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spikybanana · 2 years

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@wolfstarmicrofic - prompt: nourished - Persephone/HoTS (yesterday's microfic) part 2 because it's entirely too easy to get me to do something. under the cut because it's sorta long. (and now cheekily on ao3)

“She was the goddess of spring, her spirits nourished the earth.” Peter, duly and begrudgingly cast as narrator #4, droned from centre stage. And as he read flatly from the script, Sirius wandered the side of the stage in a flowing dress and with a flower basket in his hands. “The flowers bloomed for her, the birds sang for her, and as it came to be, the winter winds wailed for her.”

Then, suddenly, Sirius paused in his steps, and turned to look, as though with love-struck wonder, straight at where Remus stood in the shadows. Sirius smiled, and for a moment, Remus’ heartbeat died in his chest before he remembered. It’s the damned script. Fucking hell, he thought, get a hold of yourself.

Peter had continued in the background. “And he— was the King of the shadows. The demure, silent creature who emerged only in the moonlight—”

When Remus’ side of the stage stayed empty, Peter sighed long-sufferingly, before repeating, dragging his words, “he was— the King— of the shadows—”

Oh shit. Only then did Remus remember to run on stage, very much un-demure and un-silent.

Sirius sniggered, and Mary poked her head out of the orchestral pit, halfway through a screaming match with Regulus about the overture arrangement, and shouted, “Remus Lupin! You missed your cue! Again!”

“Alright alright I’m sorry!” Remus said frustratedly, “I was distracted!”

Peter whipped the script down, spun to him, “oh really. Were you now?”

Remus was saved from answering by a loud crash that sounded from above them. Their moon had fallen off its hinges again, and was now hanging entirely by the safety wires from the bars on the ceiling.

“Sorry!” Frank called, running up the ladder, “I’m on it!”

Remus vaguely wondered, for the dozenth time this rehearsal, why in the underworld were they allowed to do any of this; while Mary groaned. “All of you are making me regret my entire life.”

Remus knew it was coming, at some point, but he was surprised nonetheless.

“Act one, scene five, line three hundred and ten…” Mary dropped the script and looked with narrowed eyes between Sirius and Remus, “Now you kiss.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Remus! Haven’t you read the script?”

“Well, I—”

Everyone was watching. Scattered around the stage and lounging in the empty front rows. James, leaning against the cardboard stump of a prop-tree, looked at him with a funny little smile.

Sirius was grinning at him too, and Remus numbly stepped forward towards Sirius’ outstretched hand.

“Oh, come here, sweetheart.” Sirius pulled him in, cradled his face, placed a thumb at the corner of his mouth, before pressing his lips over it.

As quickly as it started, Sirius dropped his hands and stepped back, still grinning, though a little shakily. “Is this okay?”

For long, long seconds, Remus couldn’t chase away the lingering pressure of a soft thumb, soft lips barely on his cheek. “Okay.” he barely voiced, still too stunned. Dammit, it hadn’t even been a real kiss! “Yeah. This is okay. This works.”

Behind Sirius, James had let out a noise halfway between a groan and a laugh, “Come on, Remus, boss—” which he’d taken to call Remus ever since he got dragged in to play Hermes (because Mary had shot down the idea of him playing Sirius’ on-stage mother), “why do you look so scared! At least try to look like you’re into it! You’d think it’s Persephone abducting Hades!”

Remus shot him a scathing look, and deigned not mention how at least James wasn’t playing Zeus. He would have grown five toes in the face of Goddess Lily Evans.

“Actually, you know what?” Mary said, still perched on the stool considering them, “Keep it like this. It’s cute.”

“I mean it’s not like we can’t change it—” Remus began protesting.

“No, no, no. Remus. Listen, we’re going to make sure you act as little as possible, okay? It’s going to be fine.” Mary said, as though convincing herself.

Turns out, it was going to be all fine, but it also wasn’t. Miraculously, the play came together, with its MDF trees and the LED-on-MDF moon, and MDF-on-wheels scene changes. But as for Remus, every scene remained laced with a throbbing kind of yearning, and guilt churned in his chest with every line that was supposedly said to Persephone but really said to Sirius.

Eventually, he just couldn’t keep it all in. On the night of the first show, a mere half hour before the lights were due to go down, Remus felt the air shrink and shrink in the tiny dressing room he shared with Sirius until it popped the secret right out of him. The words spilled out of him in a rush, even as horror was rising in him at the sight of Sirius wordlessly staring at him.

But then, Sirius was stepping swiftly forward, drawing him into an embrace. And Remus had another half second of panicking thinking this has gone horribly wrong, before he felt Sirius’ breathy laughs on his neck, “Me too, Remus. I am ‘stupidly, horrendously infatuated with you’, too.”

Remus’ stomach did something indescribable like it was both soaring and dropping underground. He drew a sharp breath in. Sirius smelt like the perfumed fake flowers he carried in his basket but even that was wonderful. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Sirius laughed softly, drawing back. “since forever, before you ask.”

“But I thought— there was no way you would— me?”

“Well you were the one who always looked so calm and nonchalant about everything, about all of this…”

“Me? Calm? Are you sure? You were the one who acts all chill, twirling around with a basket of wheat—”

“I thought I’ve been so obvious! I thought everyone could see it— I thought you did!”

“I— I just thought you were just such a good actor!”

“I thought you were such a good actor.”

“Okay. So we’re both shit actors.” Remus thought the dressing room definitely needed paddings on the walls, “But it’s fine. It’s working out.”

“Yeah. It is.” Sirius smirked, and leaned in to kiss him right on the mouth.

Just then, Marlene pounded on the door. “Got your mics!” She barged right in, giving the two of them no time at all to spring apart. Marlene took one look at them, blinked, dropped the mics on the table, and dug out her walkie-talkie. “Reporting code Wolfstar, guys. Everyone can calm the fuck down now.”

And from the the other end immediately came James’ very muffled, very excited shouts, “Oh thank the holy underworld fucking finally I mean I would say I told you so but even I was worried they’d not manage it—”

“What is going on?” Sirius with more amusement than confusion. Which Remus deeply admired.

Marlene simply shrugged. “Mics?”

And after that, they hadn’t managed to have a moment by themselves before the curtains rose. But Remus could tell it was different now, when every single glance shared with Sirius was a promise carefully held. The show went on splendidly. All through the first act, Frank’s ambitious lighting plan worked without a hitch. Only once did a microphone die, and only twice did someone forget their lines. But all of them were in their top form. No one stepped on the pomegranate, Remus hadn’t missed a single cue, and even the narrators didn’t sound bored. Remus felt electric, soaring off the crest of the waves of Regulus’ brilliant orchestration with Sirius in tow. At act one’s climax, when they were just about to reach towards each other for the kiss, time froze for a moment and Sirius’ smile curled just the bit differently, painted with a silent dare. Remus’ eyes widened.

And for the first time, instead of waiting for his summon, Remus strode forward in two long steps, held Sirius in his arms, and leaned in. Still clutching a pinch of doubt, he’d placed the kiss at the corner of Sirius’ mouth. But then, Sirius shifted and they were sharing a full-on kiss, fingers-in-hair and everything. The audience went wild, they were soon smiling too much, but their lips lingered on each other’s long after the curtains came down. They had about fifteen minutes before they were due on stage for act two, when Persephone had to be angry and homesick and Hades had to be depressed. But for now, they were SiriusandRemus and they had fifteen minutes.

Mary was on them, with crossed arms and the full MacDonald glare, when they were barely even off the stage. “Don’t you dare do anything during intermission.”

“Yeah okay we promise!” Remus said sheepishly, even as Sirius was already dragging him away.

“Pandora will personally kill you for ruining any of the costumes and I’m telling you,” Mary continued yelling after their retreating backs, “she might not look like much but she can be explosive and I swear to god Remus I’m expecting a letter of thanks and one of apology for psychological damage in the last month!”

Frank came to pat comfortingly on her shoulder. “Actors, am I right?”

Mary huffed. “They never figure out anything. Those idiots.”

“All’s well that ends well, no?”

“Oh, we’ll have to see.”

#wolfstar #microfic #wolfstar microfic #wolfstar not so micro fic #remus lupin #sirius black #marauders au #theatre au #mary macdonald #peter pettigrew #james potter #in which mary regrets some choices #but it all works out!#my writing

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the-soft-rains-came · 2 years

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We're All in the Mood for a Melody, and You've Got Us Feelin' Alight

2444 words Hi! It's nearly 10 PM (at the time of writing this) and I have a research presentation tomorrow at 7:30 AM sharp, and instead of finishing said presentation, I'm writing this! This is based off of @oh-snapperss and @spookyybird 's Hermitcraft Resistance AU! Specifically, it is the Masquerade party told from a particularly unassuming point of view.

Note: this is not my AU, so none of what I have written should be considered canon. All source materials used for writing this is either canon information, gathered from canon fics, or researched from outside sources (such as orchestral vernacular and technological placement).

You have NO IDEA how many times I reread Masquerade and re-listened to the playlist for this. Man.

(P.S. I was never a band kid, I grew up as a choir kid, so I apologize in advance if I got anything wrong!)

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The orchestra finished their final crescendo right as I took my seat at the pianist's bench.

"You're late." The conductor whispered sternly to me as I tested the pedals of the piano I was provided. It was ok; certainly better than I thought it would be.

"Got lost," I said.

A generic excuse, really. Had they pressed further I would have shrugged without comment; Even further, and I would have woven a tale about falling down an obscure set of stairs and then muttered and grumbled about hazard pay and that *they should be lucky that I'm still here!* until they walked away. But they didn't. And so I didn't.

I didn't really want to lie anyway. I hadn't gotten lost. I didn't fall down any stairs.

I was admiring the castle.

I was running my hands over the ornate frames of the windows; I was admiring the intricate columns and flourished balconies and detailed walkways.

*whoever had designed this place must be one hell of an architect,* I thought to myself, and then I promptly realized what time it was and sprinted to the ballroom.

The conductor gave me a look, but turned back to their music stand without comment. I shook out my fingers and glanced over my shoulder at the commissioner for the evening.

He was draped over a netherite throne, swathed in luxurious furs and silks. He gazed down at the ballroom floor with lidded eyes as dancing couples started to splinter off and bleed back to the edges of the dance floor. His face was half concealed by a bejeweled wolf mask.

I watched his eyes snap to the grand staircase, where a figure cloaked in green stood, transfixed, staring down at the room at large. Scanning the room, I realized more eyes than the king's own were watching this figure.

I refocused on my piano, grateful that no one was looking at me nearly as much as they were at them.

The conductor tapped their baton on their music stand. I turned to watch as the orchestra stood at attention, prepared to begin at command. The conductor then turned to me and mouthed "Waltz."

Waltz, sure. Waltzes were easy. One-two-three one-two-three one-two-three. Triple time. I didn't play the melody for most of this particular arrangement- I was simply an accompaniment, playing along underneath the violins and cellos. Syncopation made it just exciting enough to not be completely stale and boring, and I did have a few moments where my melodramatic tones shone through the woven sounds of the orchestra. Still, I found my eyes wandering as my fingers worked the keys.

The dance floor was flooded again, new couples flowing together in a bold, beguiling dance. I found my eyes drawn particularly to a pair that stood out among the rest: A tall figure in green and blue and gold led the shorter figure in the green cloak I had seen previously on the stairs in a confident, fluid clash.

The taller's head was bent down towards the smaller- the two seemed completely absorbed in a bitter exchange, even as they danced. I raised my eyebrows and looked back down at my piano. None of my business, anyway.

I kept on playing.

The song drew to a dramatic close and I looked over at the conductor as they dismissed the orchestra's attention. A first violinist tapped her bow against her knee as she paced over to my piano, still propping her instrument on her shoulder.

I glanced up at her as she stopped next to me.

"It's weird in here, right?" I asked as she examined the piano keys.

"I could cut the tension with my bow," She agreed. My fingers curled on the keys as I shuddered.

"I'm glad we get to leave when the night is over," I said weakly. "I don't think I could stand being in this server any longer than that."

The violinist peered over her shoulder at a celloist, who was nervously applying rosin to his own bow. The whole orchestra, in fact, appeared nervous as they turned pages and chattered quietly.

"Places!" The conductor called, glaring at the first violinist next to me.

I gave her a worried look as she returned to her position, her instrument and bow at attention for the conductor.

The next song, interestingly, began with a celloist plucking the strings of his instrument- Pizzicato. They were shortly joined by a single violinist- maybe even my friend, but I didn't turn around to look. I was completely distracted by the Green figure.

I hadn't seen them break apart from their first partner, but they must have, because now they were dancing with someone else; someone still taller than them, but someone who held them closer, who maneuvered the pair with ease across the dance floor even as their partner stumbled and tripped. I watched as they turned and twisted, caught up in what must have been an equally enthralling conversation.

The green figure leaned into their partner, looking up at them with wide eyes. They were flushed, high along their cheekbone- I could tell even in the low light of the evening. The other half of their face was hidden behind the wings of a dozen butterflies, but I saw what I needed to.

I watched several confusing displays, even as other couples danced in between my gaze and the focal pair: A hand guiding a chin upward; a warm laugh (that even I could hear, across the ballroom), something that was a breath away from a kiss, had the red one not pulled away with a smile.

I was too distracted to even join into the music. I don't know if I was supposed to, but as the song faded, the conductor didn't even address me, let alone admonish me. They didn't even let their orchestra rest after this song, and as I watched the red figure press a kiss to the green figure's cheek and then slip away into the recesses of the room, the violins began a low, sweet harmony.

I turned to watch the conductor again for a cue, but I never received one. I returned to my lonely keys with a furrowed brow- was this the rest of the night for me? A single waltz and then sitting at a bench for hours? I frowned softly.

My attention was soon drawn back to the dance floor. I had once again missed the hand off, but now the green figure- 'I should make up a name for them, this is getting exhausting'- was once again dancing with someone else; someone in gold and black with a horned mask covering half of his face.

Their dance was tender and intimate, and I couldn't help but look away. I tried to focus on another couple, on the piano, or even on the king, whose lax posture surely belied a rigid tension that straightened his spine, but I just found myself searching for the moss-cloaked figure once again.

I frowned; they had disappeared. Where on Earth-

The violins continued their sweet tune, joined by the basses and cellos that hummed a low melody.

What was it about the cloaked figure? Something about the way their gaze both searched the crowd and sought out the king made me curious. What was it that they wanted? Did they know?

And yet...

The furious shine in their eyes as they retreated from their last dance partner, when they had just tried to kiss them moments ago... what was that?

I blinked and shook my head. 'Not your business,' I reminded myself as the strings faded to quiet. There was a beat of silence before the dull roar of the crowd drummed up again; I felt a tap on my shoulder and looked over.

"Your turn," The conductor whispered. "Go ahead and play a few solo pieces. I'll let you know when we're ready to play again."

I looked at them with raised eyebrows, but I didn't complain. I wouldn't be a pianist for hire if I didn't love the instrument.

Several hours pass without incident. The mossy figure danced with a few more people- always under the watchful eyes of the king- but as far as I could tell from behind the piano, none quite so emotionally charged as the first three. I was mostly focused on my playing- another waltz, a few fugues, a prelude or two. A few times I was joined by a violinist in a dramatic duet, but nothing noteworthy occurred.

I was standing for a few seconds, stretching my legs in between songs. My eyelids felt heavy with exhaustion; the night was drawing to a close, surely.

I sat back down at the bench, stretching out my fingers. I heard the conductor draw closer to me, as if to tell me the name of a song- or maybe, I thought with suddenly shining hope, to tell me to pack it up and prepare to head home- but a figure stepped up to the piano from the dance floor.

I gave them an appraising look. None of the other partygoers so far had come up to the orchestra; certainly not to address me. But this person, robed in midnight black, moved all the way up to my side, leaning down to murmur in my ear.

I was so keenly aware of everyone's eyes on me suddenly- even the king seemed to watch us- that I missed his first words.

"I'm sorry, would you mind repeating that?" I asked faintly.

"I have a request," He said patiently. "May I send it to your communicator?"

"I- yes, of course. Go right ahead." I nodded, sealing my confirmation. I watched with curiosity and not a little concern as he went up to the conductor, presumably to give the same request. The conductor considered for a moment, and then nodded once, sharply.

As the figure returned to the dance floor, my communicator gave a low ping. I propped the device up on my music stand, scanning the bars and notes. I didn't recognize it - the notes were just oddly spaced enough that I thought, fleetingly, if this person had composed the piece themself. But I didn't have time to wonder for long. The conductor counted quietly to four and then I began to play.

Not long after my first few notes- low and sweet, gentle as the sheet music directed- I was joined by a single violinist. We played together, a tender, somber duet that rang sweetly into the heights of the ballroom ceiling. A second violinist joined us, harmonizing tenderly with the first; and then- a third? I began to lose track.

And then I saw them.

They were dancing together, infinitely more intimate and familiar than anyone else had been. They were alone on the dance floor, their movements perfectly tuned to each other. I nearly missed several notes as the music crescendoed, but I didn't let myself- I couldn't ruin the moment for them.

By the stars, the way they were looking at each other. I bit my lip and looked back down at my sheet music, and then at my trembling fingers on the keys.

Something was definitely happening. Something new, something strange. I knew suddenly that nothing like this, nothing of this caliber had ever happened on this server before.

Something private is being made known, I thought as my gaze trailed through the enamored eyes of the onlookers.

They were murmuring to each other; exchanging private words. I couldn't keep watching- I had to sight-read the music, but I watched as much as I could; I couldn't look away.

The music quieted to a close; the violins fell off one by one. It was just myself and what might've been a bassoon playing, until we too faded to silence.

I heard a rippling gasp echo behind me and turned to see the two dancers interlocked in a kiss, twined in each other's embrace. I felt my eyes widen and I couldn't help but glance up at the king, who was sitting up straight, his face a blaze of fury.

The two broke apart, exchanging a rapid, hushed whisper before the robed figure twisted and ran off to the balcony.

I turned to look at the conductor- for what, I don't know. But they were staring up at the figure.

"Bdoubleo!" The shout thundered across the room. I ducked, but no one was looking at me. Everyone was looking at the king, who had stood and was striding down the steps to the dance floor.

“My liege—” (presumably) Bdoubleo began, looking up at the ruler. The king silenced him with a waved hand.

“It’s quite the shame that we have not yet shared a dance. Don’t you agree, my hand?” The king's sanguine voice belied a darker, rougher undertone.

“Why, y-yes, my king! It would be an honor to share this dance with you.” Bdoubleo was stammering; I was nervous for him.

The king nodded to the conductor, who gestured frantically to the orchestra. They didn't even name a song ;A bassist struck a note and our conductor went with it.

The two, entwined in a harsh dance, swept across the dance floor. I couldn't watch; something about the king's tight grip on Bdoubleo's waist made me feel sick and nervous.

They spoke to each other, but the sound of the violin and the bass, intertwined in a sharp harmony, covered their voices entirely. I wiped my palms on my pants as the song grew to a crescendo, the violin's piercing cry echoing across the ballroom and into the darkened night. My heart pounded as the music ramped up, crescendo after crescendo building until both instruments suddenly fell to a muted mezzo-piano. But it wasn't done.

There was one more stanza before the final bow.

The music grew to an ultimate crescendo as the king removed his lupine mask and pulled Bdoubleo into a rough kiss. Everyone standing around the perimeter of the dance floor stood frozen; no one moved. I thought I caught a flicker of motion outside one of the windows, but I couldn't be sure.

The final notes of the last song of the night seemed to hold on forever. I closed my eyes. I didn't want to see how this ended.

"It's time to go," The first violinist from earlier was behind me, her hand on my shoulder.

"Is it over?" I asked, knowing the answer.

"Yes." Her voice was distracted, distant.

"It's over."

#hermitshipping #hc resistance au #non canon #the amount of times I reread and edited this upsets me #the pianist is just a little guy #confused the whole time #i love them for it

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tragicallywicked · 9 months

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Beneath the City Lights

Summary:

On Charlize's birthday, Sofia comes to give her a surprise—or rather, many.

Notes:

This is soft and sweet and very very light implied smut. It wasn't in my plans to crush on them, but it happened. So now we can live with this.

In the heart of Los Angeles, a city known for its glamour and allure, a symphony of excitement and anticipation filled the air. The occasion was none other than Charlize birthday, a day of celebration that promised to be as enchanting as the star herself. Unbeknownst to the world, a secret current of emotion flowed beneath the surface, an affair that added an air of mystique to the day's festivities.

As the sun cast its golden hues across the sprawling cityscape, Charlize's heart raced with a mixture of excitement and curiosity when Sofia’s text came through. Little did she know that her world was about to be graced by an unexpected presence. Sofia Boutella, her secret partner, had orchestrated a grand surprise that would bridge the gap between New York and LA.

SOFIA : Rise and shine, birthday girl! Please make sure you still got nothing planned tonight?

CHARLIZE : Oh?

SOFIA : Time to make today as unforgettable as you are.

CHARLIZE : What are you planning, you sneak??

SOFIA : Ah, that's classified information, my dear. Top secret surprises await you!

CHARLIZE : You're killing me with curiosity, babe. Spill the beans already!

SOFIA : Trust me, it's worth the wait.

CHARLIZE : Well, you've certainly piqued my interest.

SOFIA : Just remember, no matter the miles, my heart's right there with you.

CHARLIZE : Aw. I miss you. :(

SOFIA : Not for long…

CHARLIZE : Oh!?

Sofia's text left Charlize intrigued, her mind racing with possibilities as she glanced out at the glimmering city below. The day had already been one of surprises, and now her heart skipped a beat as she wondered what Sofia had up her sleeve.

From across the country, Sofia had flown to be with Charlize on this special day. A gesture of devotion that spanned miles and tugged at the strings of their hidden affair. The moment their eyes met, a spark ignited, an unspoken promise that today would be unlike any other.

Charlize's afternoon had been a whirlwind of joy and laughter, spent in the company of her beloved mother and cherished daughters (who all were taking part on the surprise Sofia had planned). Returning from the late brunch, the familiar warmth of her LA abode embraced Charlize. Yet, her heart fluttered with an anticipation that she couldn't quite put into words. As she entered the living room, her eyes widened in astonishment, her breath momentarily stolen by the sight that greeted her. Sofia, a vision of grace and allure, was already there, next to a large flower arrangement and holding a gift for her girlfriend.

"Surprise, my love," Sofia's voice was a melodic whisper, her eyes dancing with a mixture of affection and playfulness. Charlize felt herself drawn into the embrace of Sofia's arms, her own heart beating in tandem with the rhythm of their unspoken connection.

Charlize's lips curved into a radiant smile, her heart swelling with emotion as she accepted Sofia's embrace. "You've truly outdone yourself, Sofia.” Their lips met in between, and perhapt for a moment too long. But they lived far from each other and it wasn’t always easy, so everyone looked away while the two kissed, giving them the privacy they needed. “How did you manage to keep all of this a secret?"

Sofia's laughter tinkled like a delicate chime, a melodious sound that enveloped them in an enchanting cocoon. "Let's just say I have my ways. But the real surprise is yet to come."

Charlize's curiosity was piqued once more, her eyes locking with Sofia's in a dance of shared anticipation. "With you by my side, I'm always ready for anything."

Sofia's surprise was unveiled with an invitation to an Taylor Swift’s concert with exclusive seats. Amidst the electric atmosphere of the arena, the music pulsated through their veins, an ethereal symphony that resonated with the beats of their hearts. Charlize watched in awe as her daughters danced with unabashed joy, their laughter echoing through the night.

Post-concert, the enchantment continued as they retreated to a candlelit haven of culinary delights. Laughter flowed as effortlessly as the wine, a shared camaraderie that enveloped them in a bubble of affection and understanding. The allure of the moment was intoxicating, an intoxication that only deepened as the night progressed.

With the children nestled in their dreams, the two women found themselves bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. The air crackled with an electric tension, their fingers dancing on the precipice of yearning. Their gazes locked, a silent affirmation passing between them, and in that moment, the world around them seemed to fade into insignificance.

"I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that you're here.” Charlize smiled softly, laying on the backyard stretcher next to Sofia. “You flew all this way just for my birthday… You never cease to amaze me."

"Well, I couldn't let the distance stand between us on such a special day, could I? Besides, the look on your face when you walked in was worth every mile." Sofia’s tone was endearingly sweet, as she reached out to intertwine their fingers together.

"You know how to make an entrance, that's for sure,” she joked, her thumb brushing over her knuckles. “But seriously, the concert was incredible. The girls were on cloud nine, and I have to admit, even I let loose a little."

"Oh, I saw those dance moves of yours. You're a natural." Sofia, a true dancer in the whole essence of the word, teased, her brows wiggling at her girlfriend.

"I have no doubt.” Charlize played along and shook her head a little. “It’s moments like these, when we can just be ourselves… I love it so much."

"So do I." Sofia tugged at her hand a little and Charlize understood the message, rising from her resting spot. She waited Sofia to follow, before the lead the way indoors, hands still together.

“I feel so lucky to have you in my life,” Charlize whispered when they got inside. The lights were dimmed to almost nothing as they stood by the bed and she hovered overed Sofia to kiss her. Unlike the times before, during that day, now it was deep and lewd. She missed her girlfriend in every way possible, and tonight was still her birthday so there was no time to waste.

The night held them in its embrace, their hearts synchronizing to a rhythm that echoed through the very soul of the city. Elegantly entwined, their lips met once more in a lingering kiss that spoke of stolen moments and whispered promises. Each touch, each caress, was a testament to the hidden desires that had smoldered between them. The room became a sanctuary of passion and vulnerability, a place where inhibitions melted away, leaving only the unadulterated essence of their affection.

Time seemed to stretch as their bodies moved in a harmonious rhythm, a choreography of love and longing. In each other's arms, they discovered a refuge from the demands of fame and the constraints of their public lives. Their connection was a symphony of sensations, a symphony that crescendoed into a symposium of shared ecstasy.

As dawn painted the sky with shades of rose and gold, Charlize and Sofia laid bare, wrapped in each other's embrace, their breaths intermingling like a secret melody. In the wake of their passionate union, the world seemed reborn, the city's allure heightened by the memory of an unforgettable night—and the promise of so many more.

#Charlize Theron #Sofia Boutella #atomic blonde #WELL SO THAT HAPPENED #i once had said i'd never write RPF and yet here i am #charlize's bday made a number on me #happy birthday charlize #I guess hahaha #i just crush on the chemistry these two have #fanfic #mine #drabbles

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burlveneer-music · 2 years

Audio

Joe Fiedler’s Open Sesame - Fuzzy and Blue - my WVUD pal Ako turned me on to this last night, a trombone-led quintet doing Sesame Street songs! (Oh, and Fiedler actually works on Sesame Street!)

In 2019 trombonist Joe Fiedler released Open Sesame, packed with inventive jazz readings of material drawn from his longstanding “day job” as an EMMY-nominated music director and staff arranger for the famed children’s show Sesame Street. The effort was equally beloved by lay listeners and the jazz world alike. DownBeat praised the music’s “diverse aesthetic,” in which Fiedler blends “elements of funk, rock, free-jazz and New Orleans polyphony into a potent mix that gives depth and texture to the lighthearted compositions.” When Fiedler and the band toured the music, including a stop at Dizzy’s Club Coca-Cola with guest luminaries Wynton Marsalis and none other than Elmo himself, the realization set in that the project would be no one-off. “I have these songbooks from the Sesame Street office,” Fiedler says, “and if you whip through the first 30 tunes, absolutely everyone knows them. But there are six or seven thousand songs they’ve done over the past 50 years, with plenty of gold in there to do a second album for sure.” Fuzzy and Blue, Fiedler’s second volume of Sesame Street songs, shines still more light on the extraordinary wit and melodic gift of the foundational Sesame Street composers Joe Raposo and Jeffrey Moss, among others. The album boasts the same top-tier lineup as Open Sesame, with a couple of twists. Trumpeter Steven Bernstein, who played on only part of Open Sesame, now becomes an integral cog in a nimble three-horn section, expanding and varying the palette and allowing Fiedler to bring his seasoned orchestration skills to the foreground. Reedman Jeff Lederer plays tenor and clarinet and relies more heavily on soprano sax this time out, helping achieve the ideal blend of colors and registers that Fiedler was seeking. Drummer Michael Sarin and bassist Sean Conly keep the rhythms locked and creatively churning, from the Dr. John/Professor Longhair vibe of “Fuzzy and Blue” to the reggae feel of “Elmo’s Song” (by Tony Geiss), to the Hugh Masekela-inspired Afropop of “Ladybug’s Picnic” (originally a peppy country novelty by the late William “Bud” Luckey). The ensemble also gets a visit from vocal powerhouse Miles Griffith, the very model of a guest on Sesame Street. On the “I Love Trash/C Is for Cookie” melange (a one-two shot of Moss and Raposo), Griffith’s singing is unabashed, larger than life, uproariously funny but insightful and firmly in control. He’s equally compelling in a sociopolitical vein on “I Am Somebody,” in which Fiedler combines an original song with the lyrics of Reverend William Holmes Borders — words recited to powerful effect on Sesame Street in 1972 by Reverend Jesse Jackson. Fiedler felt a need on Fuzzy and Blue to acknowledge social tumult at the close of the Trump presidency and the still-tentative aftermath of the COVID pandemic. “We Are All Earthlings,” a gentle and idyllic Jeffrey Moss folk ballad from 1993, accomplishes this as well, though Fiedler brings a stark added tension with his Stravinsky-esque horn voicings. Throughout the album there’s an atmosphere of fun, “a sense of burlesque” as Fiedler put it in the Open Sesame liner notes, that flows from the trombonist’s deep love of Ray Anderson, the Jazz Passengers, Carla Bley and other major influences. Steven Bernstein’s Sexmob is another. The improvisational openness and risk of Fiedler’s trio dates Sacred Chrome Orb, The Crab, I’m In and Joe Fiedler Plays the Music of Albert Mangelsdorff also carry over to this more song-oriented endeavor. Fuzzy and Blue, like its predecessor, is Fiedler’s way of bringing it all together, reminding himself and all of us that inspiration can and does come from everywhere, and that everything is connected.

#Joe Fiedler #jazz #sesame street #covers #trombone #2021

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samsa19 · 3 years

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day 4 odazai angst week

hmm yep. it’s going to be such a good fucking idea to post this shit fic on the internet for all the internet to see.

so this is my totally uninvited submission for

odazai angst week day 4: Ghosts | Loneliness || Hurt/comfort

Here’s the event source!

He sees them. In the air, in the corners of his darkest eyes, in the tracing outlines of things that he once thought he knew.

In the petals of a florist’s garden on his way to work; where the faded, wilting edges of a hydrangea flower remind him of the flowing blue of his eyes. He stops to stare, crouches down, searching for that brilliant azure that must surely be hiding somewhere in the multitudes of hues. Through a flurry of his perception he catches in his eye a very brilliant, a very flowing- blue.

“Are you looking for something?” Dazai looks up to the sound of the voice. An earnest storekeeper fidgets sheepishly at his side.

Her hair is bright auburn.

Dazai smiles. “Do you mind if I take this flower?”

The storekeeper leans over. “This bouquet?”

He chuckles, and picks out a stem delicately. “No, just this one.”

“Ahh… we can’t allow individual stems from already arranged bouquets, I’m sorry…”

He lifts his eyes innocently to the girl’s, the way he knows would make her go scarlet. “Even if I pay the price for a full bouquet?”

The girl looks down immediately, flushed. She blurts out: “Th-that would be 50,000 yen, sir.”

Dazai laughs again. “Alright. I’ll take it.”

The storekeeper watches, entranced, at the man humming along the street with a single hydrangea between his fingers- wondering what about that one flower deserved such an admiring stare.

***

In the silhouette of his pupil- the way the fingers clasped so gently the hilt of the gun.

Atsushi’s back is bent as he gets down to pick it up; nimbly and lightly, almost hurriedly, as if he was holding a bomb yet to explode. And in a way it was. Had they been only moments late, it may have taken a life.

Dazai notices the tension in his figure, and walks up to him. “Something wrong, Atsushi-kun?”

“It’s always heavier than I expected…” Atsushi smiles uncomfortably. “I don’t think I can ever get used to this, because I’m always used to having my claws as weapons.”

“What makes your claws different? I’m sure they weigh about the same, combined with your limbs.”

The boy looks back at his mentor and scratches the back of his head, weighting the gun as he tilts it cautiously. “I don’t know. There’s something so… Inhumane about it?” He grimaces.

Atsushi’s figure perks up, suddenly remembering the job he has to do.

“Right. Dazai-san, could you show me one more time how to take it apart?”

“Sure.” He leans over.

Dazai takes the gun in his hand. He moves his hand swiftly to unlock it brashly, ram its parts back the only way his hands know- then he stops.

He glances at Atsushi’s hands. They’re at the same position as his own. Ready to imitate.

And for a split second, it pains his heart a little. His eyes flicker.

Slowly, he starts moving his hands again, but this time, differently.

Dazai’s eyes had caught and burned into memory every curl and twist of Oda’s hands as he unloaded his gun. So gentle, yet swift and subtle. Those scarred knuckles and palms had no justice for the way he handled such a weapon. A tool for killing. A tool he had lived with; a tool that he knew he had a choice for.

Atsushi watches in admiration, the way the fingers glide through the crevices and handle the parts. It made it seem as if the gun weighed nothing.

“Wow…! I- didn’t know you could do something like that so nicely.” Atsushi stares, equally amazed as the gun seemed to piece itself back together.

Dazai smiles. “I learned it from a very special person.” He plops the gun back in Atsushi’s palms. “Here. Let me show you.”

He guides young hands around harsh metal joints. All the while, Atsushi thinks there’s something a bit sad about his mentor’s eyes.

They finish quickly. As Atsushi thanks him, Dazai smiles. He says, “Learn it well, Atsushi-kun.”

He closes his eyes.

“You might teach it to someone else one day.”

***

In the coast away from the bright lights of Yokohama’s nightlife, walking along the sea when he catches just a whiff- just a breath- of him.

His pupils shrink. He turns back, only to be met by the roaring wind of the sea. Dark hair flies back, and his senses are assaulted, eyes closed shut by the mist of saltwater.

By the time he opens them again, it’s gone. Cast away forever with the crashing waves of the ocean.

The dark, sole silhouette stands there, unmoving, staring at something that should be there.

Dazai reaches out. He outstretches his fingers to a distant horizon, knowing it’s futile as it is to reach for something that’s not there- but he grasps desperately. And he closes his eyes again.

The only sympathy, from the chorus of the waves.

Eventually he composes himself again. He opens his eyes, faces the glimmering, yet stormy ocean. The stars glitter subtly, the few piercing lights in the dark sky ever strong, unfaltering.

And the sea is alive.

Crash after crash of water on rocks, on sand, on each other, but all composed by the single, serene ocean. How violently the sounds orchestrate when one lends their ear by the most delicate senses- and yet, how easily it would be missed by the cacophony of murmuring sounds in life.

The epitome of peace, of serenity, of relentless emotion- Dazai thinks.

Are you there?

Dazai’s footsteps track into the sand. Shallow, yet complete, trailing to the waves.

Are you- still alive?

Would you still be alive? Somewhere?

The starscape and glistening waves blur through tears.

Can I find you in this sea? In the stars? In the air?

Is there a way- somehow- to turn back time, to go back, to do anything, to-

Where his ankles are soaked in water, he crumbles.

…

The waves only continue to flow.

***

At some point or the other he ends up on the couch in his apartment. From the edge of his waking conscience he can sense the sticky saltwater of his clothes, the mess of his hair, the cold and lonely air of the room.

He rubs his eyes. They’re sore.

The parting sunlight accompanies the morning, sliding silently into his vision. On the window to his right he can see the gold threads lining the grey buildings, windows slowly brightening from the rising sun.

Dazai falls back. He lays a hand over his eyes. He wasn’t ready. Not today.

He wasn’t ready to live another day, in a world where he was gone.

Dazai knows them. In the colors of the grey shadows- the taste of bitter blood- the sounds of running footsteps and fleeting life.

He knows the ghosts.

oh god if you got this far thank you so much for reading this p.o.s have an amazing day

#odazai angst week 2021 #fanfic #bsd fanfic #bsd #angst #no warnings #sad ending #ig #why do I even try #bsd dazai #bsd odasaku #odazai #bungou stray dogs #hurt and comfort? what comfort #it gets sad at the end dw

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norabrice1701 · 4 years

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An Offer Received - Part III.2

A Jaguar Villain Tom Hiddleston Character (Thomas Conrad) fanfic

Pairing: Thomas Conrad x Fem!reader

Summary: Part III.1 & III.2 - You spring Mr. Conrad’s trap and he has you. You’re his.

Rating: Part III.1 & III.2 - Explicit sexual content NSFW smut (please be ye warned and do not proceed if not your cuppa), controlling behavior, threats of violence, f-bombs, scalpel violence, Dark!Conrad

Previously: Part III.1 - 5 Months

A/N: Here we go, and I’m gonna go hide now (promise more updates are coming, but there will be another life delay).

GIF credit to the original poster via the Tumblr search! (just, you know, swap the suit for his bespoke tuxedo)

Part III.2 - 5 Months

The cabin door opened, ushering in the noise of the rotor, and Conrad slipped out with fluid grace. He extended his hand and you drew a deep, steadying breath, taking it to step out into the cold night.

The mansion looked even bigger now that you stood before it. You couldn’t say where you were outside the city, but this had to be quite the neighborhood for this property to have its own helipad.

Conrad tucked your arm through his, resting his other hand atop it as he steered you up the wide, sweeping stone staircase. Of course, the doorman took Conrad’s name without question and divested you of your velvet coat just as quick. Even though this was a glorified house party, the men all wore crisp, tailored tuxedos, and women dripped in evening finery and priceless jewels.

A glass of champagne materialized in your hand as Conrad expertly navigated the sea and flow of people, exchanging greetings in passing, his face alight with the smile that you recognized from his press releases. The smile perfected to charm and disarm. But you knew the truth…the terrifying, bewildering truth that…

Dammit, why couldn’t he have just been a handsome controlling bastard, and not a handsome controlling bastard bent on world domination? Then, maybe you could let yourself surrender to every natural instinct within you that flared to life in the helicopter. The instincts that demanded you have him - preferably above you, preferably deep in you.

Still on his arm, Conrad’s appeal was near impossible to ignore. But the weight of surrounding, curious stares helped. You wore a cordial smile, glancing among the sea of unfamiliar faces, making introductions and sipping your champagne as you approached the night’s host.

Thaddeus Ross stood with a regal bearing, face warm with his own two-faced, politician’s smile. “Good evening, Thomas,” he reached for Conrad’s hand in a solid shake, “glad you could attend.”

“Thank you, Mr. Secretary.” Conrad’s smile filled to full megawatt. “I’m glad to see you look fighting fit. The gossip mill had painted a rather bleak tale of your shoulder surgery.”

“Yes. The recovery was more arduous than anticipated, but I’m cleared to resume squash after the start of the new year.”

Conrad nodded, obviously pleased. “Splendid. Then, we shall have to arrange a court time.” He turned his disarming smile on you. “The Secretary here has one of the meanest backhands I’ve ever encountered.”

Ross scoffed. “Always the charmer, Thomas. It’ll get you in trouble one day. Now, who is this lovely woman at your side?”

Introductions passed in a flurry. Ross’ face pinched with vague recognition on your name. “You know, I recall your name…direct from Thomas’ office, correct? His administrative assistant?”

The corners of your moth pinched with irritation. “Not entirely, sir. I’m involved with the business operations of the company –“

“You know, Thomas,” Ross barreled ahead, not paying you any mind, “I’ve just received a case of 25-yr Pappy Van Winkle. What’s say we crack it open?”

“Splendid idea, sir.” Conrad turned towards you, swooping in to peek your cheek. “I shan’t be long, darling.” He released your arm and stepped away, his conversation with Ross fading into the din of the party.

Your cheeks flushed, mouth pinched tight, wanting only to yell after him.

You weren’t just some eye-candy secretary on Conrad’s arm to be so easily tossed aside. He had chosen you for the role. He had given you nearly every key in the company. And it wasn’t because you were a brainless, easy fuck.

You fumed, taking a sip of champagne.

“You’ll have to forgive Mr. Ross,” a regal alto voice said over your shoulder. You turned to see a stunning woman with raven hair in a bold, red gown that screamed money and taste. “He still thinks a woman’s place is bent over a stove, a Xerox machine, or his cock.”

You couldn’t stop a soft, unsure laugh as you nodded slowly. “He does give that impression.”

The woman eyed you with a shrewd, amused edge as she held out her hand. “Amelia Young.”

You returned her handshake, offering your name in return. As you drew your hand back, you couldn’t help but notice a group of women, three or four strong, nodding in your direction and trying, but failing, to not stare so directly.

Amelia laughed slow at your side. “Just ignore them.” She looped her arm through yours, steering you away. “They’re just jealous, watching you waltz in on Tom’s arm. Wearing his diamonds.” She sighed almost wistfully. “He’s always had such impeccable taste.”

Your eyebrows climbed to your hairline. You’d never known anyone to call him Thomas before tonight, let alone Tom. You shook your head, blinking in disbelief. “That’s…rather forward of you.”

“Ex-lovers have every right.”

“Well, that’s not…not what he and I are.”

“Well, not ‘ex’ certainly -”

“I mean lovers.” You turned to Amelia with a hard gaze, fed up with the assumptions. “We’re not lovers.”

She hummed low, the sound full of secrets you couldn’t begin to unravel. “He won’t let you take off those diamonds until he’s had you six ways to Sunday. You’re not stupid, so I’m sure you know he’s a very strategic man.” Her matching red lips curled around the rim of her champagne glass as she nodded across the room.

You followed her gaze, easily spotting Conrad. He stood among a group of five men with that wide, boyish smile on his face as the group laughed around him. His eyes found yours effortlessly, his smile shifting for the briefest of seconds to something sharp, dangerous - then it flashed back to light playfulness. The seamless transition raced a shiver down your spine.

Those poor fools. If only they knew they had a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

And no, not a wolf. A fucking crocodile.

Amelia sighed lightly. “May I also caution another word of wisdom?” She didn’t wait for your response. “You needn’t bother trying to defend what you do at LOKI. The minute Tom dropped Galinda for his secretary, it became the hottest gossip of the scene –“

“I am not his secretary.”

“You won’t convince anyone here differently. Especially not when Secretary Ross perpetuates it for all to see.”

“What about you?” You leveled her with a hard look. “You’re obviously intelligent, successful. Mr. Conrad doesn’t cheat himself on brains or beauty.”

Amelia chuckled, low and rich. “How telling that you still call him ‘Mr. Conrad’. But you’re not wrong – I’m an equity partner at a firm in the city. Cross, Young and Pine – perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

Of course, you’d heard of it. Cross, Young and Pine was the largest law firm in the city.

“That’s why I just can’t riddle it out,” Amelia continued, “Tom’s always set his sights on a partner suitable for his position, capable of presenting just the image he wants. Take Galinda, for example – award-winning and gorgeous. What do you possibly have to compete with that?” She glanced around the room. “That’s the exact question on everyone’s mind right now. What did you do to be worthy of those diamonds?

“I did my job. I’m still doing my job. If helping chart record-setting revenue each quarter, expanding the world’s already largest tech giant, further cementing Mr. Conrad’s successful legacy isn’t enough for you – and this room – then…perhaps something in this room needs to change.”

Oh, god. Were those truly your words? Or…his?

Your gaze narrowed ever so slightly, wondering. Surely…surely Amelia wasn’t also recruited? Surely, he knew better than to fold in lovers. Lovers presented impossible to control emotional risk. Far better to stick to the impersonal rationale of business logic as a recruitment basis, in your mind.

Your stomach churned on the thought. God, just one conversation in a helicopter and you were already starting to see…. But that’s when you wondered – was Amelia a deliberate plant? You knew Conrad planned his moves five steps ahead – had he told Amelia to orchestrate this conversation to sway you into accepting his recruitment?

Something in Amelia’s upturned mouth and upset gaze told you different, though. No, it looked more like she was just a jealous ex, out to needle the next in line. “You’re right, something does need to change,” she shook her head, the movement disparaging, “I’ll have to have a word with Secretary Ross about allowing esteemed guests to bring their office trash to such a function.”

“Careful, Amelia,” you snapped, “that didn’t used to mean me. Someday, that might just include you, too.”

You turned from her, weaving through the crowd, not wanting to hear another word. No one seemed to pay any mind to your departure and Amelia didn’t follow you. You spied doors leading to an expansive terrace, stepping out into the night to escape the cheery suffocation.

The winter wind bit at your skin, rippling shivers down your spine, but you paid it little mind. Amelia’s words echoed in your mind, incensing you further. You were sick of it – all the assumptions, all the gossip. You were worth far more than what you had under your dress, and if that entire room thought you only got to where you were because you let him fuck you….

How you wanted to set the record straight. How you wanted to prove them all wrong.

Intransigent misogynists.

Of course, you partly blamed Conrad, too. He hadn’t bothered to speak in your favor when Ross steamrolled you earlier. In fact, he’d been quick to jump on the Secretary’s suggestion to adjourn for bourbon. You had quite a fondness for bourbon and would have enjoyed it, had you been seen as more than just the office piece of ass.

Your hands clenched against the freezing stone railing as your lips curled. You wanted to scream out into the night, to let it all go, to let loose the immense frustration of the last six hours.

Heavy warmth fell around your shoulders, bringing with it the unmistakable scent of Conrad’s cologne. You hung your head, instinct compelling you to further burrow into the warmth, drown yourself in something so enticing.

His voice was soft in your ear. “Do you really prefer the winter’s chill to the party inside?”

“Are you kidding?” You took a deep breath. “It’s warmer out here than that crowd inside.”

He huffed an amused breath. “An astute observation.”

“Is Amelia one your recruits?” You turned to him, hoping to discern the truth. His face, half-lift from the party inside and half-shadowed from the dark night, nearly took your breath away. The soft glow smoothed the hard angles and lines of his face, his azure eyes stunning in their clarity.

Why did he have to be so painfully handsome?

He moistened his lips against the winter breeze, his eyes fixed to yours. “No. She has her own ideologies that are ill-suited to my purpose. Our liaison ran its course but is best left in a past that does not concern you.”

“Doesn’t concern me?” You scoffed. “You’re asking me to join your grand scheme; you’ve placed god knows how many thousands of dollars of diamonds around my neck – which I can read through the lines, means you expect me to sleep with you tonight – and if you want any of that, then you better fucking start being more forthcoming.”

Pride flashed in his eyes for the briefest second before it vanished, replaced by something stern, commanding, displeased. “While I admire your boldness, you would do better to mind your reckless behavior.” He stepped closer, and you wanted to take an instinctive step back. “Loose lips sink ships, as the saying goes. You know all that you need to know, and nothing more. Pressing for more information will only serve to annoy, and I’d much prefer more pleasurable courses of action in your company – as you so crudely alluded to.”

Despite the winter’s chill, you felt heat rise in your cheeks, forcing a hard swallow. “Nearly everyone assumes I fucked you to get this job.”

“And how gloriously wrong they all are.” His lips curled with a wicked edge. “Gives you the advantage.”

“Is that what you call it? The endless frustration of being regraded as little better than a ladder climber who’s not above fucking her way to the top?”

“I told you the world needed to change.”

The intensity of his gaze lit your insides on fire. God, how you wanted to stay the focus of that sharp, precise intensity. How you wanted to feel it against your lips, your skin. How would wanted that voice, low, sinful, filthy in your ear.

You tore your gaze from his, looking out over the dark lawn at the idle helicopter, as you drew a deep breath. You didn’t even realize how heavy your breathing had become in his close proximity.

The weight of his arm wrapped around your back, tucking you against his side. “Come along, darling,” he purred softly, “we’ve accomplished all that we can here.”

He lead you down the terrace stairs, out to the main lawn. All too late, you realized that you didn’t have your velvet coat, but he dismissed it, instead ushering you towards the waiting helicopter.

Ensconced in the cabin, still draped in his jacket, your frustration did little to ebb. Conrad’s suave, tempting, infuriating presence did nothing to help as the helicopter lifted off and sped across the sky.

He sat next to you, calm-as-you-please, sipping from a gold-rimmed teacup and saucer. Somehow, a tea service had materialized in the cabin between your arrival and departure from Secretary Ross’ house – you shouldn’t be surprised. Especially now as he sat, looking unfairly dignified in just his crisp dress shirt and black braces, his bow tie still perfect at this throat.

At length, you nodded at the tea service. “Let me guess. Another of your recruits?”

“If you’re going to insist on guessing who is and isn’t recruited to my cause, then keep such musings to yourself. Not everyone who works for me knows the true endgame.” He glanced over with a slight curl to his lips. “And if you’re so determined to either remain silent or pick a fight for the duration of our journey, we can dispense with the rest of foreplay, and I’ll just have you right here.”

Breath punched out of your lungs, arousal slamming full throttle through you. He had no right to make it sound so easy, so definitive. Unconsciously, your legs twitched together as heat flushed your cheeks.

Of course, his perceptive gaze missed none of your reaction. He tipped his teacup back, lazily finishing the contents before setting it back on the tea tray. With the same grace as earlier, he slid from his chair, taking a knee in front of you.

You turned your head away, fighting to keep a clear head. That’s what you wanted, right? You didn’t want to fall into his arms, into his bed – you couldn’t possibly surrender to his control. To his crazed plan for world domination that you knew nothing about.

Right?

His breath rumbled low, so close to your skin. “I do hate seeing you so frustrated, darling.”

“You’re goddamned right I’m frustrated,” you grumbled, “but you have no one to blame but yourself.”

Sure, it was risky mouthing off to him. But could you let yourself cross that line? The minute you fell into his bed was the minute everyone became right about you – sleeping with the boss, and for what?

Because you want, a traitorous voice whispered. Oh, how you wanted.

Soft lips fell to your turned cheek, infusing you with a new wave of his cologne mixed with evening-worn exertion. “No matter what you tell yourself in that pretty head of yours, the truth of your desire is undeniable.” The tip of his nose dragged along the skin of your jaw. “The way your breath hitches when I draw near. I suspect my cologne pleases you.” A kiss pressed to the underside of your jaw, followed by another, and your head tilted instinctively back. “The way your eyes darken with hunger the longer you gaze upon me. Mirrors my own, I would imagine.” His strong hand fell to your knee and you jolted under the delicate touch as he continued to nuzzle the skin of your jaw. “You’re positively trembling, love. Why torture yourself so?”

You breathed shakily. “Everyone already thinks I’m a power-hungry whore, and falling into bed with you does nothing to prove them wrong.” You gasped as his steady fingers teased up the inside of your thigh, sliding against soft fabric. “From earlier, I know enough now that I’m surely a liability to you – you can’t afford to not control me – just as you’ve fucking done since we first met….” You forced a hard swallow against a nibble over your racing pulse. “And despite knowing all of that – it’s fucking maddening that I still want you to fuck me until I can’t see straight.”

His hot breath rushed against your skin in a noise of wild satisfaction. Of victory. His fingers tightened on your thigh in a possessive, dominating hold.

He had you. And you both knew it. Worse yet, you wanted it. Ached for it.

Your heart beat wildly in your chest, anticipating his next move. Waiting for his devouring kiss, hovering on the edge of his touch on your thigh that refused to seek out the ache between your legs. Your breath came in shallow draws, every nerve-ending screaming for more, for anything, for everything.

“Oh, my darling.” His voice rumbled, low and unbearably smug, as the tip of his nose nuzzled your cheek. “I will have you be mine - all mine.” His nose pressed along yours, and your head tilted, driven on pure instinct. Enticing lips hovered just above yours, breathing the same electric air.

The helicopter jolted with a gentle settling motion, punching through the cloud of arousal. You turned to the window with wide, stunned eyes, startled to see the helipad and city lights surrounding you. How had the ride gone by so fast?

Conrad didn’t give you time to think. He pulled you from the helicopter, keeping you close at his side with the surprising strength concealed in his lithe form. The elevator doors hadn’t even closed before your back was against the mirrored wall and he engulfed you. Still, his kiss eluded you - just a teasing, out of reach promise, as he let the full length of his body press to yours, against the stiff outline of your corset, torquing your desire higher.

His teeth closed over your earlobe and you whimpered, unable to hold back the needy sound. A feral gasp tore from his throat, rushing more heat through you. The thought of this man coming undone by you, because of you exhilarated you.

The elevator chime sounded over the blood pounding in your ears, and you found yourself pressed against him as the doors opened to reveal the lobby exclusive to his apartment. He folded you against him, your back pressed tight to the furnace of his chest. The brush of his hard, straining arousal against your backside derailed your sensible thought.

“I wasn’t untruthful earlier - you’ve looked gorgeous all evening.” His words rumbled against your skin, deep and smooth as he navigated you through his low-lit apartment. “This dress reveals your best assets, yet keeps all your secrets.”

You sighed, the reality of your situation sinking in your stomach as his fingers toyed along the side-zipper of your dress. Turning your head, you nuzzled against as much skin as you could reach, breathing him in. “My secrets are yours tonight.”

He growled his approval, tugging on the zipper. “Tonight, tomorrow - whenever I desire.”

Yes, yes, your body cried out, but you choked the words off, mouthing at his skin. You couldn’t fully give him that satisfaction. His fingers slipped inside, skimming over the ridges of your corset, and his arousal twitched in approval. The sensation pulled an instinctive thrust of your hips, chasing the feel of him against you.

His chuckle dripped with molten desire. “We’ll get to that, darling. You’re…so much more responsive than I anticipated.”

Your hands reached back behind you, desperate for purchase. To clench in the fine fabric of his dress shirt, to tear at the catch of his trousers, to rip the braces from his shoulders. But the journey of his hand, up and over a breast, kneading the skin that mounded at the corset’s top made you further melt into him. He held you firm at his mercy, trailing that hand down your front, teasing down until he brushed the smooth silk of your underwear. God, there would be no hiding from him now.

His clever fingers pried the delicate fabric aside, groaning deep and feral. You didn’t know if he expected you to be shaved or not, but his fingers sweeping against bare skin obviously pleased him. Another whimper tore from your throat as his fingers slipped through your folds, easily aided by what he found.

He exhaled hard, his body shaking with the last vestiges of control. “You’re fucking soaked for me, love…how callous of me to make you wait all evening for something you so obviously want.” He thrust his hips forward as his fingers set to work in earnest, teasing both inside and out.

You threw your head back to his shoulder, surrendering to his touch, to every sensation he flooded through your body. Your lips moved against his skin, drunk on his cologne, drunk on him. “Please, sir…please….”

“Soon. So very soon.” His fingers fell away, abandoning the smooth fabric of your undergarments and returning to the zipper. He stepped back to further work the dress from your body until the fine fabric puddled at your feet. “Now, to the bed,” his voice conveyed full, dark authority, “and for each step, you will abandon another article, leaving the diamonds for last.”

A nervous swallow worked down your throat as you noticed you now stood in his bedroom. A strip-tease? You’d never done that before…would - what would he consider sexy? A teasing show? Or simply pulling things off?

His hand lightly smacked against the swell of your backside, startling you back. “Stop overthinking it. I want you naked in my bed, and I want you to unravel for me. Now…may I suggest shoes first?”

Without further protest, you looked down to your feet, stepping out of one heel, than the other. Certainly, it wouldn’t be sexy to unevenly hobble across the floor. You took a step forward, approaching the luxurious bed as you settled a hand to the hooks of the corset. The constricting fabric eased its hold and your breasts fell free as you dared to glance over your shoulder at him.

Thought abandoned you at the sight. His dress shirt now hung half unbuttoned from his strong shoulders, a mouthwatering swath of finely haired skin on display. With the fallen braces and the catch of his trousers undone, they slumped low on his hips, teasing the promise of such sweet fulfillment.

You turned back for the bed, continuing to work the hooks of your corset. It fell to the floor with a solid thump and you took another step towards the bed. You could just hear the sounds of rustling, shifting cloth behind you but you didn’t look back. Raising your hands, stretching out the line of your back, you reached up for the pins in your hair.

A solid weight crashed into you, knocking the breath from your lungs. Strong fingers tore at the silk of your underwear, the delicate fabric ripping audibly as you fell forward onto the bed under the hot, solid weight of what you now realized was him. All of naked him.

You had to see him. Twisting against him, you struggled to roll onto your back but he held you fast against the soft bed covers. God, you could feel it - the weight of his heavy cock against your thigh, and you couldn’t help but grind back into him, desperate to just feel him. His lips trailed along the back of your neck, nipping along the line of your shoulders. You’d never thought you were much of one for being dominated…but everything within you burned at his prowess.

A low chuckle rumbled his chest against your back. “Quite the compliment, darling, and we’ve barely begun.”

Good god, had you actually said that aloud?

He answered with another chuckle, clearly reading the shocked realization on your face. “You needn’t hide from me. Not any more, and certainly not now.” Warm, steady fingers fell to the outside of your leg, guiding and molding, contorting your back such that your legs lay parted for him, hips angled while your chest still rested against the mattress. “Let me hear you, love. Every feeling I give you.”

Your body jolted as his fingers brushed feather-light along your dripping need. There was no need to pretend - no brain power left to censor your reactions to his touch. Nimble and delicate, his fingers settled into a rhythm - those pianist’s fingers playing you masterfully. A sudden gust of hot breath was your only warning before the flat of his tongue licked a maddening stripe that nearly catapulted you into orbit.

Your heart was surely going to explode, twisting in his hold, surrendering everything your body had to him. His movements rolled you over onto you back, exposing yourself fully to him as he devoured you with his fingers curled deep and his tongue swirling the most exquisite patterns. Words fell from your lips, thought drowned by the onslaught of his relentless pursuit. “Oh, god…please, sir! Fuck…oh, fuck….”

A dragging pinch of his teeth broke the dam. White hot release exploded within you, your legs tightening around him as you rode the shockwaves. His mouth closed over you, chuckling in wicked satisfaction, as his fingers continued their strokes. You gasped as lingering pleasure turned to overstimulated discomfort.

You squirmed under his continuing ministrations, trying to find some relief. But he kept pace with you, mouthing an easy, lazy design as his fingers moved. “Sir…,” you gasped, hands clenching in the sheets at the continued discomfort, “sir, please…it’s - it’s too much, too soon.”

He lifted his gaze, breaking away for the briefest moment of respite. “Is that anyway to say thank you? You can take it, love…and when you’re ready to break, I’ll give you what we both want you to have.” His hips rolled against your thigh, tearing a moan from you.

His mouth descended with a vengeance. Only now did you realize how gentle he was after your first release, but now - he was a man possessed. You barely recognized the sounds passing your lips as he worked you ever steadily higher. Your wayward hand landed in his hair, gripping the natural waves until a vice-like grip wrenched it free, forcing it down to the mattress. A burning knot of pleasure grew at the base of your spine, so close to the edge, teetering just there.

His fingers and mouth withdrew, leaving you aching and bereft. A trembling gasp tore from your throat, forcing your eyes open to watch him slither up your body. His lips, tangy and wet, found yours as you folded around him. You rolled your hips, cradling his between your spread thighs as he braced on a forearm. Thick, blunt pressure rested where you wanted it most, hooking your leg around his backside to push him forward.

He groaned low in his throat, teeth tugging your bottom lip. “Hmmm, what do we say, love?”

You knew what he wanted to hear. “Please, sir…,” you couldn’t bring yourself to care, “please fuck me, sir.”

He sighed in pleased satisfaction as he slammed his hips forward. A cry tore from you as you felt your body nearly split in two from the intrusion. You didn’t want to admit how long it had been since your last lover, and the sudden invasion took a moment of adjustment. But he spared you no moment to breathe, picking up where his fingers and tongue left off. It shouldn’t feel so good - the ebbing discomfort, the escalating pleasure - but you’d never felt anything more perfect.

“Want you to feel this for days,” he punctuated his words with sharp, precise thrusts, “want you to remember who made you feel this way. Who made you cry out at the feel of his cock inside you.”

Each filthy word in that sinful voice torqued you higher. You gripped his shoulders tight, doing your best to meet him, feeling him strike that elusive place deep within you each and every time.

“Want you to come for me now,” he gasped, rough and serrated, “want to feel you so fucking tight on my cock. Come now, my darling.”

Your body helplessly obeyed, convulsing around him, dragging him down to his own euphoric release.

Sweat beaded along your forehead as you struggled to breathe. Your hand trembled as you trailed down his spine, swiping through the moisture that spotted the skin. It was easy, so easy to sink into the mattress under his weight, boneless and drifting.

You licked your lips, debating the merit of your next words. But what would they really cost you? You pressed a kiss to his cheek, whispering softly, just for him. “Thank you, sir.”

He turned, his eyes all-consuming and impossibly dark in the close proximity. “If you think we’re done here, then you’re sorely mistaken.”

When he finally relented and you both slumped against the mattress, spent from your fourth release and his second inside you - you’d never known a more peaceful, mindless sleep.

Until…his lilting voice drifted in your, luring you back to consciousness.

“Darling…come on now, darling.”

Slowly, you stirred against the sheets, drawing a deep breath. Everything in you hummed with sleepy, boneless contentment. Even the twinge in your muscles was pleasant.

You opened you eyes, stretching against the soft pillow, arching against the warmth of him. Rolling over, the long line of him stretched against you and distant city light played off his pale skin. He was the picture of comfortable perfection, with his head propped on a hand as he gazed down at you. It should probably unnerve you, if he was watching you sleep.

He leaned down, brushing his lips to your forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“Mmmm, absolutely sated.”

He purred, pressing another kiss to your skin. “Exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Darkness still filled the room and you couldn’t help but wonder the time. Why had he woken you up exactly? You tilted your head, pressing your lips to the nearest available skin. “Did you want something?

His mouth curled with a dark, wicked edge as he gathered you closer to him. “You’re mine now. Here, in my bed – your body. In my office – your mind. And there’s so much that lies ahead…so much yet that we haven’t even begun to explore…” His fingers trailed over your flank, pulling an involuntary shiver from you. His face softened with approval. “So responsive, so good for me….”

Your heart accelerated at the possessive tone of his voice. None of it sat well with you, but you’d made your bed. Literally. What else could you do but lay in it? Especially since you wanted to keep on living.

His forehead rested against yours, breath hot against your lips. “So good for me,” he repeated, brushing your lips, “say it for me, love.”

You sighed, moistening your lips. “So good for you.” The words sunk like lead in your stomach. It felt like the point of no return. The ultimate surrender.

The tug of his smile pulled against your lips as he placed a lingering kiss. He pulled back with a sigh. “Rest now, darling. May I bring you anything?”

The simple offer tugged a smile to your face, a fluttery feeling erupting in your stomach. “No, thank you…that’s kind of you to offer.”

Nothing on his smile changed as he pulled back and you rolled over on your side, settling back against the pillow. The sheet shifted as he moved, the bed dipping as he pulled away to sit up. You didn’t think anything of it, letting yourself drift off in the haze of sweet exhaustion. He shifted again, the bed moving down by your feet, warm fingers caressing your ankle.

Sharp, searing pain exploded on the heel of your left foot. A cry ripped from your throat as the pain flooded you, jerking you back to reality. The solid weight of his body descended on your leg, firmly holding your foot in place as another white-hot line of pain erupted on the bottom of your foot.

“Stop! Stop!” You feebly clawed at him, crying out in another wave of agony. If he bothered to respond, you couldn’t hear it over the pounding of blood in your ears and your own anguished cries.

At last, the sharp pains receded, leaving a heavy, aching throb in its place. Tears streaked your face as you lay, gasping against the sheets. He shifted off your leg and you caught the gleam of a sharp metal scalpel as he withdrew to the edge of the bed.

“What…what did you do to me?” Hands shaking with adrenaline, you tried to push yourself up.

His fingers wrapped around your arm in a supportive gesture, his face the picture of serene calm. As if he hadn’t just mutilated the bottom of your foot. “You’re marked as mine now. Like so many others.”

Your eyes widened, horrified. “I don’t…don’t understand.”

“See for yourself.”

You tore your gaze from his, down to your foot bleeding over the bed linens. If he cared about the mess made of his bed, he didn’t show it. Sniffling back more tears, wincing at the tender pain, you bent your leg, angling to see.

The heel of your foot bled freely from neat lines carved into your skin. Lines designed to scar. Lines designed to identify. Your crimson blood stood in stark contrast to the color of your skin, and you could clearly make out the carved symbol.

The roman numeral for 6. You gulped as your head dropped to your chest.

How many great empires did he say the world had known?

He hummed with pride, the sound rumbling his lips when they pressed against your bare shoulder. “Do you recognize it?”

A tear rolled down your cheek. “The number six. You…earlier you said the world has only known five truly great empires, so far.”

“Your intelligence never disappoints me.” He dropped another kiss to your shoulder, edging forward to press your back to his firm chest. “The marking of foot soldiers is as old as civilization itself. Why, the commanders of the Roman Legions could always tell when their men betrayed them to the enemy by the casks of severed feet, each one emblazoned with the mark of the foot soldier.”

The thought made you shudder, and he held you tighter, a play at a comforting, lover’s embrace. You shook your head, forcing a swallow. “You don’t need to continue. I understand your point.”

An effective insurance policy. A means to identify you as a player in his quest to create the sixth greatest empire. A means to ensure your silence or identify you as a traitor.

“I had every expectation.” His lips pressed to the side of your neck. “Now, let’s get you cleaned and bandaged - infection just won’t do. After that, you’re welcome to stay until late morning, or your car’s waiting for you in the parking garage, stall 45B. Your choice.”

Up Next: Part IV - 5 Minutes

#tom hiddleston #villain #the art of villainy #hiddlesedit #good to be bad #world domination #loki #avengers reference #fanfic #an offer received #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x you #not rpf #wannabe writer

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elv--eyera · 4 years

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Ways to watch Jekyll & Hyde online!

I recently saw someone interested in watching Jekyll & Hyde, so I decided to spend some time today to put a post together! Here’s information about (and links to) six productions of the show that you can watch online!

The 2001 Broadway Cast DVD

Starring: David Hasselhoff (Jekyll / Hyde), Coleen Sexton (Lucy Harris), Andrea Rivette (Emma Carew)

(Starting with this one because this is the only non-bootleg, commercially available version of Jekyll & Hyde, and I’m sure this is the main version people are familiar with and I wanna go over this before getting to the rest.)

Good: It’s a beautifully filmed professional recording of the show on Broadway, something that most shows never get! The supporting cast (many of whom were from the original cast and played their roles from the beginning of the run to the end) is wonderful. When the focus is on the non-Jekyll aspects of the production, it’s really amazing. Coleen Sexton and Andrea Rivette are truly amazing.

Evil: David Hasselhoff. I give him props for taking on a very difficult role that is well outside of his comfort zone, and it’s clear to see that the man gave it his absolute all. He really wanted to take this on, and he really tried his best. (Here’s a four-minute interview about his experience with the show and the work he put into it - he had oxygen backstage, and he actually passed out onstage briefly after “The Way Back”.) However, watching him as Jekyll and Hyde, it’s just unavoidable that he’s just not very good. I’ll leave it at that.

How Can I Watch It?: It gets uploaded to Youtube and Dailymotion from time to time, but I couldn’t find it there today. However, you can watch it here, and a commercial for his time in J&H here. Just be warned: this is no day at the beach.

The 2001 Broadway Cast (rehearsal!)

Starring: Rob Evan (Jekyll / Hyde), Coleen Sexton (Lucy Harris), Andrea Rivette (Emma Carew)

Good: If you were thinking “well, I wish that there was a professionally recorded version without David Hasselhoff”, This is basically, shot for shot, the same as the Hasselhoff version, but with Rob Evan instead, and it’s a fundamentally different experience. Rob Evan (who replaced Robert Cuccioli on Broadway in 1998) is a great actor and singer, who went on to play the role again in the “concert” versions in 2005 - 2006.

Evil: It’s 480p quality, but that’s the only real downside.

How Can I Watch It?: Right here!

The Original Broadway Cast (1997)

Starring: Robert Cuccioli as Jekyll and Hyde, Linda Eder as Lucy Harris and Christiane Noll as Emma Carew.

Good: The original Broadway cast is amazing. This is a personal opinion on my part but Robert Cuccioli is the definitive Jekyll / Hyde. His Tony-nominated performance is awesome, and it really elevates the show. Linda Eder and Christiane Noll are also absolutely wonderful in their roles, and the talent in this cast is just amazing. Unlike the above two recordings, this one’s a bootleg, but it’s still a really great watching experience.

Evil: Really, the only possible downside is that this cast didn’t have a professional recording. Just press reels, a nice bootleg, and TV appearances. That’s really the only downside. This cast is awesome.

How Can I Watch It?: You can watch 20 minutes of professionally shot press reels here (featuring several songs), you can watch the whole show with this cast here, and you can watch some TV appearances here: “In His Eyes” , “This Is The Moment” and “Dangerous Game” (featuring Rob Evan as Jekyll, who was the alternate for Cuccioli before taking over the role himself in 1998) Or if you’re short on time, just watch Cuccioli do “Confrontation” live.

But wait! I want something different from the Broadway adaptation!

Well, Jekyll & Hyde went through a lot of changes on the road to Broadway, and after the show hit Broadway, many of productions changed things further or even changed things back to the earlier versions. The following productions all interpret the material differently, and all of them have script / music changes from the Broadway version. (Many of them stick closer to or take elements from the 1994 Concept Album with Anthony Warlow.)

The Pre-Broadway Tour (1995)

Starring: Robert Cuccioli as Jekyll and Hyde, Linda Eder as Lucy Harris and Christiane Noll as Lisa Carew.

Good: Where Broadway is more subdued, the 95′ tour went for darker Victorian gothic horror / melodrama and I adore it. Much of the staging, sets and costumes are very different from the Broadway version. The script has some really impactful, chilling moments that were cut from the Broadway version. It incorporates more of the popular ‘94 Gothic Musical Thriller album, with songs like Bring On The Men and Girls Of The Night included. (Lucy Meets Hyde is there and that’s something I want back in the show, dammit). And it’s got the same wonderful cast that went on to originate the role on Broadway. I really, really like this version and wish that the show had stayed a bit closer to this in parts.

Evil: The picture quality is not great and there’s not a lot of super close zooms, however it’s a bootleg of a really interesting time in the show’s history and I can get past it. Some people find some moments in the script overdramatic.

How Can I Watch It?: You can watch the whole thing right here! You can also listen to some clips from the soundboard of the show, of Robert Cuccioli singing “Alive” and “Confrontation” here!

The Original Bremen Production (1999-2002)

Starring (in this video): Darius Merstein-Macleod (Jekyll / Hyde), Maricel (Lucy Harris), Michaela Kovarikova (Lisa Carew)

Good: The Bremen production was the first international production of Jekyll & Hyde, and they definitely do not copy the Broadway version exactly. They make interesting changes that I feel make the show stronger, and the design and the orchestra are absolutely gorgeous. They make some changes to the running order of things that I think make the beginning of the show flow so much better. The design choices are gorg (I LOVE the color palette of this production, oh my gosh) and the orchestra is absolutely stunning (though that’s best showcased on the 1999 album, one of my favorites to listen to.) Really, really interesting and awesome production.

Bad: None, really! This cast isn’t the original cast, if you’re hard pressed on that.

How Can I Watch It?: You can watch the full show right here, and some professionally shot clips with the lead actor in this video. The same production design and direction all around was used for two more German productions in Vienna and Koln - you can watch the Vienna one here, starring Thomas Borchert, Maya Hakvoort and Eva Maria Marold. And about that 1999 album that’s one of my favorites to listen to... shhhh. SHHHh. Enjoy.

The 2013 Broadway Revival

Starring: Constantine Maroulis as Jekyll / Hyde, Deborah Cox as Lucy Harris, and Teal Wicks as Emma Carew.

Good: This is the most recent major U.S production of Jekyll & Hyde. The singers are all excellent, and the scenic design has more of a “steampunk” edge to it, and they use projections in an interesting way, especially in “Confrontation”. They do relatively little to fundamentally change the currently licensed script, but all the songs are completely musically reworked in more of a pop-rock style, and there are bits that are reinstated from the concept album (Lucy Meets Hyde, Jekyll’s “It’s over now, I know inside” intro from “Confrontation”). It’s really interesting, the singers are actually fantastic, and I like some of the musical arrangements!

Evil: Objectively, none. This revival totally changed up the sound and look of the show, and those changes can be polarizing, but it’s really up to you whether or not you personally like it.

Where can I watch it?: Act 1 is here, and Act 2 is here! Here’s a tiny montage of some songs from the show as well!

Other Productions:

I didn’t want to leave out a lot of other productions of the show that you can watch online, so here are two other interesting productions of the show I enjoy that you can watch online:

The 2014 Russian Production. The design is fabulous, the singers are great (the music is a nice mix of the classic orchestrations and the 2013 arrangements), and the set is absolutely amazing. Love this production. The set change from “Transformation” to “Alive” is AWESOME. Pick your poison: Ivan Ozhogin: Act 1 / Act 2, Kirill Gordeev: Act 1 / Act 2, or my underrated fave, Rostislav Koplakov: Act 1 / Act 2 .

This 2007 outdoor German production. Watch it right here! I haven’t watched this whole thing, but it starts during daytime and by the time the show ends it’s dark, which is really cool)

Whichever way you choose to watch Jekyll & Hyde, I really hope you enjoy the show! It’s one of my absolute favorites.

Also, if you want to listen to the show, you can listen to these albums on Youtube!

1990′ Concept Album

(Very different from the final show - wouldn’t suggest starting with this one.)

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_k8KX2WKpxXWD1WReuEEnZWTiQM0brA7OY

1994′ Concept Album:

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLKELXRdNl-0qpSAZUBEuet90lgNT5vFra

1997 Broadway Cast:

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLB135F98AE9670DF6

2006 ‘Resurrection’ Album:

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLp1o87OC81fxi-7LFAWEqAPvf3xZAD7tx

2012 Concept Album:

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLoIpj63IKuYxuv4nXJjAqoez3bZK2S51J

Enjoy!!

#jekyll and hyde #musicals #Jekyll & Hyde #broadway #jekyll & hyde the musical #jekyll & hyde musical #jekyll and hyde the musical #jekyll & hyde broadway

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driftawayonceaday · 4 years

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Losing My Religion

September 25th

Back in 1991, you simply could not escape this song. Unlike other songs that have dominated the airwaves over the years, “Losing My Religion” was not annoying for any reason other than possibly the fact of its constant presence on the radio.

“Losing My Religion” is from R.E.M.’s 1991 album Out of Time, which also included the hit “Shiny Happy People”. The principal instruments in “Losing My Religion” are the acoustic guitar, the mandolin, and Michael Stipes’ voice. They all flow smoothly and softly with a bit of an edge to Stipes’ vocals, and a whole heck of a lot of emotion. What makes Stipes’ vocals more impactful is the subtlety of his emotive singing—it’s not thrown at you with force or histrionics, but rather as if he’s hesitatingly, but fully, confiding in a close friend. What keeps it from being a straight-up ballad is the tempo, as the drums, the guitars/mandolin have a subtle upbeat way of driving you at a moderate pace through the song, while the restrained bass and the orchestral arrangement provide a heartbeat and some gravitas.

As we discussed back at the beginning of this venture, one of the appeals of “Losing My Religion” was that many people could find themselves in the words since they could infuse them with their own meaning. I remember hearing it and thinking it was about someone who is lamenting the loss of a relationship and reflecting on what he might have done wrong. Has he revealed too much to her or not been open enough with her?

Oh, no, I’ve said too much

I haven’t said enough

Did he misinterpret the signs, or was he looking too hard for signs?

I think I thought I saw you try

I love that freakin’ line. Was she really trying or did he want to stay together so badly that he was looking so hard for signs that she was trying that he made them up in his mind? Freaky, right? Desperation.

Regardless of the meaning, the music—including the wonderful, genuinely affecting vocals—is an absolute joy to experience.

#music #rem #lyrics #1991 #r.e.m.

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nikkalia · 5 years

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Pops in the Park

TITLE: Pops in the Park

AUTHOR: Nikkalia

PAIRING: Tom/OFC

RATING: M

SUMMARY: This is the result of a conversation on Discord about Loki!Tom crashing a concert. It went downhill from there... Dedicated to my darling @igotloki

NOTES/WARNINGS: (kinks, triggers, general warnings.) Smut, which is really difficult to write in first person for some reason...

TAGS: @igotloki @fandom-and-feminism @mrshiddleston-uk @fadingcoast @mischievousbellerina

NOTES: Someone remind me to fix the hashtags later?

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming... No,” I whispered to no one. Speeches make me nervous and you could definitely hear it in my voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for joining us tonight...this evening. Ugh, why do they make me do this?”

“Because Anthony Daniels canceled when it wasn’t all about Star Wars,” Mike answered, grinning. “Relax, you’ve got this.”

“No respect from my concertmaster,” I smirked as he clapped my shoulder.

“So, is the magic man making an appearance tonight?”

“Nope. He’s otherwise occupied.”

Mike laughed. “What does that even mean?”

I shrugged. “It means...he won’t be here.”

“Oh, come on. He can’t pull away from whatever he’s filming for one night to celebrate your 5 year anniversary with us? Loser.”

“Whatever.” I blew out a sigh and looked back over my notes. “Really hate speeches.”

“See, magic man should’ve been here. He likes to talk and the ladies love to listen.” Mike winked and got a smack on the arm for his trouble before wandering off.

He wasn’t wrong. Tom loved to talk and everyone loved his voice, not just the ladies. In the two plus years we've been together, I’d never known him to refuse an opportunity to tell a story - except to hear me tell one. He was the only man I’d ever met that could listen as intently as he does, to make you feel like the entire universe centered around you. Management had actually approached his agent about serving as emcee when Daniels backed out, and they declined, citing a previous commitment. Which was, at the time, a bald-faced lie.

We argued about the timing of this show only a few days prior to the request because the concert was so close to our own anniversary. He had, in typical Tom fashion, made some grand plans involving travel and luxuries and all the things that drove my simplistic heart manic with worry, and hadn’t bothered to check the concert calendar. So, when I told him I couldn’t blow off the fund-raising event of the season, he went ballistic.

And I fired back. How dare he get upset when he’d canceled God knows how many times in favor of an audition? Where did he get off saying that one night wasn’t as important as ‘us’ when he’d confused night after night for his career? It turned really ugly and I ended up flying back to New York earlier than planned because of it. We didn’t speak for a week, and all of our communication after that was strained. Six weeks later, I stopped hearing from him altogether, despite assurances from his mother and sisters that we were still very much a couple. He was deep in some remote area with no wireless signal, they said. I sighed, pushing back tears.

“Two minutes to curtain. Oh, and I’m supposed to tell you that an emcee has been located. You’re off the hook.” a stagehand told me.

“Thank you, God!”

I found Mike walking toward me, making sure everyone was ready to go.

“Conductor,” he nodded, a glint of mischief in his eye.

“Concertmaster,” I nodded back, grinning. Our pre-show ritual complete, he returned to his place in the lineup and the procession began with the welcoming announcement. I watched from the wings as the line of bodies filed into their seats to thunderous applause. The house looked to be full. “Must be doing something right,” I said to the stagehand.

A hush fell over the crowd, followed by the sound of a solid A from Mike. The strings followed, then woodwinds, brass. Mike nodded again. I nodded back, then to the stagehand, who gave his own cue to the booth. I took a deep breath, prayed a little prayer, and strode out on the stage as the house announcer introduced me. I bowed, gesturing to the musicians who were doing all of the real work tonight, and smiled.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage our master of ceremonies for the evening, mister Robert Downey, Jr.”

Bob strode out to the center of the stage, grinning from ear to ear.

I shot the dirtiest look to Mike, mouthing, “You knew.”

He shrugged, then smiled. Jackass.

“Maestra, you look stunning,” I heard beside me. He leaned in for a cheek-to-cheek kiss, lingering a little longer than maybe he should have. “He misses you,” he finally whispered, pulling away.

“Then he should be here.” I croaked. Poor Bob, reduced to a mere messenger boy. “Shall we?”

Being the gentleman that he is, Robert led me to the platform, holding my hand as I made the tiny step up, then returned to the podium on the other side of the stage.

I reviewed the first few measures of the music in front of me while Robert began his speech. He told the audience of his love for the music we would begin the performance with, the “John Williams Suite”. It was an orchestration I’d been working on for months, often to Tom’s frustration. Sheet music tended to consume the kitchen table in my loft apartment, something that was not at all conducive to his attempts to cook for me. I smiled as we began with ‘Indiana Jones’ themes, recalling a particular incident where he walked into the apartment completely unannounced, arms overloaded with grocery bags to find the table had been covered with scores from half a dozen films. He just sighed and went into the kitchen to begin cooking. Another meal on the sofa, he lamented. I simply kept on writing, struggling to get the transition between ‘E.T.’ and ‘Jurassic Park’ just right.

The music followed into the Star Wars medley. Lost in memory, I had to pull myself together enough to get through the rest of the piece. ‘Duel of the Fates’ was no joke to perform, much less conduct. Some of the choir members referred to it as the marathon. The horn players laughed at them until I reminded them that this was the reason why I stretched my arms before every rehearsal. Tom knew when rehearsals were intense by the way I held my shoulders afterward. He’d always massage the muscles, wondering if I was perhaps a bit too animated in my conducting. I’d always ask if he was perhaps a bit too animated when he read the Saint Crispin’s speech. That’s usually when the tickling started.

After a few moments pause for the audience to show their appreciation, and for the orchestra to move sheet music around, we moved into a mix of old and new Star Trek themes, ending with the suite from Into Darkness. There has been a great deal of debate within the group as to which series - old or new - was better, followed by discussions of films, actors, approaches, and which made my little geeky heart happy. Tom had no comment on the matter, despite the fact that his eyes lit up a little more when we opted to watch Ben’s version of Khan instead of the original.

The piece finished and Robert began rambling on about music and film and... I stopped paying attention after a few seconds, focusing again on the upcoming music. One of the stagehands appeared on my right and placed a wireless mic on the music stand. I put it on, thinking I would be expected to say a few words about my time with the orchestra, what an honor it was, blah blah blah.

Celebrate yourself, Tom would say. If anyone deserves accolades, it’s you. My response was almost always, “yeah, whatever,” which would send him into a 20-minute monologue extolling my virtues as a musician and human. I’ve always preferred to let the music speak for itself.

I heard Robert say “This is gonna be fun,” and knew we were up. I’d arranged a medley of Queen songs - Somebody to Love, I’m Going Slightly Mad, Days of Our Lives, and Bohemian Rhapsody. When Mike saw the score for the first time, he asked if I was okay. I just wasn’t ready to discuss the argument, so I brushed the question off with a shrug. “Feeling nostalgic,” I told him. “Besides, I want to show the altos some love.”

The altos later told me that was not the kind of love they were looking for. The sopranos, however, were ecstatic. Divas, the whole lot of them.

Music from the MCU finished out the evening. Black Panther, Thor, Captain Marvel, and all the Avengers films wrapped into 10 minutes. It was supposed to be for Tom. I’d seriously contemplated scrapping the whole section after the fight but the entire orchestra vetoed the idea, citing it as the “entertaining” piece of the evening. I knew that if the musicians weren’t happy, no one was happy, so it stayed but they just wanted to play Immigrant Song.

We’d moved through to ‘Portals’ from the Endgame soundtrack and I could feel the energy of the audience change. They started shouting and clapping behind me. Maybe they’re loving the music with the latest movie having been released. We reached the scripted pause, and I kept going, but the orchestra doesn’t. They just sat there staring at me, and I was suddenly aware of “Loki” being chanted behind me. I glared at Mike, who’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat. That’s when the glint of gold caught my eye. I turned, finally dropping my arms when my mouth follows suit.

Loki, or Tom, in full Loki regalia, strode toward me like a demi-god possessed. The horns sat above smoldering eyes, cape flowing behind him as he approached me like an animal stalking his prey. It took every ounce of self-control I had not to pounce on him in front of God and the globe. I never could resist that costume, and he knew it. Instead, I simply crossed my arms.

“Please,” he growled, the swagger growing, “don’t stop on my account. Summon your Avengers.”

“Bad enough you destroy half of Manhattan with some half-baked scheme to take over the world. Now, you have the audacity to crash my gig and interrupt their music?”

He stopped short, head cocking to one side. I don’t think he was entirely sure if I was serious or just playing along. The infamous smile returned.

“Forgive me. The interruption of the arts is indeed a sin, but the purpose behind my visit warrants such sacrilege.” When I didn’t answer, he removed his helmet, eliciting a new wave of cheers from the crowd. His hair was its natural ginger, long and wildly out of control. He turned to them and held a finger to his goateed lips, a la 2013’s Comic-Con visit before placing the helmet on the stage.

“I have found myself lamenting the loss of something very dear to me of late. Something that I believe you alone can help me recover.” He paused, his voice echoing through the speakers while his hands fell to his sides. “It pains me to admit such shortcomings, but I find that I am weaker without you, that I am lost without your presence in my life. I am heartbroken at each day that passes without the sound of your voice. So,” his cloak flew behind him with a flourish and he fell to one knee. A collective gasp came from the audience and the stage. “My lady, would you consider restoring to me the grace of your life and your love on a permanent basis?”

What the hell is happening? I glanced over at Mike. He and the rest of the orchestra are literally sitting on the edge of their seats. When I turn back to Tom, his arm is extended towards me, a small box with a ring sitting in the palm of his hand. Tom, channeling Loki, channeling King Hal. I was doomed.

“Will you consent to be my queen and my love? Will you marry me?”

His head dropped and my heart leaped into my throat. Time seemed to slow to a crawl while I recalled every fight, every laugh, every moment of passion and joy and sorrow. How could I possibly say yes? How could I not?

The soft sound of a camera lens focusing on me snapped me out of my time stop. He was still on bended knee, his arm shaking a bit. I stepped off of the platform and lifted his chin. For all his eloquence, I could only come up with a single word response.

“Yes.”

Tom jumped to his feet and kissed me as everyone within earshot roared with approval. ‘All I Ask of You’ began to play and I made a mental note to fire then promote Mike later, as I was sure he’d been part of this plot all along. A moment passed in his arms before he finally stepped back, scooping up the golden horns.

“I shall be waiting with white horses, my queen.”

“And here I thought you’d want me to play you out.”

“As long as it’s not ‘Performance Issues’.”

“No promises.” I winked then stepped back onto the platform. “Ladies and gentlemen, shall we skip to the end?” Mike nodded and everyone found their page. I raised my hands and music from the Avengers theme rang out in the park.

Tom bowed to me before he slid the helmet back over his head, turned and walked to the side of the stage where Robert stood, raising his hands in victory when applause followed. I caught them embracing out of the corner of my eye and knew I’d have to give both of them grief later for the first glimpse of ‘FrostIron.’

We made it to the loft long after the final note sounded. There had been a sea of people congratulating me on the concert, the engagement, and everything in between. Tom vanished long enough to de-Loki, much to my disappointment, but stayed right next to me for the rest of the night. When we were finally able to leave, he ushered me out to a white Jag. White horses, indeed.

He zipped through the streets of Manhattan with ease, taking as many backroads as possible to avoid traffic. I took the time to get a good look at the ring, and oh God was it stunning. A large oval stone set on its side with two smaller stones at either end set in a band of polished silver knotwork. Definitely handcrafted and a perfect fit.

“The band’s tungsten. I know how hard you are on jewelry,” Tom said with a wink.”The stones are moldavite, amethyst, and garnet.” he glanced over, a smile on his face. “Us.”

“It’s perfect,” I blushed a little, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “And you’re a dork of the highest caliber.”

That little laugh that drives all the ladies crazy slipped out as he nodded and pulled into the parking garage. Our elevator ride was silent as the family that snuck in just as the doors were closing bombarded Tom with more questions about Loki than I’d ever come up with. It made me think we’d have to take the service elevator from now on.

All thoughts of anything beyond the man wrapped around me vanished as soon as the apartment door closed. Tom spun me around, planting a kiss that went from chaste to passion in point zero six seconds. I heard my keys hit the floor after I missed the end table. He growled when I tried to pick them up, nipping a little harder at my neck, pushing me toward the bedroom.

We were all hands trying to shed clothes on the way. You’d think that as much coordination we had individually, we’d be able to make it look as graceful as it did in the movies. The poor boy got so frustrated that he picked me up, carried me down the hallway, and dropped me on the bed. Shoes and socks off, he stepped closer to unzip my dress while I worked on his pants. The ‘conda sprang free as soon as the zipper fell. Another growl came from above when I wrapped my hand around it, morphing into a moan as when lips added.

The bed dipped to one side a little with the weight of his leg. His hands rested on my shoulders as he tried to steady himself while I rolled my tongue around his cock. I couldn’t see his eyes with his head leaned back, but knew he was lost in the sensations, his hips rocking back and forth. He pulled out suddenly, tugged my hands away and upward to my feet.

Another kiss, slower and more passionate while he finally figured out the zipper of my gown. His hands moved the fabric down, and the frustrated moan came when he remembered just how much effort went into making slinky black dresses look good. He nuzzled and nipped his way across my face and down my neck while he fumbled with the clasps of my bra. I returned the favor, dragging teeth along his neck until I was able to get his shirt open.

What was left of my clothing dropped to the floor in one swift motion when Tom dropped to his knees, pushing me back onto the bed. I slid up the mattress and he followed, kissing and licking his way up my legs. He stopped at my hips, licking upward along the inside of my thigh but never quite made it to the center.

“If all you’re gonna do is tease,” I panted, “then get up here.”

“You would deny me the pleasure of devouring your already dripping quim?” Loki’s voice followed the dark, lust filled eyes that looked up at me. Before I could wrap my brain around my impending demise by god-lust, a finger slid inside me, followed by another. The smirk became a grin and he lowered his mouth to my clit, his eyes never leaving mine.

He growled again as he began to suck, slowly pumping his ridiculously long fingers in and out of my pussy. I tried to squirm away when he picked up the pace and he wrapped his free arm around my leg, locking me in place. I lost count of how many times he brought me to the edge only to back off and begin again. My fingers found their way into his hair, tugging him upward, only to be rewarded with his teeth dragging across my swollen bud.

“Not until you cum,” he purred, still latched on to me. He began thrusting the fingers inside me, curling them around to brush against that little bundle of nerves while he clamped down with lips and teeth. It didn’t take long for my body to shatter beneath him, my orgasm tearing its way out of me with a scream. He anchored me down with both arms, sucking out every last drop I could offer.

When I came back to reality, he was making a slow path up my body, his breath hot on my skin. His lips finally reached mine and I took rough possession of them, wanting to taste him. The tip of his cock brushed against my pussy and I shivered. Tom pulled away a bit.

“Need a bit longer to recover?” he whispered, nuzzling against my cheek.

“Absolutely not.” I pulled him closer to me and shifted a bit, sliding a hand down his stomach. “Only thing I need is you.” My fingers wrapped around his length and guided him inside.

“Oh. My. Go...” The last syllable was lost in the moan that rumbled in his chest. He was completely still above me except the slow thrust to push himself deeper, nearly purring as he went. I moved my hands along his sides and he sighed. “Been too long. Won’t last.”

“Ditto,” I breathed into his ear, “on both counts. Just move.”

Tom obliged, rocking his hips back and forth, moving a little faster with each thrust. I tried to lift my hips to his, but he built a pace I just couldn’t maintain. All I could do was hold onto him, losing myself in the feeling his body in mine and the sounds we made. His moans took on a higher pitch and his thrusts became erratic until every muscle in his body tensed, his seed spilling in waves. Feeling him cum sent me back over the edge, and I could’ve sworn I heard him chuckle as I clamped down around him.

We lay tangled in each other for a while, basking in the afterglow. He finally moved to the side, eliciting a groan from both of us when he did. Ever the gentleman, he let me duck into the loo first while he turned down the bed. Both settled back in bed, I curled up next to him, my head resting on his chest.

“Love?” he whispered, toying with a lock of my hair. “Are you sure?”

“Sure of what?”

“This,” he spoke as he ran his fingers along my left hand to the ring. “I know you wouldn’t have refused me in front of the entire world and half of Manhattan, even if you wanted to.” I lifted my head from his chest to look at him. There was a genuine concern on his face as he sighed. “So, are you sure?”

“You’re serious?” His face turned sheepish. “Then let me answer a question with a question.”

“What? You hate it when I do that!” He sat up a bit and I pressed a finger to his lips.

“Thomas William Loki Adam Hank Henry Robert Freddie Jonathan Oakley Hiddleston the fifth, Lord Nooth, rightful king of the Jotunheim, England, Ireland, Scotland...”

“Okay, okay, enough,” he chuckled. I grinned at him.

“Will you marry me?” His eyes went wide and teared up a bit. He began nodding furiously until I kissed him.

Neither of us slept that night.

#fanfic #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston rpf #tom hiddleston smut

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spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years

Text

The Doctor's Dilemma

Doctor Theodore Carnaby washed the blood from his hands. The water running from his faucet enraptured his entire attention—a technical marvel recently installed in his practice. He used a brush to scrub his hands and fingers with methodical precision, taking a painstaking amount of time because the blood clung to his skin like tar.

The sound and sight of water continuously pouring from that metal pipe hypnotized him all the while and made the noise of passersby and horse-drawn carriages from the street outside sound a million miles away.

A sheet of fog suffocated the afternoon sun, dimming it to a small bright spot in the sky and forcing him to illuminate the insides of his practice with gas-powered lanterns. He stopped the flow of water, orchestrated by the subtle little screech of him twisting a valve and letting the cold wet drip from his slender hands, still fascinated by this wondrous new installation.

When he turned to grab a towel, he almost jumped out of his skin. Someone stood in the open doorway of his practice, motionless, and without making a sound. Just staring at him.

“G’d day, sir,” Carnaby said after clearing his throat.

He forced himself to smile out of politeness but it did not quite reach his eyes. For that, his visitor’s sudden appearance had frightened him too much. Carnaby quickly dabbed his hands with the towel to dry them off and tossed it aside before approaching.

The visitor tilted his head and returned the same kind of feeble smile. He pushed back the spectacles resting upon his nose, a pair of round and thin-framed silver glasses. The reddish-blonde hair on his head and a pair of light blue eyes lent him an air of vulnerability and innocence.

“Hello,” replied the visitor.

He lifted his right hand, revealing it to be wrapped in a sloppy arrangement of cloth—soaking up a spot of dark red color where his palm must be.

“I had a little,” said the man. He paused and smiled, now with a genuine warmth to it. It reminded Carnaby of the sun on a beautiful summer day. “Uh, a little accident. This requires a good doctor’s touch, and I heard you’re the best in this quarter.”

Carnaby chuckled and nodded.

“Of course, have a seat, Mister,” he said, letting the words trail off for the patient to fill in the blanks.

The patient smiled again. Something about his expression instilled Carnaby with both endearment and something strange. Something the doctor could not quite put his finger on.

“Hanrahan,” said the patient after a long and awkward pause. “Baxter Hanrahan.”

Mister Hanrahan extended his hand for a shake. Carnaby shot a glance down at it and noted that his patient’s fingers were stained dark, while the hand was not calloused, rather soft and thin. He took so long to study Hanrahan’s hand that he followed up with a nervous chuckle.

“I’m terribly sorry Mister Hanrahan. This time of the year, I never shake hands with patients. Wouldn’t want to spread anything unpleasant,” he told him with a wink and a genuine smile.

Hanrahan emitted a nervous chuckle of his own and then nodded in understanding.

“Please, have a seat, and we’ll have a look.”

Carnaby gestured to a stool and fetched his instruments. They settled down and the doctor unraveled the improvised bandage—it appeared to be a simple set of cloth that Hanrahan had torn from something. Hanrahan winced and hissed as he sharply inhaled.

The doctor noted that reaction and revealed a nasty gash on Hanrahan’s palm. It looked to Carnaby as if his patient had cut himself with a kitchen knife, though the placement for such would have been unusual.

Then Carnaby’s stomach knotted. The injury reminded him of a cut he had inflicted upon himself once—a ritualistic cut to shed his own blood for an attempt at practicing alchemy and magick. Could this man also be an occultist?

As soon as he caught himself staring and pondering for far too long, he asked, “What do you do for a living, if I may ask, Mister Hanrahan?”

“Druggist, I’ve set up shop in the upper city,” he said. “Just opened up this autumn and figured it would only be a matter of time until we met.”

“Oh, the upper city? Why didn’t you see Doctor Manning? Not that I’m willing to give up a potential new customer, but he would have been closer to your practice.”

Hanrahan tilted his head again, though a smile stayed absent from his face. He studied Carnaby from behind the thin glasses of his spectacles. They reflected the tiny specks of gaslight from nearby lanterns.

“I live nearby here, not in the upper city. Had a little accident at home and, uh—truly though, I could never afford living in the upper city.”

Their eyes met and Carnaby found himself staring a moment too long. Hanrahan smiled once more, but it felt forced to to the doctor. The patient then cringed and stifled a groan behind gritted teeth. That was when Carnaby noticed he had squeezed Hanrahan’s hand, lost in idle thought.

“Oh dear, I’m terribly sorry. Are you in a lot of pain?”

“Yes, ‘fraid so. I left it alone for a few days and it’s not healing up well, and, well, it’s pretty deep.”

“May I?” asked Carnaby before getting a nod of consent and them then pushing back Hanrahan’s jacket and shirt sleeve together.

This revealed an odd tattoo on the man’s forearm. It bore clear trappings of occult symbols and alchemical formulae. Carnaby averted his eyes as to not stare at them. But the sight of it burned into his mind and stuck there. It would stay there until Hanrahan left his practice that day.

Carnaby took some time to disinfect the injury, stitch it up, and dress it in proper bandages. He noted multiple instances of Hanrahan suppressing sounds of pain.

“Color me curious, Mister Hanrahan, but—as a chemist, don’t you self-medicate against the pain?”

“I’d rather not,” he said. “I like to keep a clear head. For my work.”

Carnaby nodded in approval, cleaned up, and grabbed a small tincture bottle from a cabinet. He held the tiny bottle of laudanum out to Hanrahan and waited for him to take it. His patient just stared at it and Carnaby could witness the gears turning behind his forehead.

“A few drops of this each night should dull the pain and help you sleep better.”

Hanrahan clicked his tongue and said, “I’m all too familiar with the substance, of course. Truth be told, I’m ever wary about overdosing it.”

On reflex, Carnaby fetched a metal syringe from the cabinet and held it out to Hanrahan in his other hand.

“Three millilitres will do fine as you’re not in a terrible amount of pain, and this syringe has precise measurements you can use to ensure the proper dosage.”

“No, really, I’ll be fine,” Hanrahan said. That sun-like smile returned to his face as he added a heartfelt, “Thank you.”

Carnaby shrugged and returned the items to his cabinet. With his back still turned to the patient, Hanrahan asked him, “That syringe is some beautiful craftsmanship, though. I wouldn’t mind having some of those in my pharmacy. Who made it?”

“Johnathan Hill, a tinker who has a shop right down the street,” Carnaby said.

He escorted Hanrahan out and had his assistant take down notes for the visit. The patient took his leave and they exchanged friendly smiles yet again.

Carnaby’s smile faded the moment Hanrahan turned and walked out onto the streets of Crimsonport. The good doctor ignored some question from his assistant—the words barely reached him through his mental fog, incapable of distracting him or piercing his focus.

He locked himself inside his study and unlocked the bottom drawers of his desk. Then he spent the next minutes flipping through his growing collection of occult tomes. The minutes dragged into an hour, and he dismissed another question from his assistant, muffled through a locked door.

The old leather-bound book in his hands slapped down onto his desk, open to the pages he had sought. He sighed, the chemicals of bewilderment, fear, and curiosity mixing together in his brain.

He knew he had seen that symbol before.

“The Shape of Beasts,” it was dubbed in that particular tome. Part of an alchemical process to transform the body of man into that of a beast. Though the author’s theories outlined the idea that the affliction of lycanthropy may have originally stemmed from archaic attempts at using this magick gone awry, it enabled perfect physical transmutation when conducted properly.

Carnaby did not know what to make of this, but he wondered if he should approach Hanrahan and inquire what he knew about alchemy and the occult. The doctor caught himself pacing up and down inside his office, lost in thought. Walking in circles and his mind racing in the opposite direction had made him dizzy.

He decided against doing anything. Perhaps this Baxter Hanrahan had no idea what symbol he bore; perhaps a tattoo artist had copied the symbol without deeper understanding. Besides, the symbol alone meant nothing without conducting the rest of the ritual—as far as Carnaby understood, the glyphs arranged around the circle only served to remind the alchemist how to administer the reagents correctly.

He dismissed every further thought on the matter and took the rest of the day off, closing up shop. Though the vision of Hanrahan’s warm, sunny smile haunted him for the next few nights. And he regularly caught himself exploring the idea of finally finding exchange with another occultist.

But mostly, the smile stayed with him.

Ever since discovering that magick tome in that awful apartment he had stolen it from and expanding his collection from obscure book traders afterwards, Theodore Carnaby had wondered if anybody else out there had such intimate knowledge of working magick.

Here was an opportunity—a possible companion—and he was letting it slip through his fingers.

Part of him wished that there was complications, or some other incident that would bring Hanrahan back into his practice. Part of him wanted to strike out and find Hanrahan’s pharmacy to meet him on his own time. Part of him was just afraid to find out; afraid to clear the fog of uncertainty.

A week later, a thick bank of mist once more suffocated the streets of Crimsonport. It was early in the morning, well before sunrise, and Carnaby was reviewing notes from observations made with another patient the day before when he felt watched. A shiver ran down his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up straight.

Hanrahan was standing there in the doorway, staring at him again. With that wide warm smile. But his face was pale as a sheet.

“G’d day, Doctor Carnaby.”

This time, Hanrahan’s jacket was a bit torn by the shoulder and overall caked in some dust. The collar of his shirt was disheveled and the necktie a bit loose around the center.

Carnaby’s heart skipped a beat when he saw blood dripping from the fingertips of Hanrahan’s left hand.

“Oh goodness. Please, have a seat, Mister Hanrahan.”

The doctor helped him out of his jacket, rolling up his blood-soaked sleeve, and investigating this new wound. Someone had clawed the outer side of Hanrahan’s forearm. The scratches proved to be deep and Carnaby surmised a woman’s nails to have done this.

With swift and decisive action, he treated the injury while asking Mister Hanrahan about it.

“Just last night.”

“Some woman outside the opium den. I think she was hallucinating.”

“No, I came here because it’s still bleeding. I don’t think there’s any need to report this.”

In between each answer, Carnaby sighed. He felt the burning urge to ask Hanrahan about alchemy. Ask him if he knew. Once done, he turned away to wash his hands in the sink. The marvel of the running water had worn off, especially in light of his inner conflict—the internal debate on whether or not to open up to Hanrahan about magick.

The metal squeak of the valve, the soft trickle and flow of water, and the rhythmic scrubbing on his hands still managed to capture his senses.

Without turning from the sink, he asked, “Do you need more laudanum?”

“No, I still have plenty in the bottle you gave me.” Very close.

Carnaby turned to grab the towel and dry his hands off, but Hanrahan stood right there.

Right next to him.

Stunned, the doctor froze in place and found himself lost in the sparkle of Hanrahan’s deep blue eyes. The natural charm the druggist exuded combined with a unique mystery; the wonder Carnaby felt over whether or not this man indulged in occult practices.

They stood so close to each other that the warmth of Hanrahan’s breath upon his skin mesmerized him. Carnaby’s gut instinct told him to take a step back, but his heart pounded with fury against the inside of his chest, pulling him forward and urging him to lean in for a kiss.

Hanrahan tilted his head in that same strange way he always did and gave the doctor another one of his warm smiles, melting away Carnaby’s ability to do anything.

“Thanks again, Doctor.”

With that, he left. Through the haze of his mental paralysis, it dawned on Carnaby only with delay how wide his eyes must have been and how he had stared after Hanrahan as he left the practice and shot another glance at him over his shoulder. Gone, just like that.

When he snapped out of it, his assistant had already seen Hanrahan off and his most fascinating patient had already left.

The rest of the day flew by in a delirious blur. Carnaby’s mind kept circling back to that moment of attraction and frustration with his lack of ability to act upon it. In between, he barely thought about the clue that hinted at Hanrahan’s interest in the occult.

In the weeks that followed, visits to the opium den, several parties, and some lectures at the university slowly diluted Carnaby’s obsession with the enigma that was Baxter Hanrahan.

He often perished the thought of never seeing him again and considered himself a coward for not seeking his company in his free time. He knew how to find the pharmacy, if he really wanted to.

But he did not. Part of him was afraid.

The press making a big spectacle out of the “Outer Wall Reaper"—a serial killer murdering brothel women in the city’s slums—moved Carnaby to avoid being outside alone too often. It also made him start worrying about Baxter Hanrahan’s safety.

One day, while washing his hands in the sink again, he felt a gaze upon him. The hairs stood up on the back of Carnaby’s neck. Someone stood in the doorway, staring at him.

He turned and expected to see Hanrahan’s smile.

Instead, he beheld the stern face of a police constable. A giant of a man clad in black, the lawman lifted his helmet in greeting. In the reception room behind him, the silhouettes of other figures and a renowned private detective stood out.

In a low, voluminous voice, the constable asked, "Doctor Carnaby?”

The doctor confirmed.

“I need to speak to you about a criminal investigation regarding the murders in the outer city. Have you seen this before?”

The constable’s meaty fingers pinched a metal syringe between them, holding it out on display for the doctor to take in its appearance. The same syringe Carnaby had given Hanrahan.

Doctor Carnaby’s heart skipped a beat.

—Submitted by Wratts

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hope-and-soap · 5 years

Text

(hypothetical) Young Avengers film trailer

I’ve spent Several Showers obsessively putting together a mental trailer for a Young Avengers film adaptation (please marvel please) so figured I’d write it down to clear space for other Shower Thoughts. Enjoy?

*******

INT: APARTMENT, DAY

We open in the kitchen of a small, cluttered apartment - the kind of crappy-but-cheerful, barely-adulting place known to students and other young urban people everywhere. It’s early morning.

Four young people are gathered around the kitchen table: CASSIE LANG, legs tucked up under her, a newspaper spread out in front of her as she works on the crossword; TEDDY ALTMAN, digging in to a large pile of toast and looking sappily down at BILLY KAPLAN, who’s nursing a mug of coffee and half-napping on TEDDY’s shoulder; and KATE BISHOP, face pressed into the table in front of an empty coffee mug.

Kate: Ugh, morning, why.

BILLY hums in sympathy, flicking his fingers; a pot of coffee floats over the table, tipping its contents into KATE’s mug. CASSIE glances over at this, and five sugar cubes are dropped into the mug by a line of ants. KATE groans, but with gratitude.

Silence for a moment as we dwell on this scene of loving domesticity, and then the doorbell rings.

CUT TO:

INT: HALLWAY, DAY

BILLY stands in the apartment’s open front door, looking up at an imposing stranger in hot pants and combat boots: AMERICA CHAVEZ, extremely cool and mildly unimpressed.

America: Billy Kaplan?

Billy: Um. Yeah?

America: The world’s ending. I need you to come with me.

Beat as BILLY takes this in. Then a smile of (mistaken) realisation:

Billy: Oh! No, you’re looking for the Avengers - that’s three blocks down, make a right, it’s a big tower, you can’t miss it -

AMERICA shoots him a disdainful look halfway through this speech and turns, walking away down the hall.

America: Come on.

Billy: Wait, where are you -

America: (calling over her shoulder) Bring your friends.

Billy: I - (beat) Sorry, wait, hang on - the world’s what now?

CUT TO:

A montage of images, with AMERICA providing voiceover.

America, v/o: There’s something coming.

A suburban living room: television, sofa, armchairs. A family sitting together, two parents and two kids, watching TV. In a corner by the sofa we see: a patch of whiteness, flat blank-paper white, like a total absence of colour and texture. As we watch, it spreads, eating its way over carpeted floor. Erasing it.

America, v/o: Something bigger than an invasion. Bigger than a war.

The whiteness begins to climb the arm of the sofa, creeping towards a young girl’s arm.

America, v/o: It doesn’t just take lives - it eats futures. Steals potential.

The whiteness touches the girl, and she stares at it in horror as it climbs her arm, whiting it out. She opens her mouth as if to scream -

America, v/o: And they called it here, the ones in charge, but they can’t see it. It doesn’t touch them.

The living room again, engulfed in white: the two kids like flat white silhouettes, paper cut-outs with no faces, featureless. The walls and floor and furniture all the same white, looking like line drawings on paper. But the TV is still on - and the parents are all in colour, as per normal, still watching. Oblivious.

America, v/o: So we’ve got no backup.

The whiteness flowing over a college campus, whiting out the students and leaving lecturers speaking to an empty room.

America, v/o: No world leaders, no Avengers, no Sorcerer Supreme.

Hard cuts now: the whiteness creeping through the halls of a government building, whiting out the walls and floor but leaving important-looking people still walking up and down, files clutched to their chests. Whiting out a police station, but leaving the officers untouched and oblivious. Spreading through the Avengers compound as even the Avengers fail to notice.

America, v/o: We’re on our own. We’re all we’ve got.

Cut to a warehouse, where AMERICA stands, addressing the others, who stand around her in a loose semi-circle. They are quiet for a moment, processing her speech; all stunned, except CASSIE, who tilts her head slightly, considering.

Cassie: So what do we do?

Beat. AMERICA raises an eyebrow: isn’t it obvious?

America: We punch it in the face.

CUT TO:

Another montage, but brighter this time: shots filled with dazzling, pop-y colour, set to Kesha’s We R Who We R (hot! and dangerous!) or similar dance anthem. The gang being shot at by some unseen assailant, dodging neon-coloured beams of light. Having coffee in a diner, laughing silently at a shared joke. Flashing lights like they’re in a club or at a rave, as KATE backflips over someone on what looks like a dance floor, kicking them in the face. The gang in a convertible with the top down, speeding urgently down a highway, TEDDY in the backseat throwing his arms in the air.

Kate, v/o: You know how when you’re really little,

CASSIE alone, in what looks like her bedroom, staring hard at her father’s suit, hung on the back of her door.

Kate, v/o: and they tell you you can be whatever you want to be?

CASSIE in the same place, suited up now, glancing left at a full-length mirror. Looking at herself. She presses a button near her temple and her helmet forms around her face.

Kate, v/o: But then you grow up a bit -

KATE outdoors, at night, on the side of a hill somewhere - she’s looking into the distance, at far-away city lights. AMERICA walks up to her, settles herself beside her.

Kate, v/o: - and then they’re like, nah.

Same scene: AMERICA tilts her head back, looks up at the stars, pensive and uncharacteristically vulnerable.

Kate, v/o: You’ve got no power.

BILLY, in battle: close-up on his hand as he flexes his fingers and the air around them lights up blue.

Kate, v/o: You’ve got no training.

BILLY and TEDDY fighting back to back, in mid-air, TEDDY flying on newly-sprouted wings and BILLY’s whole body haloed in blue light.

Kate, v/o: You know - basically nothing.

Team shot: the gang in a circle, surrounded by enemies, in battle stances - the tension of the last seconds before a fight.

Kate, v/o: And maybe they’re right.

Cut to black.

Kate, v/o: But you know what?

Slow fade in on a close-up on AMERICA, her arms outstretched, stars glowing on both of her wrists. A glowing star on the ground beneath her feet. Her eyes glow, too, and she’s grinning.

She lifts a foot and stomps down with a sound like glass shattering, as KATE says -

Kate, v/o: Fuck that.

Cut to black again. The music cuts out. Silence for a second.

Then another slow fade-in, as we hear the first few strains of orchestral music, something familiar -

Kate, v/o: Being a superhero is awesome.

And we’re in the middle of a wide street now - a street packed with young people, teens and twenty-somethings: some armed, some not; some obviously powered, others looking like civilians in ragged jeans and charcoal-smudged faces. All standing tall, facing front, ready to fight.

Pan over the assembled army to the front of the column, where the YOUNG AVENGERS stand, suited up and battle-ready: BILLY and TEDDY shoulder-to-shoulder on the left, CASSIE on the right, helmet snapping shut as she grows another foot. And in the centre: AMERICA, expression fierce, raising her fists; and KATE, bow in hand, arrow on her string.

Close-up on KATE as the music swells, and resolves into - what else? - the Avengers theme, in bright new remixed arrangement. KATE takes aim. She’s smiling.

Kate, v/o: Everyone should try it.

KATE lets the arrow fly.

Cut to black.

TITLE CARD, then:

Tag: INT: APARTMENT, DAY

The gang’s gathered around the kitchen table again, leaning over it towards each other like they’re making a plan, when there’s a sound from a nearby cupboard: a shuffle, a thump, a muffled yelp of pain.

AMERICA strides over and yanks the cupboard door open to reveal -

KID LOKI, looking shocked then sheepish then scared as AMERICA hauls him out by the front of his shirt, holding him half a foot off the floor.

The others stare. A beat.

Kate: Loki?

America: You know this guy?

Kate: Yeah, he’s a total prick, Clint says he -

Teddy: (over her) He tried to invade the planet once, you know, aliens, magic portal, it was a whole thing -

Cassie: (after a moment) How did you end up -

Billy: - in the body of a twelve-year-old?

Cassie: (shooting BILLY a look) - in our pantry?

Pause. Everyone looks at each other, taking this all in.

Loki: It’s a long story, but I’d be happy to explain. If, um.

He looks up at AMERICA, who’s still glowering at him. LOKI visibly gulps.

Loki: If you could maybe - could you maybe put me down?

#young avengers #marvel #mcu #trailer idea #young avengers movie

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 4 years

Text

Caramel Skin Under A Purple Rain prt 34 full draft. Didn’t realise it was this tiny

They were late for the Gala. They were late for the Gala and Keith was annoyed. After pacing back and forth what surely must have been a thousand times, dodging Kolivan’s silently judging expression, by staring at his feet, Keith loathed the fact that we’re now a varga late for the Gala that they were throwing. He wasn’t rushing to be at the event. Not in the slightest, and if it wasn’t for the ridiculous monkey suit he’d stuffed himself into being too much effort to take off, he may have made a run for it by now, ruining the hard work of Shiro and Curtis, the pair coming to keep him company after Krolia had stolen his husband. The pair had already been alone for nearly 4 vargas, surely they’d long run out of things to talk about. At this stage, he wondered if Krolia had drugged Lance or seen sense and removed him from the palace for his own safety. Appearing out of the door that led to his mother’s chambers, Krolia was dressed in a flowing robes made from fabric that almost looked like liquid. Starting at a metallic purple along the bottom, the colour grew darker into black around his mother’s shoulders, the front of the robes dipping to show far too much of his mother’s chest and a rather distastefully large gemmed necklace, while the back had a raised collar which sat in line with the top of his mother’s marks. Her hair swept up into an intentionally messy bun, three silver pins holding it back on the right side, the bigger one had some kind of weird flower hanging off it by a chain, her slanted fridge slightly curled on the left and the bit behind her ear on the left had been left long. Had Lance been there, he would have been able to describe Krolia’s appearance better, yet Keith was mostly clueless about fashion and hair styles, so all he could say was that she looked every bit the dignified ruler of Daibazaal that she was. Smiling at him... nope, at Kolivan as she bipassed him in favour of walking over to her husband, Krolia took Kolivan’s hand in hers “Can you see the listening device?” Checking the large silver hair pin, Kolivan shook his head “No. You look exquisite. Is your camera in place?” Krolia tapped against the gaudy red gem on her chest, the colour swirling into a deep purple, set off by the shimmering diamonds around the frame “Done. I wish I could have worn my boots. These shoes feel too light” “It’s only for the next 5 vargas and 37 doboshes” “Don’t I look worth it?” Kolivan spluttered, Keith feeling a twinge or sympathy for him. Kolivan promptly “downgrading” Krolia as he tried to cover his embarrassment “Y-you look good. Good. Adequate. Fine” “Thanks. I’m carrying our child, yet I’m only adequate. Lance was much kinder with his words. Maybe I should take him as my date tonight, and leave you two to it” Keith and Kolivan both cast a glance towards each other then looked away. It was tortuous enough to attend the Gala. Neither of them particularly wanted to attend without their partners. Scratching the back of his head, Keith supplied “Mum, you look... good. I mean, nice. Really nice. Yeah” He wasn’t much better than Kolivan, but nice had to be better than “adequate” or “fine” “Thank you, Keith. Lance! You can come out now!” There were moments in life when Keith had his breath taken away. Generally they were from a hard blow to the solar plexus, admist battle or because he’d done something stupid. Then Lance shuffled out and his breath was taken away for all the right reasons. Wearing a thigh length rich purple Altean styled tunic with silver and white trimming, and a ridiculously well fitting pair of black pants, Lance’s outfit was much plainer than that of Krolia’s in a Galra terms, yet his husband looked like a prince as he shifted nervously. Keith was just as nervous. He wasn’t sure that it was Lance standing in front of him with his perfectly “naturally” styled hair. Keith knew that if he was to reach out and stroke his husband’s cheek, his skin would be as smooth and soft as it looked. Mumbling, Lance appeared composed despite his obvious anxieties. His outfit seemed to shoulder the burden of his husband’s depression and throw it far from the Cuban “D-Do I look ok? It’s technically your mother’s shirt, but all Altean’s dress similarly... I can go change, if you don’t like it... Krolia said it looked ok, plus it kind of hides my stomach. I... I look stupid. I know it. I’m going to get changed” Opening his mouth, Keith didn’t remember the English language. He had no words. His mouth closing as he frowned deeply. It was the same kind of shirt he’d seen a dozen times on Coran, on all the Altean’s. The same kind of shirt Lance had worn before... Lance might be a little on the thin side. He might have 7 out of 8 fingers. His eyes might be so ridiculously blue that it seemed he was wearing contact and his hair might be a fluffy rebellious mess come morning... He shouldn’t be wordless... tongue tied... stripped of his ability to speak... simply because his husband looked so handsome. He knew he was handsome. Things other people may judge him over, Keith accepted and loved because he loved him. “Lance, I don’t think that’s the problem. I think you’ve rendered him mute with how good you look” Nodding at his mother’s words, his walk was stiff as he moved to stand in front of Lance “Babe?” “Good... You look good... bello...” Mentally Keith groaned, understanding Kolivan’s pain. His breathy reply was somewhat pathetic. Lance’s eyes widened, cheeks taking on a slight red hue “Did you just say “bello”?” “Uh... I think so. It came out... You’ve said it before” Keith’s own cheeks felt warm. Lance would fall asleep during their calls, a dopey smile on his lips that was hiding his pain “It’s, uh, it means beautiful” All those times. Lance kept calling him beautiful when he was leaving him all alone. He didn’t feel very “beautiful” over his actions “You are. Beautiful I mean. You look... really good. These clothes suit you” Lance ducked his head, Keith lifting his hand to gently push Lance’s chin up. His husband an anxious mess “Are you sure?” “Very. I’m the luckiest man in the Galaxy. I know they say that men don’t notice, but I like your hair” “Oh... Krolia organised everything. The coalition was paying” “Let them. I hope you got your monies worth” “Yeah... yeah, it was a good few vargas... Mumma K and I had a bit of a talk” Keith was sceptical that they’d done all that much talking. He hadn’t been able to get in that much solid conversation with his mother since returning home, and he was her son. They’d talked about Lance’s pregnancy, his fears of being a father. His fears over how small their twins were, and the fear that came with becoming big brother, about his new sibling, then about Lance having a fitful night sleep. When including the suit fitting, he technically had spent more time with her... yet it felt like whatever Krolia and Lance spoke of were deeper and more intimate “You did?” “Yeah. Do you know the Galra call their young “pups”?” “Mum mentioned it” “I think it’s kind of cute” “I think you’re kind of cute” Kolivan cleared his throat, Keith jumping as he winced. Thoroughly embarrassed for acting so soppy in front of “Stone Faced Kolivan”. His someday step dad wasn’t great with expressions, and he wasn’t much better when there was an audience of Kolivan “We need to leave. The Gala started at seventeen-hundred-hours. The time is now eighteen-thirty five” “Kolivan, we allotted between seventeen-fifteen and eighteen-fifteen for drink and arrivals. The award ceremony will begin at nineteen-hundred-hours. Can’t you see how taken Keith is with his husband. That was how you were supposed to look at me” Kolivan gave a dangerous sigh. He was flirting with danger when it came to upsetting Krolia “I was dear. Keith, are you ready to leave?” “Uh... yeah” He couldn’t take his eyes off Lance. Lance covering his mouth as he snort laughed. It wasn’t a terribly attractive sound, yet Keith’s heart skipped a beat. Cocking his head in the side Lance poked him. Keith blinking, his husband grinning at him “Krolia, I think he’s broken” “I told you that you looked good. Don’t forget your crutches” “I was so close to being free of them” “One more night” “I know... So Keith, do you maybe want to come back to reality with the rest of us?” “You look really pretty” Laughing, Lance took his hand and Keith’s heart skipped all over again “Come on, Romeo. Let’s go get you that award” * Entering the Gala, soft weird alieny orchestral music was playing. The space was draped with black and purple banners, the tablecloths silver, with over flowing centre pieces of black, pink, and purple flowers. Lance hadn’t known that palace had a ballroom, yet he supposed it was kind of obvious that a palace would, and now he was freaking the quiznak out. There were so many people. The space was absolutely massive. 40 or so tables were arranged in a semi-circle around the curving black stage. At the back of the stage was a large screen, showing various dignitaries in real time at the party. The sound naturally muted because they probably didn’t want to embarrass anyone with the high chance of flowing gossip. Blushing as Keith moved his hand to the small of Lance’s back, he instantly tried to lean into him, as much as his crutches would allow “That’s a lot of people” Keith had paled at the size of the crowd, his husband seeking him out for comfort as Lance was him “Too many people. Would you like something to drink? Obviously not alcoholic, because you’re pregnant and now you’re glaring at me” There we’re things that obviously didn’t need to be said “One drink is not going to kill me. A juice would be nice though... but I should probably stick with water. Do you need to go?” Keith shrugged “Probably, but not until you’re settled. Would you prefer to sit or stand?” He’d been sitting or laying all day... He didn’t want to seem rude “Standing is fine. Krolia’s does pampering perfectly... I nearly dozed off more than once. Sitting would probably lead to sleeping” “Babe, if you want to sit, sit. Anyone who says anything...” Lance ducked his head, his husband was being unbearably nice “You’ll stab them. I know. But it’s ok, really. I’m your husband, and this night is to celebrate all the good you do. I’m proud of you, you know. Is it... okay if I stay by your side a little longer” Keith groaned at him “You can’t say stuff like that. I don’t know what to say back... You show up... and you look so good... and I have to contain myself as it is. I don’t know if I want to show you off. I don’t want people competing for your attention” “You’re an idiot. How many times do I have to tell you, you’re the one I want. No matter how many stupid things you say. Why don’t you escort me to the drinks table, then we’ll see who we see on the way” “I reserve the right to be pissed at anyone who hits on you” “You can be as mad as you like, as long as you understand that I have no intention of flirting back...” Reaching up, Lance raised his hair clip from under his collar “...I’m yours, remember. You’re wearing the matching clip. Stop worrying about my honour, and start worrying about the fact I’m thirsty” Tucking his necklace back in, Keith finally lost his glare towards the crowd. In a perfect world, he wouldn’t have to part from his husband’s side. They were in a room filled with strangers, yet there were some friends here. Hopefully Curtis was free to hang out with, and hopefully Veronica wouldn’t be able to locate him. Whispers blossomed behind them as they made their way to the drinks table. Chewing the inside of his cheek, Lance focused on the feel of the sheathed blade up his sleeve. He knew his anxieties would be a bitch the moment they entered the space. He felt naked without his bodysuit, and playing bait left him with no appetite, despite having only grazed on snack type foods while being pampered. All he could do was force himself to breathe deeply through his nose, despite the assault of scents that brought. Opening his mouth might lead to him saying something he’d regret. Something that might embarrass Keith, or even endanger him. He might be forcing himself to play along, but he wanted this night to go as smoothly as possible. The coalition banners mocked him from their great heights around the space, black with their crisp white emblem standing out of place “Babe. If this gets too much, you can leave. You have a completely free pass for tonight where I won’t be a jealous dick. I would prefer you don’t leave alone, but if you need to go, you go” “I’m ok... I know they all read the article. I know someone here is less than impressed. I want to stay. I want to see you receive your award... I just need to focus on breathing” “Breathing is important. Please keep breathing” Lance forced a strained smile. Honestly, it looked more like a grimace of pain “When you ask my so nicely, I can’t say no. I was thinking of trying to find Curtis. Do you think he’d be in trouble if I did? I don’t want him to get hurt” “What did Krolia say?” “That if they’re going to make a move, it’s more likely it’ll happen when I’m alone... If I stand alone during the ceremony, they might make a move, but if I’m like not too far away, that’ll be better for you instincts, won’t it?” Reaching the table, Keith plucked up two thin flutes of some kind of space wine. He could tell from the colour and consistency. Passing him the flute, his husband looked a little constipated “One drink. To be social. And yes. It would settle my instincts, but... I trust you. My instincts have been thrown into chaos, and I keep fucking things up. I know you can handle yourself, even with your leg in a cast, but please be careful. If you have a plan, trust your gut... but don’t... just don’t go getting hurt” Casting a glance around the room he didn’t like the see of strangers. Everyone seemed to ooze pomposity. This was not his world at all. Trying to find a friendly face so he could be “dropped off” before the ceremony began Lance caught sight of Krolia talking with Shiro. Seeing him staring, Krolia made a gesture to Keith before waving him over “I don’t plan on getting hurt... Quiznak, your mother is waving you over. Shiro’s there” “He and Curtis came to make sure I wasn’t a wreck with you gone” Lance bit down a smile. Keith would have been... no wonder his suit and tie looked so perfect... Provided he wasn’t too tired when the Gala ended, Keith was getting laid. Lance was going to enjoy himself as he stripped his husband later. It was so rare for his husband to wear one, meaning he had to make the most of it. Bring his glass up, he clinked it against his husband, then downed the salty wine. Keith was quick to copy, both of them slamming down their glasses as they wheezed “Why is it so salty?!” “I don’t know! Who needs salted wine!” “I better not taste like this... you don’t taste like this” “I know I don’t! Dios! It tastes like the ocean after whales mate” “It tastes like Zethrid cooked dinner” “It tastes like you cooked dinner” Keith flushed red, Lance was smiling so hard it hurt... it was either that, or his stomach trying to climb up and escape via his burning throat “You’re a douche” “I’d rather be a dick. I know you like those” Groaning at him, Keith blushed harder “I have to go on stage now” “I know. At least you’re not so nervous now. Gimme a kiss, then we’ll go see mum” Keith shoved him back, before grabbing him by the arm and pulling him in for a firm kiss. Both of them scrunching their faces at the lingering taste in each other’s mouths as they broke away “Mum can wait. This taste has to go first” Lance nodded. Anything to get the taste gone... Salty wine... it was an abomination that should be sent into the vacuum of space. Feeling isolated in the crowd, some dignitaries had taken seats, some wanted to give speeches, some seemed determined to shun his existence completely, some seemed happier to openly stare and gossip now that Keith had left his side. His husband clearly out of place as he stood with his team, and the other previous Paladins. Lance had seen Shay moving through the party, yet hadn’t had the courage to face her. Maybe he wasn’t taking not having seen her and Pidge worse than he thought. He’d spent a good day with Krolia, and sleeping, he shouldn’t be pouting for not having everything his way. Having been filled in on the plan for him to stand alone, Curtis was two rows of people in front of him and slightly to the left. Curtis couldn’t see him, yet he could see Curtis just fine. Veronica hadn’t approached him, either because she was mad at him all over again, or disgusted. With how his mood was falling, he knew he really needed to leave the ballroom, his scent would start causing issues for others if he didn’t... but quiznak. He wanted to be there with a ridiculous smile on his face as Keith accepted his award. He wanted to clap politely for his husband, then tease him mercilessly when they were alone. He know he might be emotionally compromised, and very slightly hugely biased, but Keith seemed like a dashing prince up on the stage. He seemed so far away, and so dashing, Lance’s poor bi-heart was racing... Shuddering in surprise, he shook off the sudden feeling. He couldn’t see anyone looking in his direction, yet something had caused the hairs on the back of his neck to prickle, most probably due to his paranoia over standing there and waiting for something to happen. He wasn’t sure if he was wearing the right expression. He didn’t want to tip off whoever was supposed to be after him, not by making himself a slave to his anxieties. He needed to take a breather, and it seemed it’d be some time before they actually presented Keith with his medal. After that disgusting wine, he’d downed three glasses of a sweet fruit punch to kill the taste, and now his body was telling him that he should probably go pee... Yet now he was doubting that him leaving the ballroom would be acceptable. Keith had said to leave if he needed to leave, and it wasn’t as if he wasn’t coming back. Dios. He was being ridiculous. He was a grown adult male. He could go without supervision. He didn’t need his hand held... so why did it feel so wrong? Feeling guilty, Lance kept his head down as he limped towards the doors that would take him out the ballroom. Whispers followed him. Pity and sympathy as they whispered about the crazy Paladin who’d killed his lover. Reaching the door, he was a hairs breath away from crying. Listening to people prattle on about peace and the future, people who’d didn’t even know Allura justifying their words with her name, it’d rubbed him the wrong way... Knowing that behind there was a whole room of people who thought him something he wasn’t... kind of wasn’t, it really fucking sucked. The cherry on top was when the word “disgusting” was muttered in his direction. Some of those people he’d helped liberate as a paladin. Some of those people wouldn’t be alive if not for Voltron and the sacrifices of all the people he-they couldn’t save. It was probably his fault. He couldn’t forgive the coalition who were hiding Kre’el’s story. Burying their dirty laundry and failing to admit they never found her planet dooming a whole hurting race to an even sadder death. Perhaps if he’d played nicer, he wouldn’t have been saddled with all this shit that seemed to cling to the bottom of his boots... No one else seemed to make headlines like he did. Limping down the hall, Lance realised he had a new problem of not knowing where the bathroom actually was. Surely the Galra were smart enough to build a bathroom near the ballroom, still, he’d never been to the ballroom before. Turning back towards the ballroom, the corridor seemed longer than he remembered. Shadows of trees drifting through the windows as they succeeded to creep him out. He was being fucking stupid. Thank you paranoia. Keith would be laughing if he could see him now. He was a goddamn guest of Daibazaal’s ruling diplomats. Keith said to trust his gut and his gut told him to get on with finding a bathroom already. Turning back, he slapped his cheeks lightly. Leandro. He needed to channel Leandro. Leandro wasn’t afraid of a big bad corridor. Starting to limp off, his paranoia started rising again, making it a dozen steps, the hairs on his neck rose again. Stopping mid step, he heard the squeak of shoes behind him. Spinning on the spot, Lance screeched “Hunk!? What the quiznak are you doing?!” Looking somewhat sheepish, Hunk walked out the shadows of the hall, scratching the back of his head as he gave a half smile “Uh. Hey, buddy. I saw you sneaking out the ballroom, and I... uh, I’ve wanted to talk to you” Clutching his chest, Lance doubled over as he sucked down a breath “Dammit! You scared the quiznak out of me! You’re supposed to be on stage” “It didn’t feel right without you... Besides, Keith couldn’t come. Krolia has dragged him up beside her... What are you doing out here?” “Looking for a bathroom. They really need more labels around here” “You’ve gone past it” Hunk turned, Lance frowning. Hunk hated him... and there was something off... Shay hadn’t approached him. Why wouldn’t he send Shay after him? No. He was being paranoid. He was more than his depression. He was more than his anxieties. He’d known Hunk for years... Maybe... maybe he was sorry for walking out? Limping a few steps forward, Hunk turned back to him “You ok there, brother?” Brother. Hunk never called him brother. It was “bro”. Brother was weird. Bro. They were best “bros”... Straightening his left arm, his blade slid into his hand “Yeah, crutches, you know what I mean” Lance’s voice sounded strained even to him. Making a show of waving the two offending objects, he then hobbled forward, Hunk watching. The way his body was turned... Dropping his crutches, the man who wasn’t Hunk rushed him. Grabbed by the throat, Lance was thrown against the wall with ease. His head smacking back hard enough he bit his tongue, a harsh fist cracking his nose, pain glaring as blood began to run “What gave it away? Never mind. If you scream, I will go after Keith. Nod your head if you understand?” Nodding his head, he was released. His cast keeping him upright, his blade digging into his left hand “Good... You’ve brought enough shame upon the... coalition. Right now, everyone is hearing your confession. Drugs and Alcohol. Murder. How far do you intend to drag everyone down with you? Now you claim to be pregnant... You have no place here. We shall not accept you, or what you stand for” Holding his tongue, Lance forced himself not to utter a sound. He wasn’t sure if it made him powerful or pathetic. Failing to respond, Hunk’s face twisted. His attacker pulling out a blade of his own, slicing through the fabric of his borrowed tunic, exposing his bra and stomach. For an instant his attackers eyes glowed yellow, a clawed hand coming up to rip away his wedding ring. There was a lot he could tolerate, but not that. That ring was the physical form of his bond with Keith. Blue electricity formed in his palm, heating the blade, stupidly and irrationally, he lunged.

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darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts · 5 years

Text

Waltzing with the Wallflower

I give you this humble offering of a tale bought to you by a writers brain that would not let her go to sleep until a rather ungodly hour.

A period(ish) era AU. A warlord in a mask and a Princess very much out of her element.

Masterlist

---

Waltzing with the Wallflower

The venue was a pulsating decadent display dripping in fine damask and brocade silks. The rich colours added to the overindulgent opulence of the night. This was the biggest night of the year and the most sought after one to receive an invitation for. This was a time when it didn’t matter who you were, if you didn’t know someone who could get you in, you weren’t getting past the entrance.

The high vaulted ceiling shimmered with the light reflecting from the fine crystal chandeliers and shadows danced as elegantly as the ones taking a turn on the dance floor courtesy of the many candles lit around the room for added ambience. The orchestral music harmonised with the murmurs of conversation giving way to an overtly sensual undertone being created.

Everything felt amplified tonight as people mingled hidden comfortably behind their ornate masks. Here was the one night the silent battle of the class system crumbled. Conversation flowed freely between the people gathered alongside the wine and champagne. Platers of exquisite finger foods travelled on gleaming silverware as it was transported around the room by the hired help.

As beautiful as it was and as mouth-watering as the food looked one hapless princess had found she had lost her appetite entirely. This was a far cry from her usual environment working as a maid in a governor’s house. To say it had been a shock to be handed the invitation would have been an understatement.

It had felt like a fantasy to see such intricate embossed golden filigree on the expensive cardstock displaying the venue’s address in bold calligraphy that almost send a pre-emptive warning of things to come. She was aware that her employer had a predisposition to play games and this was clearly another way for him to seek enjoyment witnessing someone struggling to tread water so clearly out of their depth. She had pushed those thoughts to the side and was determined to make the best of the night. It was after all a once in a lifetime party.

Of course, that was what she had planned. But naturally, there is a reason why there is such a saying about the plans of mice and men. Nervousness had taken its root in her stomach and even behind her ornate mask, she could feel herself crumbling under the pressure of the extreme shift in social rank. It was a concern severely lacking in foundation as for this one night she along with the other guests were all stripped of their positions and prestige. Tucked safely behind their masks for one night only they were all equal. Still, the feeling of an outsider looking in was a hard one to shift and she found herself edging more and more towards the candlelit recesses of the venue.

She was thankful to have been lucky enough to borrow a gown for the evening. The plain burnished silver bustier clung to her giving a comforting sensation of being hugged. The silver fabric travelled elegantly over her hips gathering like tumbling waterfall to one side revealing a contrasting black fabric that when it moved revealed a hidden pattern that was picked out by the changing light and movement as she walked. To be honest, everything she had on was currently on loan from the governor’s daughter. Once she had found out that her maid had received an invite to the masquerade, she began excitedly dressing her up like a giant doll.

A small sigh escaped her lips as she watched the prestige of the evening swaying to the harmonics of the string orchestra in a Venetian waltz on the dance floor. The gentlemen leading the ladies in the swirling dips and twirls as they enjoyed their night's dalliances.

“Pardon me but I believe you dropped something, my dear.” An elegant monotone voice disrupted her daydream and she turned to find a gentleman standing next to her. His crisp white formal wear accented with teal embellishments was breathtakingly striking but it was his mask that drew her attention most of all. Unlike the majority of the other guests, his seemed to be a homage to an animal spirit. Crackle glazed tones of cream and burnt gold. Highlighted in subtle shades of brown blended out in such a way that almost made you wish to touch it and see if it was real fur. Its pointed ears and elongated snout covered just enough of his face to keep all but his chiselled jaw and bowstring lips covered. A gloved hand was being extended to her and she noticed that he had hold of one of her silver hairpins.

“Oh! Yes, thank you.” She reached out only to have her own hand miss its mark. The lips of the masked man had been pulled into an alluring smile. The eyes behind the mask sparkled as they remained locked on her.

“Allow me to fix it for you. I would hate for you to lose such a fine piece again and I fear it might be too difficult for you to do so without some help.” His voice was soft and slow. It felt like a spell was being cast as her body apparently moved of its own accord and turned to allow him access to her long black hair. The briefest of touches brushed over her neck as his long fingers combed through her locks, arranging it so as to attach to the pin more securely.

“You have beautiful hair, my dear.” His voice was so close that it felt almost as if it was being dripped like honey directly into her ear. A pleasant if unexpected sensation tingled down her spine in response to him.

“Thank you, Sir. You are too kind.” Blushing slightly, she turned to him again and gave a polite bow with her head.

“Are you not dancing tonight?”

“I fear I would be too clumsy in a place such as this to do any song justice.”

“Nonsense. If anything is to be at fault this evening it would be the man who failed to showcase your beauty.” His tone was so adamant and sincere it caused her breath to catch in her throat as she looked at him. “If you are concerned with crowds perhaps a turn in the garden would help calm your nerves. It seems such a shame to cloister yourself away in the shadows when you were obviously meant to move in the light.” Once more he elegantly extended his gloved hand to her. Accepting his hand in a veritable trance-like state the pair moved to the large baroquian windows leading to the gardens.

The chilled night air caressed her skin as she was led down the stone staircase of the balcony into the beautifully manicured gardens. The scents of the nocturnal flora carried on the wind like the music from the ball, wrapping around her mind like an irresistible piece of trickery that tempted her to forget herself completely.

Stopping in an area that seemed to be planted mostly with roses and a large fountain, the gentleman released her hand. The loss of connection brought her out of her befuddlement. The light of the moon above eerily lit the area touching the flower petals around her making them look more delicate and otherworldly. Caught up in her observations she had failed to notice the gentleman until the movement of him was caught reflected in the water beside her.

“Are you feeling better my dear?” He was maintaining a respectable distance from her but somehow observing him on the surface of the mirrorlike water made her feel like he was embracing her.

“You bought me here because you were concerned for me?”

“Naturally.” His eyes behind his mask almost appeared to glow by moonlight. She had thought it was a trick of the light before but those eyes really were like finely crafted yellow glass.

“Pardon?”

“Cultivated beauty pales in comparison to natural creation. Take these roses for example.” He removed his gloves one finger at a time slowly enough that the movement of it made her swallow thickly aware of the subliminal sexual desire it stirred inside her. His bare pale hand touched the very edge of the blooming flower tilting it towards his masked face. “There is no denying their elegance and beauty but any fool can cultivate that kind of thing with enough time and money.”

“They are beautiful.” She unconsciously moved to his side gazing at the same flower sighing.

“Are you aware of the saying beauty is in the eye of the beholder, my dear?” He paused for a few moments. Her large upturned eyes moved from the rose to him the stars from the sky above them swimming in the two pools of ink. “To me, these flowers are nothing more than poor man’s delusion. The real beauty can be found beyond the confines of such a thing.” He guided her towards the garden wall brushing aside the trailing ivy and clematis to reveal a hidden window. The small hollow arch had a sprawling view of a meadow that appeared to be right out of a fairy tale. “Wildflowers are always so much more alluring to me. After all, they are the ones that fought to survive against the odds of the fates themselves. No two are alike and the uniqueness of them tells a tale that binds one’s heart.”

“That is very poetic.”

“It is but one man’s truth.” There was something painful in his tone. As he looked out at the meadow sharing the view with her, she felt as if she was observing for the first time in her life a tortured soul. “Well, my dear. Would you care to dance?”

“You wish to dance with me, Sir?” He dropped the blanket of flowers back hiding the secret window once more.

“Why are you so surprised?” His question floated in the air over the rumbling chuckle that tumbled from his lips after it.

“I fear I am not good enough to be a very good dance partner.” The nerves she had felt at the ball were back with full force except this time her heart was also thumping in her chest as if providing her with a beat to march to her own destruction.

“I told you before my dear it is the responsibility of the man to showcase his partner’s talent. You need merely to entrust your body to me and let me take the lead and let me show the world how brightly you can shine.” The imperceptible shift as his body aligned itself to hers was so smooth, she did not realise they were dancing until she felt the slight warmth of his hand in hers.

She was lost in the soft spell he appeared to have cast over her. Even the faint sound of the fountain in the garden had melted away as she handed over control of her body to him. His body kept perfect time with hers as he drew out an elegance form her that she had no idea even existed. He was holding her like she was a delicate piece of art so fragile that she might break at any moment but he was also firm and commanding enough to guide her body effortlessly around the flowerbeds in a silent waltz in the moonlight.

---

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niksfiks · 5 years

Text

Pops in the Park

Originally posted 6/10/19

TITLE: Pops in the Park

AUTHOR: Nikkalia (niksfiks)

PAIRING: Tom/OFC

RATING: M

SUMMARY: This is the result of a conversation on Discord about Loki!Tom crashing a concert. It went downhill from there... Dedicated to my darling @igotloki

NOTES/WARNINGS: (kinks, triggers, general warnings.) Smut, which is really difficult to write in first person for some reason...

“Because Anthony Daniels canceled when it wasn’t all about Star Wars.” Mike answered, grinning. “Relax, you’ve got this.”

“No respect from my concertmaster,” I smirked as he clapped my shoulder.

“So, is the magic man making an appearance tonight?”

“Nope. He’s otherwise occupied.”

Mike laughed. “What does that even mean?”

I shrugged. “It means...he won’t be here.”

“Oh, come on. He can’t pull away from whatever he’s filming for one night to celebrate your 5 year anniversary with us? Loser.”

“Whatever.” I blew out a sigh and looked back over my notes. “Really hate speeches.”

“See, magic man should’ve been here. He likes to talk and the ladies love to listen.” Mike winked and got a smack on the arm for his trouble before wandering off.

“Two minutes to curtain. Oh, and I’m supposed to tell you that an emcee has been located. You’re off the hook.” a stagehand told me.

“Thank you, God!”

I found Mike walking toward me, making sure everyone was ready to go.

“Conductor,” he nodded, a glint of mischief in his eye.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage our master of ceremonies for the evening, mister Robert Downey, Jr.”

Bob strode out to the center of the stage, grinning from ear to ear.

I shot the dirtiest look to Mike, mouthing, “You knew.”

He shrugged, then smiled. Jackass.

“Maestra,you look stunning,” I heard beside me. He leaned in for a cheek-to-cheek kiss, lingering a little longer than maybe he should have. “He misses you,” he finally whispered, pulling away.

“Then he should be here.” I croaked. Poor Bob, reduced to a mere messenger boy. “Shall we?”

Being the gentleman that he is, Robert led me to the platform, holding my hand as I made the tiny step up, then returned to the podium on the other side of the stage.

The piece finished and Robert began rambling on about music and film and... I stopped paying attention after a few seconds, focusing again on the upcoming music. One of the stage hands appeared on my right and placed a wireless mic on the music stand. I put it on, thinking I would be expected to say a few words about my time with the orchestra, what an honor it was, blah blah blah.

Celebrate yourself, Tom would say. If anyone deserves accolades, it’s you. My response was almost always, “yeah, whatever,” which would send him into a 20 minute monologue extolling my virtues as a musician and human. I’ve always preferred to let the music speak for itself.

The altos later told me that was not the kind of love they were looking for. The sopranos, however, were ecstatic. Divas, the whole lot of them.

Loki, or Tom, in full Loki regalia, strode toward me like a demi-god possessed. The horns sat above smouldering eyes, cape flowing behind him as he approached me like an animal stalking his prey. It took every ounce of self control I had not to pounce on him in front of God and the globe. I never could resist that costume, and he knew it. Instead, I simply crossed my arms.

“Please,” he growled, the swagger growing, “don’t stop on my account. Summon your Avengers.”

“Bad enough you destroy half of Manhattan with some half-baked scheme to take over the world. Now, you have the audacity to crash my gig and interrupt their music?”

He stopped short, head cocking to one side. I don’t think he was entirely sure if I was serious or just playing along. The infamous smile returned.

“I have found myself lamenting the loss of something very dear to me of late. Something that I believe you alone can help me recover.” He paused, his voice echoing through the speakers while his hands fells to his sides. “It pains me to admit such shortcomings, but I find that I am weaker without you, that I am lost without your presence in my life. I am heartbroken at each day that passes without the sound of your voice. So,” his cloak flew behind him with a flourish and he fell to one knee. A collective gasp came from the audience and the stage. “My lady, would you consider restoring to me the grace of your life and your love on a permanent basis?”

What the hell is happening? I glanced over at Mike. He, and the rest of the orchestra, are literally sitting on the edge of their seats. When I turn back to Tom, his arm is extended towards me, a small box with a ring sitting in the palm of his hand. Tom, channeling Loki, channeling King Hal. I was doomed.

“Will you consent to be my queen and my love? Will you marry me?”

His head dropped and my heart leapt into my throat. Time seemed to slow to a crawl while I recalled every fight, every laugh, every moment of passion and joy and sorrow. How could I possibly say yes? How could I not?

“Yes.”

“I shall be waiting with white horses, my queen.”

“And here I thought you’d want me to play you out.”

“As long as it’s not ‘Performance Issues’.”

“The band’s tungsten. I know how hard you are on jewelry,” Tom said with a wink.”The stones are moldavite, amethyst and garnet.” he glanced over, a smile on his face. “Us.”

“It’s perfect,” I blushed a little, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “And you’re a dork of the highest caliber.”

We were all hands trying to shed clothes on the way. You’d think that as much coordination we had individually, we’d be able to make it look as graceful as it did in the movies. The poor boy got so frustrated that he picked me up, carried me down the hallway, and dropped me on the bed. Shoes and socks off, he stepped closer to unzip my dress while I worked on his pants. The conda sprang free as soon as the zipper fell. Another growl came from above when I wrapped my hand around it, morphing into a moan as when lips added.

“If all you’re gonna do is tease,” I panted, “then get up here.”

“Not until you cum,” he purred, still latched on to me. He began thrusting the fingers inside me, curling them around to brush against that little bundle of nerve while he clamped down with lips and teeth. It didn’t take long for my body to shatter beneath him, my orgasm tearing its way out of me with a scream. He anchored me down with both arms, sucking out every last drop I could offer.

“Need a bit longer to recover?” he whispered, nuzzling against my cheek.

“Absolutely not.” I pulled him closer to me and shifted a bit, sliding a hand down his stomach. “Only thing I need is you.” My fingers wrapped around his length and guided him inside.

“Ditto,” I breathed into his ear, “on both counts. Just move.”

“Love?” he whispered, toying with a lock of my hair. “Are you sure?”

“Sure of what?”

“This,” he spoke as he ran his fingers along my left hand to the ring. “I know you wouldn’t have refused me in front of the entire world and half of Manhattan, even if you wanted to.” I lifted my head from his chest to look at him. There was genuine concern on his face as he sighed. “So, are you sure?”

“You’re serious?” His face turned sheepish. “Then let me answer a question with a question.”

“What? You hate it when I do that!” He sat up a bit and I pressed a finger to his lips.

“Thomas William Loki Adam Hank Henry Robert Freddie Jonathan Oakley Hiddleston the fifth, Lord Nooth, rightful king of the Jotunheim, England, Ireland, Scotland...”

“Okay, okay, enough,” he chuckled. I grinned at him.

“Will you marry me?” His eyes went wide and teared up a bit. He began nodding furiously until I kissed him.

Neither of us slept that night.

#fluff #tom hiddleston rpf #niksfiks

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