-reach caves below Scavenger’s Ruin, venturing out occasionally to hunt fish from the once-plentiful sea or to meet the latest contingent of soldiers. Once or twice a year he would fly north, razing more towns and extending his territory just a little bit closer to Lumiere. Within some six years of the dragon’s arrival, half the nation was inhospitable and hundreds of terrified families had fled to Lumiere. Others went further north still, to the Valley of Dreams.

Lumiere soon started to creak under the extra pressure from its new inhabitants. Tensions built up in crowded communities as the war dragged on. After a few more years of state funerals for fallen soldiers and emergency aid relief for refugees, someone cracked and threw a brick into the tent of a refugee family, starting the famous Midsummer Riots. Amelia remembered watching the carnage from her bedroom window as a terrified six-year-old, counting the fires that spread across the city. ‘Dad will sort it out,’ twelve-year-old Nicholas assured her. ‘He has an army.’

‘He doesn’t,’ Amelia argued. ‘They’ve all been eaten by the dragon.’

‘The Sapphire Dragon doesn’t eat people,’ Nicholas assured her. ‘He just sets them on fire.’

Amelia refused to go near a lit candle for weeks after he said that. Emmanuel and Hazel finally bowed to political pressure and began to borrow money from Queen Margaret of Stormhaven to train even more soldiers. They signed an agreement with the Valley of Dreams, allowing thousands of refugees to relocate to safer lands in exchange for access to the Kingdom of Mirrors’ ancient magical scrolls, something no monarch had allowed for centuries. Eight years later, the kingdom’s debts were crippling its economy and all those extra soldiers proved about as effective as a comedian at a funeral.

‘Your Majesty!’ Amelia jolted out of her reverie as Madame Louisa swept into the room. ‘Apologies for my tardiness. Let’s get started with some mathematics!’

Madame Louisa didn’t set particularly difficult exercises today —but then, Amelia recently balanced Louisa’s family’s bank account. Amelia scratched away at algebraic fractions, trying not to think about dragons. She glanced out the tower window. All the way up here she could see the entire city, nestled amongst the mountains and olive groves, temple spires sparkling. People would soon be making their way to evening prayers, if not just stopping for ten minutes to light a candle in the nearest shrine. If she had magical vision, which wasn’t unheard of in the Three Kingdoms, she could see around the coast all the way down to Scavenger’s Ruin. From this distance the road looked like it was scratched into the mountain by a dragon’s claw. Her fist clenched around her pencil. Would she ever go anywhere without being reminded that her kingdom was on its knees?

The pencil snapped. Across the room, Madame Louisa raised her eyebrows and handed Amelia another.

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#The Princess and the Dragon and Other Stories About Unlikely Heroes #fantasy fiction #dragons #YA

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sexykwan · 3 years

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yesterday i saw a tweet about 'il pacco da giù' and it was like 'cant you stay a few months without your mom and grandma's food' and like it was in a 'im making fun of you tone' and they were saying that people couldn't find an argument ?? and everyone was just telling them they shouldn't care but like.. literally why do you care so much💀 jealous or something?

#fanz.txt #il pacco da giù = like a package from people from south italy usually that go study mostly in northen italy #and it usually has food kdjdj #it's like oil and some parents also send like ragù or whatever #i kmow a woman that sent her son a vegetable soup🖐️😭#ANYWAYS #the point of these packages is really just ....give the kids food likejsj #besides the fact a lot of things are less expensive in south italy ?? or like where the people are from in comparison to maybe milan idk #but also like it's a lot more common here to make lot of stuff at a #*at home #and food from home is also comfort #??? like i really dont know why they cared so much djdjsj #ALSO as i was saying like for example my family has a little olive tree thing (and like almost evedy family here does!) so like #my parents would send my brother our oil ?? that tastes better than the one you buy?? and he didnt have to spend money on it either ?? i #it's..that simple 💀💀💀#anyways idk what i said im just rambling #good morning

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lethe-distillery-blog · 5 years

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I didn't even wait for him to see me before I launched myself at him; the strength he held always made an exhilarating thrill shoot through me. Especially when his arms enclosed around my body in a tight embrace as he spun us both around with our laughter filling the airport. Gods I had missed him, the weight of that crushed me. "You aren't allowed to be gone that long from me." I squeezed him tighter around the neck, doing my best to keep my voice from shaking, "never again." I hated myself for how desperate I sounded but as his arms tightened around me, pressing me to a strong chest with hot breath tickling down my skin, fingers running their way through my hair, I felt that raw ragged edge of panic slipping away.

"It'll be okay," his voice was low, soothing. A balm to my ragged nerves. Honestly, it was the time he was flying that was the worst. A time I couldn't just send him a text and know that he'd respond, knowing that if something were to happen, there was nothing I could do, hell, I'd be lucky if I even knew. It was that sense of out of control that ripped me into pieces. "I'm right here, focus on that." I did. I focused on him. I hated my anxiety but ever since a car accident had taken my dad a few years ago I had been terrified for those I loved dying and being unable to help them. His arms tightened slightly and I pressed my face into his chest breathing in the scent of him. Warm and masculine it was comforting, the essential oil he used as cologne. It was called No More Thieves and it smelled divine, things like Witch Hazel, Cloves, Cinnamon, Rosemary, and Tea Tree oil all combined into one tantalizing package. It was apparently used for cleaning and disinfectant, but on him, it was an aphrodisiac.

I slowly calmed, taking deep breaths, focusing on the strength of his arms around me, the way his breathing felt on my neck, the way his heart thudded reassuringly against my cheek. He was here, it was all going to be okay. "I took a deep breath and looked up at him. "Sorry," it came out a whisper.

He shook his head. "You have nothing to apologize to me for, we all have our demons." He was the only one that understood that, and though I was grateful, I hated the haunted pain that he hid in the steel grey eyes of his soul. "Sometimes, we don't get along, other times-."

"-we snuggle." I finished for him and smiled appreciatively up at him. That mantra had helped me through a lot, when the world caved in around me and all those that were supposed to love me, to protect me cast me aside and told me that 'it'll get better.' Only he had never told me that, he held me close on the bad days and made it all seem not quite so bad. "Still, thank you." I leaned up and we shared a soft kiss and only when he set me back on my feet did I have the horrifying realization that we were still in the middle of the airport.

He laughed softly at my expression and shrugged, "Fuck 'em." I enjoyed his philosophy on life, a true inability to care what other people thought of him. It had to be liberating. Just once I would like to experience that. But alas, that was not the life that I had designed for me, still though, as his arm wrapped around me, it did help.

"It felt cold as I got off the plane," he looked to his phone. "Ah, good to be back home where the air hurts my face."

I laughed at him, "It was cold in New York too."

"True," he winked at me as he stepped forward and grabbed his luggage glaring down a man that was obviously in an impatient hurry as he had been by the conveyor the entire time. Secretly I hoped his came out last. "But it always seems colder her." Technically it was but I knew what he meant. Cold anywhere else never felt quite as frigid as it did here. I pulled out the keys from my purse and he looked over at me before tucking me to his side. "Did you want to drive?" He flinched as the cold air hit his face as we headed out of the building. I was shocked at his offer "I'm assuming you brought my baby?" I shook the keys with a smile and he took them as if paying careful attention to them before handing them back as we walked.

I rolled my eyes at him though I was shocked he was letting me drive him home, his baby, a Mercedes Benz S-Class Coupe, was a beautiful white car. But I only had the passing appreciation of it, it looked nice, and it rode nice. Everything else was lost on me, being the layman of car talk. He had simply smiled when my eyes glazed over the first time he started talking about it and hadn't brought it up again. That was one of the many things I loved about him, he didn't care to show off.

Being the gallant gentleman he opened the door for me to step in first before stowing his luggage in the trunk and coming in beside me. He must have started it when he took the keys because though it wasn't warm by any part of the imagination it did have the raw edge of cold taken off. After I started it we sat in comfortable silence, fingers entwined between us as we let the car, and ourselves, warm up a little. Our breathing slowly fading from the blooming swirls of fog that filled the car, the heated seats an absolute luxury I never would have imagined before I had tried them with his. "I'm glad I got home when I did." I looked up at him, used to his random dialogue by now. His mind whirred a million miles a minute it seemed.

"And why is that?" I eased the car into reverse, inexplicably nervous, though I had driven the thing up here easily enough. It must be that he was in the car now. I eased out of the parking lot, moving slowly amongst the throngs of people and those that backed up, expecting you to be out of the way or psychic. I was grateful he didn't answer right away, I doubted I would have heard him from how since I was so focused on the morons out here.

We pulled out finally and started the way home, it wasn't long. An hour or so going the speed limit, but I had seen the weather forecast. I hoped I could beat the storm. "I need to be home to make sure I spoil you for Valentine's Day." I flushed; he wasn't the best at remembering dates, there were some days I was surprised he remembered his own birthday so I had stopped being offended a long time ago when he forgot something important because he always made up for it any other time. It wasn't like I needed Valentine's Day to feel special, he did that perfectly well at any other time of the year. From romantic walks to flowers to jewelry, he didn't need a particular calendar day to make me feel spoiled.

"You know you don't have to."

He snorted, "Well, that's a shame, highly doubt where I booked would give me a refund." I saw him tense slightly out of the corner of my eye as we passed by a semi, the trailing cloud of white was impossible to see through. I slowed down a touch. He did do his best to back seat drive, but there was a point where trying to drive the speed limit was suicide. He relaxed as soon as we could see again.

"I always thought they drive like morons," I tried to throw it off as a joke but I was nervous. I didn't even notice how hard I was gripping the steering until he lightly set a hand on my thigh and as I relaxed a bit I noticed my knuckles and jaw aching. 'Easy girl.' I spoke to myself, moving over as another semi passed.

"They don't really," his tone was light and conversational, "well, most of the time anyway. Since they're so high up there they can see a lot more than you or I can so they don't need to slow down." I slammed on the breaks as we came up on a suburban going far slower than the speed limit and he reached out automatically and turned on the four-way flashers. "People like this however," he smiled slightly though I could tell he was annoyed, "drive like morons, if you're going to drive under the speed limit, especially when it's hard to see, you should put your flashers on, keeps you from being rear-ended. Or worse." I nodded as I pulled out hesitantly to go around that vanished into a cloud as we went by. I heard him snarl slightly under his breath that sounded something that sounded a lot like, 'fucking idiots,' he turned the flashers off.

We continued on without issue for a while longer, though it was starting to get dark. He talked mostly, I'm pretty sure he was doing it to help keep relaxed actually. His fingers traced patterns on my thigh, lulling me into comfort with his voice and his touch. He told me about New York, the massive buildings there that spanned a block onto themselves. He told me about buying street food and how greasy it was, "Gods," he spoke through a smile, "it tasted fucking incredible, but boy did I regret it in the hotel later." We shared a laugh over his sensitive stomach and how little it liked change.

"I know mom's glad you're home." His parents had basically adopted me even when Dad was still alive, I often joked I had two dads and one mom, since mine had passed when my little brother Jonah was born due to complications. Dad had taken that hard and had never remarried, never been on a date either. It was his kind of love that I had looked for in all my boyfriends. "She's been talking about how lonely they get when you're not home."

"Yeah, that's because I'm the only one that will put up with them." I heard the grin in his voice. I knew he'd never believe me if I contradicted him aloud. But he was easily missed. He may not remember the big things. Birthdays, holidays, even some events were never recalled. But he remembered the little things. How you liked your coffee, your favorite color, that particular thing you were trying to find at the store. He had this weird way of making you feel important and valued that very few did, even in nothing more than casual conversation. He didn't remember the big things, he remembered the important things. And that was one of many reasons I had fallen in love with him.

"Watch it!" I heard his shout just as the headlights of a vehicle came flashing out of the wall of white and I swerved hard. My scream ripping out of my throat as the car slid hard. "Hold on!" I didn't even understand those words as we slammed through snow banks and into the ditch. We came to a stop at some point but I wasn't consciously aware of it. "Shit!" The expletive had me looking to Warren slowly, still dazed. He looked at his phone and swore again before he reached up and hit a button on the rearview mirror.

"Hello, my name is Sara, do you have an emergency?" A woman's voice filled the car.

"Yes, we've hit the ditch. We're in a bit of a snowstorm," he sounded strong and sure, he kept talking but I didn't hear any of it as the shock started wearing off. We had just crashed. Crashed! Nightmare pictures started a strobe light mosaic through my skull of Dad's car wreck. I started breathing hard, wrapping my arms around myself and shaking. Oh gosh, oh gosh, I didn't want to die. I saw the body in the casket, I saw the peaceful expression, the-. Warren's arms wrapped around me and pulled me across the seat and into his lap and he reached back to his box of emergency supplies and pulled out a massive blanket. "Yeah," I heard him talking still, "We're okay, we just need a tow and we should be good to drive out of here."

"Alright," the disembodied voice of Sara came again, "help should be about an hour, if that changes would you like me to call you?"

"Sure."

"Alright, stay warm and safe."

"Thanks," there was a click and Warren wrapped the big heavy blanket around us both. I tried focusing on him again, "Sh," his voice was soft and comforting in my ear as he pressed my cheek to his chest. "Sh, we're okay," he breathed and pressed his lips to the top of my head. He rocked me slowly as much as he could. "We're alright beautiful." I tried holding onto that. "Talk to me," his lips teased my hair, "where are you?"

"I see Dad," my voice trembled and his arms held me a little tighter, "Oh god he's in a coffin." I kept talking, most of it likely came out as badly mumbled nonsense between broken down sobs, but he got me talking, getting it all out, letting out all the horrors until there was nothing left. Nothing, but him, me, and the car. I had no idea how he knew that would work, or if he had and it was just dumb luck.

"I've got you," I heard him murmuring against my head, "we're safe baby, nothing is going to happen." I held him a bit tighter and felt him squeeze. "That's right baby, come back to me."

I came back slowly, focusing on him for the second time this evening. Focusing on the scent of him, the feel of his cotton and silk blended shirt, the feel of his scarf brushing my nose, the scrape of his beard against my skin, the feeling of his fingers in my hair. "I'm so sorry." I whimpered fearing his anger over me crashing his baby.

"Why in the world are you sorry?"

He kissed my forehead before turning me to face him but I couldn't meet his eyes. I struggled to get it out. "You car."

"Becca." he took my chin and lifted my face up until I was forced to meet his gaze. "Baby," his voice was soft as a caress, "I have insurance for a reason. Shit happens. It's okay." He kissed my tears away. "Really." He promised. Still I felt awful, like I had somehow disappointed him after he had trusted me to drive his car. "I love you."

"I love you too." It was a little something we shared, that whenever things felt dire, that everything was falling apart. We were together, that he would love me and I would love him. I shifted and frowned looking up at him. "You're hard?"

He flushed pink and looked away a bit. "Well, it has been a long time since I had you on my lap," I could tell he felt uncomfortable about it and that he wouldn't have brought it up had I not noticed his current, issue. Though he did look at me with a little twinkle in his eye. "We could always make some different memories of a car accident for you."

I seriously thought about it, looking at him stretched out before me. Long limbs covered in a suit that made him beautifully masculine, the scarf hiding an undone collar that lent him a rugged edge. His eyes flashing steel grey in the console lights. My anxiety still tickled at me but, thanks to this man, it was more or less gone. "How long did Sara say we had?"

He looked to the clock on the dash with a flick of his eyes, "Fifty minutes or so now."

I leaned back, rotating my hips on his erection and felt him shudder beneath me and made up my mind at the slight whimper that escaped him. "If someone else sees me naked." I leaned forward to press my breasts to his chest. "I am going to kill you."

"Only after I kill the bastard that sees you." He growled before our lips met in a crushing desperation. My fingers clenched in his shirt, and I felt his tighten in my hair; I groaned into our kiss. Gods I had missed this, him, rather, I had missed him. I shuddered as he shifted a hand down between us and slid between my legs massaging where I ached for him. "It's been a long time since I've done this."

He laughed, "At least you have experience, I've always been too big." Well, with him being over six feet tall, that didn't surprise me but still I was shocked I hadn't known.

"Really?"

He nodded before moving to nibble a blazing trail down my neck. "I was just reaching six feet in height when I was eleven or twelve. And I was fat." I hated how he viewed himself. "Gods," the word sounded like a prayer, "you look like perfection." His eyes traced over me with the intensity of a caress on my bare skin. Only he had ever made me feel this way, attractive, beautiful, sensual.

"Only to you." It came out a breathy moan as his fingers toyed with my breasts, massaging them through my bra. His skills were exquisite.

"Good." His voice was a harsh sound, if I didn't know better I would say that he was jealous.

I shuddered as his teeth grazed my throat. "Oh gosh," it felt incredible, "yes, just like that." He obliged me by pulling open my shirt and tracing his fingers over the bared flesh. I shivered and shuddered, the hot air blasting through the vents making everything highly sensitive. He toyed with me for a long couple of minutes. Teasing my breasts through the bra before removing it and toying with them properly before he traced his fingers down, over my tummy and delving into my pants and sliding along the naked part of me that was already hot and wet. "Oh!" I rocked against his hand, "Oh please." It felt so damn good.

"Mm," his voice came out a sensual purr against my skin. "Cum for me baby, that's it," I rubbed harder, his voice bringing the most wicked pleasure to me, it was crazy how fast he could drive me to desperation, it was insane how desperately I wanted him. "Cum for me," the voice was low in my ear, "now."

I came apart with a shrieking cry, whimpering as I felt my climax ripping me apart. My back arched as his fingers delved into me, my hands coming up to grope my own breasts, squeezing my nipples hard as I looked down at him. Watching his every movement, eyes flickering dangerously as he watched me. "Oh gosh, oh gosh, yes!" I let another one tear me apart, feeling his erection twitch against me as I ground into him harder. Flashes of color splintered my vision, making it impossible to focus as I fell forward onto him panting hard.

"Such a good girl." He breathed, fingers still toying with me, but slower, just enough to keep me hot and aching for him.

"Your good girl." He nodded and smiled kissing my eyelids. I took a long shaky breath, slowly lifting myself up. "Your turn." He looked up at me quizzically and I shifted off him. "Pull your pants down." He obeyed but I could see the amusement in his features as he leaned back, cock standing erect for my affections. Unable to stop myself I leaned over and gave it a good long lick satisfying myself at his snarl and shudder.

I climbed on him after I had pulled off my pants and threw them back onto the driver's seat. He watched me hungrily, everything tense, waiting. I couldn't take it so I lifted myself up slowly and impaled myself. I moaned as he growled. I adored his beast-like sounds, it drove me positively crazy. "You need to buy a bigger car," I groaned as my movements were severely restricted.

"Agreed."

I did the best I could manage though, thrusting up and down, watching the pleasure ripple across his features. The feral intensity that flickered beneath his eyes. It was so fucking erotic watching him trying to control himself even partially. I clenched myself around him, savoring the low growl that invoked even as I moaned and whimpered for him, needing him, desperate for him. Suddenly his hand came up and wrapped itself around my throat, not hard, but just enough to know where he stood. It was so hot, riding him like this, feeling his hand on my throat. "Oh," I moaned, looking down at him, stroking my fingers over his arm, "I need you to cum for me baby," his snarls were louder, more feral. "I need you to cum, I was so close and I didn't think I had enough energy to make him if he didn't soon. "You look so beautiful when you cum for me." I clenched myself around him again, and when I heard that deep throaty howl call my name, I released myself too in a blinding wave of pleasure.

The tow truck came ten minutes after we had finished rearranging ourselves though I had stayed cuddled up to him in the car. I always felt warm there, safe. "I will always keep you warm and safe." I smiled at his lazy promise as he traced his fingertips across my tummy. He looked up at the knock at the window and he rolled it down a bit.

"I'm just going to tow you out sir."

"Sure, do you need any help with anything?"

"No sir, this is an easy pull, you went straight in."

At least something went right in this fiasco. I smiled moving my hips together, feeling his seed sliding inside me. Well, actually a lot had gone right now that I thought about it, despite the cramped confines. "Alright precious, ready to go home?"

"Not really, I like it here."

He laughed softly, "I know, I like you here too, but we need to get moving." I groaned and shifted, "uh uh, you're driving."

"What?" That cleared the fog instantly. Fear came screaming back. "I can't."

"Becca," his lips found mine, "you can't let them win. You need to be able to drive. I trust you. If this happens again, we'll do it all over again. I'm ready for round two." I knew that, I had felt him swell again but we both had known there hadn't been enough time.

"But-."

"But nothing, seriously," he smiled down at me, tucking a curl of hair behind my ear. "I trust you." Those words meant a lot, coming from a man who didn't trust easily, and who I had just run his prized possession into a ditch.

We got out in no more than a few minutes. As the tow truck driver said, it was an easy fix. I had managed to keep the car straight as we went in. No idea how, but, yay for small victories. The drive home was a lot less uneventful but that's likely because I followed the flashing amber lights of the tow truck the entire way back, though I didn't completely relax until I pulled up into my driveway and let out a long slow breath. "I love you," I smiled at the soft words.

"I love you too."

We worked our way to the door and were nearly bowled over by Ember who rushed out to hug her father. The girl had Warren's deep brown-auburn hair that she had up in pig tails tonight. I laughed but kept moving on to go to the bathroom and clean up a bit, leaving Ember to her chattering. I looked in the mirror as I cleaned up, everything seeming to be in order I stepped out to see Warren inside the living room holding Ember on one arm and Ryan on the other. The boy, a clone of his father almost, looked painfully exhausted but was likely awoken by his sister's shrill shrieks. At least he wasn't fussing. "I didn't get your text for at least half an hour," I looked over to see Kyle.

"Yeah, sorry about that. We couldn't do much about that, there wasn't any service. I was surprised the car made it through honestly."

"They seem pretty high functioning those emergency services." Kyle pulled me against him and kissed the top of my head. "Glad you both made it home safe." I watched the flash in Warren's eyes that quickly died out.

"Daddy," Ember looked up, "do you think we could go to New York sometime?"

"I don't know baby cakes, you'll have to ask your uncle if you can go with him next time."

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