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satansjit · 4 years

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Reflections on the Color of My Skin

By Neil DeGrasse Tyson

Wednesday, June 3, 2020

My colleague had other encounters with the law that he shared later that night, but his first story started a chain reaction among us. One by one we each recalled multiple incidents of being stopped by the police. None of the accounts were particularly violent or life-threatening, although it was easy to extrapolate to highly publicized cases that were. One of my colleagues had been stopped for driving too slowly. He was admiring the local flora as he drove through a New England town in the autumn. Another had been stopped because he was speeding, but only by five miles per hour. He was questioned and then released without getting a ticket. Still another colleague had been stopped and questioned for jogging down the street late at night.

As for me, I had a dozen different encounters to draw from. There was the time I was stopped late at night at an underpass on an empty road in New Jersey for having changed lanes without signaling. The officer told me to get out of my car and questioned me for ten minutes around back with the headlights of his squad car brightly illuminating my face. Is this your car? Yes. Who is the woman in the passenger seat? My wife. Where are you coming from? My parent’s house. Where are you going? Home. What do you do for a living? I am an astrophysicist at Princeton University. What’s in your trunk? A spare tire, and a lot of other greasy junk. He went on to say that the “real reason” why he stopped me was because my car’s license plates were much newer and shinier than the 17-year-old Ford that I was driving. The officer was just making sure that neither the car nor the plates were stolen.

Among my other stories, I had been stopped by campus police while transporting my home supply of physics textbooks into my newly assigned office in graduate school. They had stopped me at the entrance to the physics building where they asked accusatory questions about what I was doing. It was 11:30 p.m. Open-topped boxes of graduate math and physics textbooks filled the trunk. And I was transporting them into the building, which left me wondering how often that scenario shows up in police training videos.

We went on for two more hours. But before we retired for the night we searched for common denominators among the stories. We had all driven different cars—some were old, others were new, some were undistinguished, others were high performance imports. Some police stops were in the daytime, others were at night. Taken one-by-one, each encounter with the law could be explained as an isolated incident where, in modern times, we all must forfeit some freedoms to ensure a safer society for us all. Taken collectively, however, you would think the cops had a vendetta against physicists because that was the only profile we all had in common. In this parade of automotive stop-and-frisks, one thing was for sure, the stories were not singular, novel moments playfully recounted. They were common, recurring episodes. How could this assembly of highly educated scientists, each in possession of the PhD—the highest academic degree in the land—be so vulnerable to police inquiry in their lives? Maybe the police cued on something else. Maybe it was the color of our skin. The conference I had been attending was the 23rd meeting of the National Society of Black Physicists. We were guilty not of DWI (Driving While Intoxicated), but of other violations none of us knew were on the books: DWB (Driving While Black), WWB (Walking While Black), and of course, JBB (Just Being Black).

None of us were beaten senseless. None of us were shot. But what does it take for a police encounter to turn lethal? On average, police in America kill more than 100 unarmed black people per year. Who never made it to our circle? I suspect our multi-hour conversation would be rare among most groups of law-abiding people.

As I compose this, about 10,000 chanting protestors are filing past my window in Manhattan. And because of the intermittent looting and related violence, the curfew for this evening has been pushed earlier, to 8 p.m., from 11 p.m. in the preceding days. The most common placard was “Black Lives Matter.” Many others simply displayed the name George Floyd, who was handcuffed face-down on the street with a police officer’s knee on the back of his neck, applied with a force of at least half the officer’s body weight, resulting in his death. Curious irony that NFL star Colin Kaepernick offered a simple demonstration of care and concern for the fate of black people in the custody of police officers, by taking a knee during the Star Spangled Banner before football games. (One media outlet mangled the moment by describing him as protesting the national anthem.) The outrage against his silent act of concern for a national problem persisted through the 2017 season when, as a free agent, he went unsigned by any team to continue his livelihood.

So, we went from a peaceful knee to the ground to a fatal knee to the neck.

The way peaceful protesters and the press are being shoved, maced, tear-gassed, pepper-sprayed, and tackled in the streets of our cities (when the police should have focused on arresting the looters) you would think the protestors were doing something illegal or un-American. But, of course, the U.S. Constitution has something to say about it:

Congress shall make no law … abridging the freedom … of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

Which amendment was that? The First Amendment. So, the founders of this nation felt quite strongly about it, empowering one to declare that protesting for redress of grievances is one of the most American things you can do. If you are the police, pause and reflect how great is the country whose Constitution endorses peaceful protests.

What do we actually expect from our police officers? To protect the peace and arrest the bad guys, I presume. But also, to be armed with lethal force that they can use when necessary. That part clearly requires training on how and when to use (and not use) the power of your weapons. The rigorous Minneapolis Police Academy training lasts 4 months. The slightly more rigorous NYC Police Academy lasts 6 months.

Yet to become a certified pastry chef at a prestigious culinary academy requires 8 months. The perfect croissant demands it. So maybe, just maybe, police recruits could benefit from a bit more training before becoming officers.

In 1991, Rodney King (age 25) was struck dozens of times, while on the ground, by four LAPD officers, with their batons, after being tased. The grainy 1990s video of that went media-viral, inducing shock and dismay to any viewer.

But I wasn’t shocked at all.

Based on what I already knew of the world, my first thought was, “We finally got one of those on tape.” Followed by, “Maybe justice will be served this time.” Yes, that’s precisely my first thought. Why? Since childhood my parents instilled in me and my siblings, via monthly, sometimes weekly lessons, rules of conduct to avoid getting shot by the police. “Make sure that when you get stopped, the officer can always see both of your hands.” “No sudden movements.” “Don’t reach into your pockets for anything without announcing this in advance.” “When you move at all, tell the officer what you are about to do.” At the time, I am a budding scientist in middle school, just trying to learn all I can about the universe. I hardly ever think about the color of my skin—it never comes up when contemplating the universe. Yet when I exit my front door, I’m a crime suspect. Add to this the recently coined “White Caller Crime,” where scared white people call the police because they think an innocent black person is doing something non-innocent, and it’s a marvel that any of us achieve at all.

The rate of abuse? Between one and five skin-color-instigated incidents per week, for every week of my life. White people must have known explicitly if not implicitly of this struggle. Why else would the infamous phrase, “I’m free, white, and 21” even exist? Here is a compilation of that line used in films across the decades. Yes, it’s offensive. But in America, it’s also truthful. Today’s often-denied “white privilege” accusation was, back then, openly declared.

The deadly LA riots associated with the Rodney King incident are often remembered as a response to the beating. But no. Los Angeles was quiet for 13 months afterward. Everyone had confidence, as did I, that the video was just the kind of evidence needed to finally bring about a conviction in the abuse of power. But that’s not what came to pass. The riots were a response to the acquittal of the four officers in the incident, and not to the incident itself. And what is a riot if not the last act of helpless desperation.

The 1989 film by Spike Lee “Do the Right Thing,” which explored 1980s black-white-police tensions in Brooklyn, New York, ends with a dedication to the families of six people. Eleanor Bumpers (age 66), Michael Griffith (age 23), Arthur Miller (age 30), Edmund Perry (age 17), Yvonne Smallwood (age 28), and Michael Stewart (age 25). All are black. One was killed by a white mob. The rest were unarmed and shot by police or otherwise died while in police custody. All deaths occurred within the 10 years preceding film, and all occurred in New York City. None of the police-induced deaths resulted in convictions, as continues to be true for 99% of all police killings.

We know of these events because they each ended in death. But even so, back then, it was just local news. Was this just NYC’s problem? I asked myself. But for every police-related death anywhere, how many unarmed victims are shot by police and don’t die, or are wrongfully maimed or injured? Most of those cases didn’t even make the local news. But if you lived there, you knew. We all knew. For what it’s worth, NYC now has the lowest police-caused death rate per capita among the sixty largest cities in the US. Is it that extra two months training in the Police Academy?

The corrosion and ultimate erosion of our confidence in the legal system in cases such as these, even in the face of video evidence, has spawned a tsunami of protests. With sympathetic demonstrations across the United States and around the world. If the threat of prison time for this behavior does not exist—acting as a possible deterrent—then the behavior must somehow stop on its own.

Some studies show that the risk of death for an unarmed person at the hands of the police is approximately the same no matter the demographics of who gets arrested. Okay. But if your demographic gets stopped ten times more than others, then your demographic will die at ten times the rate. I suppose we first have to get the bias factor down to zero, but then there’s still the matter of police killing unarmed suspects, white people included.

I talk a lot. But I don’t talk much about any of this, or the events along this path-of-most-resistance that have shaped me. Why? Because throughout my life I’ve used these occasions as launch-points to succeed even more. Yes, I parlayed the persistent rejections of society, which today might be called micro-aggressions, into reservoirs of energy to achieve. I learned that from my father, himself active in the Civil Rights Movement during the 1950s and 1960s.

In a way, I am who I am precisely because countless people, by their actions or inactions, said I could never be what I am. But what if you don’t have this deep supply of fuel? What becomes of you? Who from historically disenfranchised communities, including women, LGBTQ+, and anybody of color, are missing—falling shy of their full potential because they ran out of energy and gave up trying.

Are things better today than yesterday? Yes. But one measure of this truth is a bit perverse. Decades ago, unarmed black people getting beaten or killed by the police barely merited the local news. But now it’s national news—even breaking news—no matter where in the country it occurs.

So how to change all this? Organizations have surely assembled demands for police departments. Here, I offer a list of my own, for policy experts to consider:

Extend police academies to include months of cultural awareness and sensitivity training that also includes how not to use lethal force.

Police officers should all be tested for any implicit bias they carry, with established thresholds of acceptance and rejection from the police academy. We all carry bias. But most of us do not hold the breathing lives of others in our hands when influenced by it.

During protests, protect property and lives. If you attack nonviolent protesters you are being un-American. And you wouldn’t need curfews if police arrested looters and not protesters.

If fellow officers are behaving in a way that is clearly unethical or excessively violent, and you witness this, please stop them. Someone will get that on video, and it will give the rest of us confidence that you can police yourselves. In these cases, our trust in you matters more to a civil society than how much you stick up for each other.

And here’s a radical idea for the Minneapolis Police Department—why not give George Floyd the kind of full-dress funeral you give each other for dying in the line of duty? And vow that such a death will never happen again.

Lastly, when you see black kids, think of what they can be rather than what you think they are.

Respectfully Submitted

Neil deGrasse Tyson — trying hard to Keep Looking Up.

#neil degrasse tyson #reflections on the color of my skin #reflections #black lives matter #justiceforfloyd #blm movement #blm #support blm #science #george floyd #justice for black lives #justice for poc #no justice no peace #know justice know peace #white silence is violence #physics #amerikkka #blacklivesmatter

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youbloodymadgenius · 4 years

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Farewell (Ivar x petite!reader)

A/N: This is my contribution to @a-mess-of-fandoms‘s 1K Writing Challenge. Congrats again, love, this is well deserved 🌻

@inforapound, you know you’re the best, don’t you? 💋

A box of tissues could be useful, it’s kind of sad (sorry about that).

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

The gif belongs to @honestsycrets 💖

Summary: Ivar has some important things to tell you.

Warnings: small fluff; Ivar’s insecurities; loss of a loved one.

Words: 1812

Ivar hobbles, taking two steps forward before coming to a stop, his crutch a much needed support, his knuckles white on its hand grip. A few steps behind, Hvitserk watches him closely, afraid his brother might fall. Getting a little closer, he puts a hand on Ivar's shoulder. "Do you want me to stay?"

Hardly waving his free hand, Ivar shakes his head, curtly dismissing his brother. "Leave us alone."

Nodding, Hvitserk pats his brother's shoulder one last time and walks away wordlessly.

Once he's sure he's alone, Ivar looks up at the sky. Taking in a shuddering breath, he closes his eyes, pursing his lips before eventually looking down. His gaze falls to your face and he gives you a faint smile.

"My love…" His shaky voice is barely a whisper, his breath hitches and he tilts his head to the side, chewing on his dry lips. Running his fingers through his greying hair, he scratches the back of his neck, exhaling wearily.

Blinking back tears, he clenches his teeth. "I know I promised I wouldn't cry but you can't even imagine how hard it is…" Tightening his grasp on his crutch, he brings his right hand to his scrunched face, rubbing his eyes and snorting loudly.

"I don't even know where to start, you know?" He shrugs, a sullen look on his face. "I love you so, so much… More than I ever thought possible…" The last words come out strangled as Ivar swallows the thick lump in his throat. Blinking several times, he breathes in deeply through his nose.

"I think I'll start with how I was before. Before you, I mean. I was so young at that time, still almost a boy. There was nothing good inside of me. There was hatred, bitterness and jealousy. I was mean, cruel, to everyone. I was selfish, vain and self-centred, and I was so fucking angry all the time… And then you showed up… and everything changed…" A slight smile returns to his lips and he lets out a chukle.

"You remember, right? It was snowing and you had came to bring Mother a dress that she ordered from your’s. You didn't usually do that, but your mother was busy and asked you to do it. You didn't want to leave your father, whom you helped in the smithy, yet had no choice but to agree. It doesn't take much to make a difference, if you think about it. May the gods bless your mother!" Shaking his head, Ivar closes his eyes.

"As for me, I was stuck in the Great Hall because of my legs. They were hurting, my mother was in her room and my brothers nowhere to be seen. They were probably in a random barn, busy fucking Margrethe. I was bored, and pissed off, and so fucking in pain. And you came in. You were so small and petite, I thought you were a young boy, not more than ten years old. Your cloak was way too long for you, your dark pants filthy. I wanted to make fun of you, just to make myself feel better. I know that was mean. But as you know I wasn't nice, ever. However, I didn't get the chance, because you spoke. 'Prince Ivar', you told me reverently before bowing before me. I wish that I could tell you your voice enthralled me but if I'm being honest, it was quite the opposite. It was a high-pitched, irritating voice and I don't know why, but finding out you were a girl pissed me off even more.You were an easy prey and I was ready to pick on you. And then magic happened. You pushed your hood off, a warm smile on your lips. You were so beautiful. Your delicate features, the way you barely tilted your head, and your eyes… Gods, your eyes, my love. At the exact moment when you locked them with mine, I was bewitched, thoroughly and happily helpless. It's like in that moment the whole universe existed just to bring us together. Or to bring you to me, but whatever… You were here, and to my delight, you never left."

Wrapped up in his memories with a smile lingering on his lips, Ivar lets his mind wander.

***

"Aren't you going to kiss me, Ivar?"

Lost for words, a flabbergasted Ivar just stares at you, swallowing. Slowly wrapping your hand aroud his calloused one, you tilt forward and whisper in his ear. "Because you know, I'd like that very much."

"Aren't… Doesn't…" Finding his voice, Ivar, at first, splutters. Pulling himself together, he bites his lower lip before taking a ragged breath. "Doesn't that bother you?"

Raising a single brow, you look at him confused, an unspoken question in your eyes. When he gestures towards his legs, anger all over his face, his nose scrunched in disgust, you blink a few times, asking genuinely, "You mean, your legs?"

"Isn't that obvious?" You're not used to such a harsh tone from him, but you remain composed, aware that this is a very sensitive topic, at least for him.

"Doesn't it bother you that I'm so tiny?" You give him a wry smile, straightening up as much as you can, which is not much. Standing in front of Ivar, who's sitting on his bed, you're not taller than he is.

Sighing heavily, Ivar rubs his face with both hands before shooting you a sheepish look. "Y/N, it's not the same…" Lowering his head, he clenches his fists.

He's right, it's not. He's self-conscious about his legs, ashamed even, while you're the first to laugh about your short stature. One of your hands grazes his thigh and you place a finger beneath his chin, lifting his face to look at you. "It should be, though."

Furrowing his brows, Ivar stiffens once more. "And why is that? How can you compare those hideous, useless legs to–"

Shushing him, you give him a stern look, daring him to continue. When he keeps quiet, you take a step forward, straddling him carefully.

"Ivar, your legs…" Your voice is soft as you place a soothing hand on his chest, "… they are just the way you are. They are not what you are. Don't let them define you…"

***

The next moment, you were kissing him. Eyes still shut, Ivar shivers. If he concentrates hard enough, he can still feel your sweet lips on his.

***

"My husband!" Breaking the kiss, you giggle, beaming, a little tipsy and flooded with happiness.

Ivar chuckles, running his fingers through his dishevelled hair. Hovering over you, he peppers light kisses all over your face, supporting his weight on one arm. "My wife. You're my wife. I can hardly believe it." There's something so earnest in his eyes and so many emotions across his face… Your heart flutters as you kiss him lovingly.

"That I am. And you know, I'd suggest you get used to it, because I'm not going anywhere." Reaching out, you gently run your fingers across his broad chest and his bare sweaty skin.

"I won't let you go anywhere anyway. Not after what just happened. Was it magic?" He shivers, his big blue eyes scrutinizing you.

"Of course not." Giving him a quick peck on the tip of his nose, you cup his face with your hands, shaking your head. "We don't need magic, Ivar."

Slightly flustered, Ivar stutters. "I… I don't understand… How… I thought…" His averted gaze gives away how embarrassed he feels and he clenches his teeth. "You know… I… I couldn't have sex with Margrethe…"

There's a dull ache in your chest as you listen to his words – you wish so badly you could have saved him from that humiliation – but you chase it quickly away.

"You and I, my husband, we didn't have sex. We made love, which makes all the difference." Your fingers trail down his spine and then you squeeze playfully his butt cheeks. He bursts out laughing, wiggling slightly, but gets serious as soon as you stop.

"Do you think we'll have children?" His eyelids fluttering closed for a moment, Ivar lets out a huff of frustration. "I mean… You know… Do you think I'll be able to… despite my… condition?"

Drawing him against you, you wrap your arms around his shoulders. "I have no doubt. No doubt at all."

***

Opening his eyes, Ivar can feel his heart pounding in his chest. "You were right, of course you were right…" What a blessing.

***

"She's just like you, you know?" Beaming with pride, Ivar shifts in the bed, scooting closer to you. You're still amazed at how comfortable he is around you now.

Making sure you don't disturb the sleeping, sated baby in your arms, you lean slightly forward, your free hand brushing Ivar's naked thighs. You will gladly work on their deepest knots later, but right now, looking at your marvelous daughter, wrapped in your husband's embrace, is your single aim.

"She has your eyes, though." Feeling like your heart is blossoming, you grab Ivar's hand, bringing it to your–

***

"Ivar, it's time." Hvitserk's voice pulls Ivar out of his thoughts. Without looking up, he nods. "I know. Just give me a moment. I'll be quick."

As soon as Hvitserk retreats, Ivar looks at your peaceful face, his stomach clenching and rolling inside him. "My love, you gave me everything. You made me whole. You made me feel wanted, loved. You made me feel normal. You made me a man. For all of that, I'll be forever grateful." His breathing starts to shake and panic floods his body. "I… I don't want you to go… I… I don't know how I'm supposed to do that… I'm not sure I can… live without you…" His words catch in his throat, he swallows, wincing. "I'll try. I promise, I'll try. And one day, hopefully sooner rather than later, I'll join you. I'll find you and we'll be together again. I love you, Y/N. With all my heart, with all my soul."

A hand slips into his and Ivar looks around, a weary smile crossing his face as he recognizes his daughter. "Father." Intertwining their fingers, Ivar rubs her knuckles with his thumb. Her huge, blue, swollen eyes pricking with tears, she presses her head against his chest. Wrapping protectively his arm around her, he cradles his beautiful daughter, resting his head on hers. "Min skat." He wishes he could tell her it's going to be okay, but he can't. He can't.

Nodding to the archers, Ivar squeezes his daughter's hand tight as a withering sigh escapes his lips. The tightness in his chest is almost unbearable, he can't think or breathe. And when the first arrow reaches the boat, setting it on fire, a single tear runs down his cheek.

"Farewell, my love."

🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets @lisinfleur @waiting4inspiration @saldelys @gearhead66 @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @a-mess-of-fandoms @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @ivarthebloodyking @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog

#ivar #ivar x reader #ivar x petite!reader #ivar fanfic #ivar imagine #ivar fanfiction #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar vikings #vikings #vikings imagine #vikings ivar

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twisted-crumpets · 3 years

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Here’s a little side present for @trashy-mctrash who is currently mass panicking over Rook Hunt.

Rook Hunt

Closing the door to his bed room, Rook slid onto the plush carpet with an exhausted huff, gently plucking his hat off and placing it beside him on the floor. He had to admit, Vil and Epel really did outdo themselves and the party that they created was nothing less than extravagant, one which he was nothing but ecstatic and grateful for.

Ready to pass out onto his fluffy mattress, he sat up upon hearing the distant pitter patter of footsteps leading up to his door, and waited patiently for the gentle rap of knuckles against the wooden surface. Heaving himself up, Rook was ready for the next enslaught of presents and praises, but instead found himself to be pleasantly surprised to see his darling songbird pacing nervously outside of the threshold of his chambers.

“Oh, mon petit oiseau what a pleasant experience that fate has organised for us! What brings you to me, mon ange?”

He saw them squirm in place once more, face bursting into various gorgeous shades of red, each more intense than the last at each sweet word he uttered to his beloved. Slowly, they revealed a small white box, which had a simple, but beautifully crafted cake balanced on top, with the words “Joyeux anniversaire, Rook!” scrawled on top in a loopy and effortless fashion.

Touched by the sweet gesture, he was not at all prepared for their reaction to his awe-struck silence. Hearing them mutter their doubts and showing visible regret in showing him their hard work, shattered his heart into thousands of tiny pieces.

In all honestly, the poor hunter had been subjected to eating a generous portion of Vil’s extraordinary 5 tiered cake, that was covered in designs that tastefully complimented the flavour, and was stuffed with Epel’s expertly crafted apple pie that held a strong sense of home, but with a charming twist. However, he couldn’t bear to see any more of his darling’s miserable frown, and gently dipped a long finger into the fluffy frosting and smeared it onto the tip of their nose.

“Mon cœur, this looks nothing less than gorgeous! Why it looks so stunning it puts professional bakers to shame! It is quite honesty the second most magnificent thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Star struck, they gazed up into Rook’s loving emerald stare, quietly asking what the first was, not at all expecting the warm hand that cradled their cheek tenderly, or the passionate kiss that the love stricken man laid on their lips with such vigour.

“Fufufu who else could be number one but you, mon ange? You easily beat every star in the sky, and put them to shame. Nothing can compare to you, you are my marvellous songbird. Je t’aime, my dearest. Madly, and irrevocably so.”

With tears in their eyes, they reconnected their lips happily, feeling him sighing in content as he moved his lips in tandem with theirs, both of their hearts beating furiously in unison. Pulling away slightly, he dipped his index finger back into the frosting to smear across their lips, hurriedly reconnecting them and pulled away once more giving them a deep chuckle and growled out in a husky tone.

“Mmmm delicious.”

Side note:

Mon petit oiseau - my little bird

Mon ange - my angel

Joyeux anniversaire - happy birthday

Mon cœur - my love/ heart

Je t’aime - I love you

If there is anything wrong, please tell me and trust me I won’t be offended. Sorry if the dialogue is cringy, this is my first time with a scenario and I could not do S/O dialogue for the life of me 😂

I hope you enjoyed your meal!

#twisted wonderland #twst #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #g/n reader

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writerbyaccident · 4 years

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Being There (Yandere Izuku Midoriya x Reader)

Request: I'm not sure if your ask box is open or not but you do some really nice yandere fics! I was wondering if you could do a yandere Deku fix where the reader is supper shy (because of trauma) and has depression episodes where she doesn't eat for days but she still likes cuddles and sleeping. Basically a depressed cinnamon roll. You dont have to I'm just tho 👉👈. My depression has been getting pretty bad these past few months and I need comfort.

Author’s Note: hey lovely! I just wanted to say that I am so proud of you for getting through these last few months. I know how hard depression can be, so if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m always here 💖

Trigger Warning: depression

Izuku hated the times when he had to leave you behind.

The whole reason that he had brought you home with him, after all, was so you wouldn’t have to spend those tough days alone ever again. Well, he supposed that wasn’t the whole reason—his own needs and desires may have influenced his decision just a little bit— but it was still the aspect that haunted him when he had to leave for work every day. Really, Izuku wished that he could stay with you every second of every day, either by cuddling with you in bed or by finding a way to just tuck you into his pocket and keep you by his side all day long, where he could keep you safe and happy.

But even if he had had a job that he hated, Izuku would have still had to work if he wanted to take care of you. And he was lucky enough to have a career that he loved, along with someone he loved waiting obediently for him at home. It was of those facts that he reminded himself when he was forced to say goodbye to you in the morning. They didn’t make it any easier to leave you though, especially when you were having one of your bad days.

“Angel,” he whispered in your ear, one arm wrapped securely around your waist while the other rested on your chest, where Izuku could comfort himself with the feeling of your heartbeat at his fingertips. “Angel, I’m sorry, but it’s time for me to get ready for work.”

It was one of those days, he knew, when you couldn’t get out of bed, not to eat, not to drink, not at all. You had been having many of those days recently, days where it was all that you could do to let him hold you. Izuku hated leaving you on those days, hated not being there to comfort you. Sweeping his lips over your shoulder with a delicate tenderness, Izuku squeezed you against him tighter for a moment, wanting to reassure you that he was with you, that he was there for you.

“Really? Already?” you murmured hazily. Taking a deep breath, you summoned the effort to turn over so that you were facing Izuku, the effort of moving making your body even more exhausted in its emptiness.

“I’m sorry, princess, but I have to get up.”

Raising your eyes up to Izuku’s soft green ones, you fixed him with a sad but resigned stare, one that broke his heart to see. Not sure what else to do, Izuku brought his lips to your shoulder again, this time peppering your skin with kisses all over. He started at your shoulder, yes, but didn’t stop there, instead continuing onto the crook of your neck, then onto the shell of your ear, and finally onto every inch of your face. If he had to leave, Izuku thought, he wouldn’t do it without shielding you in his love first.

Rather than try to pull away as you oftentimes did in the face of his love though, this time you leaned forward, pushing yourself further into the safety and comfort of his touch. You did tend to get more affectionate on your hard days, Izuku realized, though never before had you nuzzled your way deeper into his arms, burying your face in his chest. The true marvel was, however, came when you laid your arm over him. That was definitely something that you hadn’t done before. And although your grip wasn’t nearly as solid or unwavering as his own, Izuku couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when you so clearly needed him, needed his touch.

“Do you have to?” you asked, your words muffled from the way your face was still hidden in his chest. His mind positively whirring in contemplation, Izuku pulled away ever so slightly, not even by a full inch.

“Yes, I have to go to work, angel,” he said. Unable to face being left alone on such a day, you shook your head desperately, clinging to Izuku all the more tightly.

“Please don’t leave. Can’t you stay home today? I want you to stay here with me.”

At those words, Izuku couldn’t help but squeeze you tightly, as if he might be able to hold you together with his touch alone. Stroking your back soothingly, he pressed yet another kiss, this time to the very top of your forehead.

“Oh, angel,” he murmured, “you know I can’t say no to you. I’ll call in sick, and we can have a cuddle kind of day today.”

Yes, if Izuku had a choice, if he lived in a perfect world, he would never leave you behind. So when you asked him so sweetly to stay, especially when you needed him so much, he simply couldn’t bring himself to pull away. The very moment that he even suspected that you would ask for him to stay was the very moment that he would stay with you, sheltering you in his love.

Sign the petition calling for justice for Jacob Blake here.

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seokjynerso · 3 years

Text

[fanfic teaser] a dancer dies twice

ACT I: 起

Neon J. isn't a stranger to intricate fan projects.

A 1010 concert itself is an intricate artistic experience, integrating music, group choreography, cinematic storytelling and modern marvels of engineering into a complete form of entertainment. The essence of a 1010 live concert experience is the interaction between the performing artists and their adoring audience; the affectionate gestures and flirty one-liners from 1010 and the feverish screams, enthusiastic fanchants and colourful light sticks from the fans. Neon J.'s unique social approach to cultural technology is rooted in his discovery that the electricity generated by the Grand Qwasa when powered by the combined musical energy of both 1010 and their audience is twice the output measured from an average performance. Vinyl City already has a roster of amazing EDM artists banding together to provide power to the people, but so far, none of them has tapped into the collective power of idols and their fans.

To succeed in the music capital of the world as a foreign vocal group from a war-torn country, just singing and dancing wasn't enough. 1010 have to stand out.

The way to build a powerful bond between idols and their fans is through their hearts. 1010 fans are officially named as the 1010tera, a pun on 'tentera', a word for 'army' Neon J. had picked up from the Vinyl City soldiers stationed in his naval port hometown. Early in the group’s inception, 1010’s youthful, charming appearance symbolised the optimism and escapism needed by a country healing from tragedy. Now, the escapism element still holds true. Their slender figures, angular facial features and caring, romantic nature represent a dreamlike perfection, yet they aren’t meant to be perceived as impossible objects of affection too far beyond reach. 1010 are made to have highly structured fan engagement outside of their music and performances to strengthen the personal connection between 1010 and the 1010tera.

1010 makes themselves an active part of their fans' lives by consistently trying to keep in touch with them. In livestreams, 1010 will show off their ideal boyfriend side by asking fans about how their day is going and complimenting them for looking beautiful today. In fansigns, 1010 will answer questions from fans, hold their hands and try on fun props they've brought. In concerts, 1010 will always assure their fans that they're very thankful for the love and support they've received all these years.

"By the end of this concert," leader Rin once said at the beginning of the ending song of their setlist, "I hope you'll be a little happier!"

From their first awkward performance in their hometown to their first anniversary as an established vocal group under NSR and a myriad of other career milestones, 1010 have experienced almost all of their most important moments with their fans. They might be artificial beings, but the strength of this relationship is genuine, expressed time and time again through a phrase that only 1010 and 1010tera can understand:

"You're our energy, we're your energy! Jjiritjjirithae!"

A phrase the members would shout out in sync before starting a music show performance, a fanmeeting, a concert, you name it.

Taken literally, 'jjiritjjirithae' means 'it stings', better suiting the shooting pain of an electric shock, but it can also be used to describe a sudden, overwhelming feeling. Haym, looking like an electric shock victim himself with his hair standing straight up, seems to have inherited Neon J.’s penchant for portmanteaus. During a debut anniversary concert a few years back, he’d given the everyday phrase a fresh new meaning—a combination of 'jjiritjjirit' (shocking/electrifying) and 'saranghae' (I love you)—a special way for 1010 and 1010tera to express their electrifying love for each other, fan-translated into 'I spark you'.

The hearts that have caught the spark would grow to reciprocate it.

Energy-wise, their passionate cheers help to power up 1010. The generation of electricity from sound is a method Neon J. had created as a free and reliable backup energy source for himself and his troops since his homeland’s electrical supply was often disrupted after the war. Before he started working with Qwasas as a member of NSR, he used mechanical vibrations from travelling sound waves amplified by resonators and converted by electromagnetic induction for power.

Affection-wise, since 1010 give their all in their performances, fans give just as much back through fan projects. 1010 fans are mostly young, so their passion is pure and sincere and Neon J. admires that. He's glad to help bring a smile to their faces; after all, these young people are the key to a brighter future.

Often, the 1010tera would go above and beyond with their concert projects, planned amongst the fandom without the knowledge of their idols on stage. He remembers how the stadium central control system would relay the information to him that all the fans' lightsticks were shining in the signature colour of a 1010 member, forming a special glimmering ocean on their respective 'birthdays': white for Rin, blue for Purl-hew, red for Zimelu, green for Eloni and yellow for Haym.

He remembers the 1010tera conspiring with the staff to dim all lights in the stadium before playing a special video on the main LED screen: a montage of 1010 over the years, from a clip of them singing a jazz number, probably dancing with the tick-tick-tick stiffness of a music box doll for a Vinyl City military camp show to performing on more and more prestigious stages, interspersed with messages of fans talking about how much 1010 means to them and thanking the boys for sparking a light of joy and hope in their lives.

But what stands out the most in his memory is this one particular fan project for Eloni's birthday. The second the song 1010 were singing transitioned into an instrumental bridge, the crowd began flying green paper airplanes towards the stage. One got tangled in Eloni's ring lock of hair, so he unfolded the airplane there and then. Inside it was a handwritten letter—in fact, each one of the airplanes had a heartfelt message written just for him.

Eloni has always been the least popular member of 1010 according to online surveys, merchandise sales and the amount of fanletters he'd received. Not long before that, there was even a digital petition spread by disgruntled anti-fans to kick him out of the group for being 'ugly' and 'annoying'.

As thousands of paper planes flew in the sky, the usually funny and cheerful Eloni dropped down to his knees and gave a deep, formal bow to the audience.

"I want to be the Eloni you can be proud of. I'll work harder for all of you from now on, I promise," he said, his quaking shoulders never leaving the floor even after Zimelu sat down next to him and stroked his back.

Neon J. isn't a stranger to intricate fan projects.

As 1010's manager, any concert surprises have to be submitted to him first by a fanbase representative and have to be personally approved by him as well in order to be executed.

Yet, none of them has prepared him for this moment.

[the credit for 1010's meaningful fandom name goes to @supportanimy]

#no straight roads #nsr #nsr neon j #nsr 1010 #neon j #1010 #see you all next monday ✌️

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isitgintimeyet · 4 years

Text

Just A Friend

The response to this story has been lovely, so thank you all for reading. liking, reblogging and commenting on this piece of fluff. Hope you continue to enjoy.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

AO3

Chapter 6: From Irritation to Interrogation

And just like that, we’re friends, Jamie and I. It’s strange how quickly you can go from strangers to acquaintances to friends. After that walk in the park, something seems to have clicked with us, there’s an ease in our friendship that doesn’t happen too often. Despite our vastly different upbringings, we have many things in common: a shared love of irreverent comedy, a fondness for very good quality chocolate and wine and a determination to succeed in our chosen careers.

Of course, it helps that we don’t have the whole fancying-sexual-tension-romantic thing lurking in the background. As I’ve said before, Jamie is not my type and, judging by the pictures on his Facebook timeline, I am definitely not his, which appears to be doe-eyed, tanned, petite blondes— their pneumatic breasts frequently struggling to break free from their restraints. No tall, wild-haired brunettes with only-slightly-above-average breasts usually firmly encased in sensible lingerie.

I may even invite him to Geillis’ wedding as my plus one. We’ll see. I don’t think I’ll be dating by then, I quite fancy a few months without any of those complications.

********

One of life’s pleasures, for me, when I’m not on-call, is to walk to the local newsagents on a Sunday morning for the newspaper. If it’s fine, it’s another opportunity to sit on my balcony and read it at my leisure. A mug of freshly brewed coffee and a cinnamon bun enhances this experience.

Today, it’s not so fine, but sitting on my sofa while listening to the rain pounding against the window is pretty good too. I’m just about to start the crossword when my phone rings. I quickly swallow my mouthful of bun and glance at the screen—private number. I offer up a silent prayer that it’s not the hospital as I answer it.

“Claire Beauchamp?” The female voice sounds familiar.

“Yes.” I answer cautiously.

“Jes’ a wee word of warning. Karma can be a bitch, ye ken.” The voice grows louder and angrier. I recognise that tone, last heard berating Jamie. “Ye’ll get what ye deserve. Ye canna trust James Fraser, but ye’ll find out soon enough—the hard way, like I did… thanks tae ye.”

“Look, I—“ I begin, but before I can finish my sentence, she’s gone.

My initial reaction is irritation. Laoghaire, no doubt looking around for someone to blame for her recent break up, has cast me in the role of home wrecker, clearly using my carefully honed feminine wiles to lure Mr. Fraser from her clutches. Like Frank, she can’t quite believe that anyone could break up with her, without there being another waiting in the wings, ready and willing to take her place.

My irritation dissipates as I begin to see the funny side of this. She’s obviously thought long and hard about this—checking his Facebook friends, keeping records of his phone calls when they were together. Perhaps she sees herself as Jennifer Aniston against my Angelina. I hope Jamie can see this for what it is and laugh. Besides, in this scenario, that makes Jamie what? Brad Pitt?

*****************

Two days later, Jamie and I have arranged to have a quick drink after work in a mutually convenient bar. Summer has not yet returned to the city. Whilst not actually raining, the air is damp and there’s a definite nip in the air. I do a cursory check of the outdoor seating, just to see whether Jamie is heroically braving the elements, but there’s no sign of him.

I make my way into the bar and have a quick walk around before snagging a corner table. The seats are comfortable and it’s in a prime position for me to keep an eye out for his arrival. This bar has always been one of my favourites in the city. It feels grounded, like it’s been here forever. The stone walls and dark oak beams are unchanging and watching the inebriated trying to negotiate the uneven wooden floor on their way to the toilets always makes for good entertainment. In fact, people come from miles around to marvel at its very crookedness.

I check my phone for any messages. There’s one from Geillis, accepting my invitation for girls’ night on Friday at my flat. I reply and put the phone down just in time to see Jamie heading toward me. He’s obviously come straight from work as he’s still in his navy blue suit and white shirt. I’ve come straight from work too but am not nearly so smartly dressed. Having worn my blue scrubs all day, I’m now clad in jeans and a wrap around top which used to be orange, but has faded to a light amber colour. I feel somewhat underdressed next to him.

“Drink?” He asks, before even sitting down.

I nod. “I’m parched. Think I’ll have a shandy, please.”

“Lager shandy? Half pint?”

“Bitter,” I clarify, not being a great believer in girlie drinks. “And pint.”

He returns a couple of minutes later with a pint and a packet of crisps in each hand.

He takes a huge slug of beer. “Sae, what do ye ken? What’s new wi’ ye?”

And so, I recount my day of surgery to him. And, bless him, he looks interested all the way through my narration. He does turn a bit pale as I begin to explain my use of the bone mallet and chisel, and his crisps remain untouched, but he soldiers through.

“In other news,” I change the subject as his colour returns and he rips the crisps open. “I had an anonymous phone call from your ex, warning me about you and blaming me for your break up. But, never fear, I’ll get what’s coming to me when you do the same to me—“

A bout of coughing from Jamie breaks into my conversation. I get up and thump his back a couple of times. The coughing stops as he takes a swig of beer.

“Sorry,” he clears his throat and continues. “Crisp stuck in ma throat. She did what? How does she ken who ye are?”

“Presumably she kept a record of your phone calls and is monitoring your Facebook friends. Maybe you need to check your phone, see if she’s set up any other little apps so she can track where you are or what you’re doing.”

He shakes his head. “Aye, I’ll do that. I canna believe she would go tae such lengths. Although…” he pauses for a moment. “... mebbe I can. She was always the, er, suspicious type—asking me about women at work, convinced they were ready tae pounce on me. Perhaps I’m not the best judge of character, Claire. Ye need tae advise me.”

I laugh. “Ok. I’ll be your wingman, if you like. Or vet all your potential girlfriends. How about that?”

Jamie joins in with the laughter. His eyes twinkle and it’s funny the way he wrinkles his nose as he laughs.

“How about you? How’re the Spanish influenced dinners going? What are you up to?” I ask him.

“The plans are going grand. We’ve three dinner options planned out.” As usual, his face lights up as he explains the various menus to me.

“They all sound delicious. I’m looking forward to trying them.” And that's the truth.

“Weel, funny ye should mention that. We are looking fer people willing tae test them. How about it? Fancy trying one out? This week, mebbe? Free, of course.”

My weekend plans are getting better and better. Girls’ night at my flat could be turning into a bit of a Spanish fiesta, a mini replay of our Barcelona trip.

“I’d love that. Thanks. I’m having Geillis, Mary and Anna ‘round on Friday for a catch up. I could give you their opinion on the meal too.”

Jamie types something into his phone. “Great, I’ll sort it. So, good weekend plans then?”

“Oh yes, what about you?”

“Oh, I’ve got a sort of date type thing,” he mumbles into his pint and, to my surprise he goes a little bit red. Is he worried about telling me? Does he think that I will mind?

“That’s nice...isn’t it?”

“I dinna ken, really. I… I suppose so. It’s ma sister, Jenny’s, idea. A friend of hers from university. Ma sister canna quite believe that I’m no’ yet married and she keeps trying tae make it happen. And Jenny, weel, let’s jes’ say that she’s a force of nature. Ye dinna want tae mess wi’ her.”

***************

I’m not exactly the most gifted cook, but I think it would be hard to go wrong with the box of food and wine that Jamie has delivered. The asparagus is waiting to be cooked, the mouth-watering smell from the simmering chicken and chorizo fills my flat and bowls of juicy Spanish olives— some plain and some with garlic and chilli are dotted about the dinner table. Feeling inspired, I root out a large jug and begin to cut up fruit for sangria.

Like alcohol-seeking missiles, I’ve no sooner prepared the sangria when the doorbell rings. With many hugs, Geillis, Mary, Anna and I greet each other. I accept their gifts of wine, chocolate and flowers as we head into the flat.

As usual, everyone gravitates to the kitchen as I pass the drinks around, complimenting me on the wonderful aromas. Geillis’ stomach rumbles in eager anticipation.

When the four of us are together, the conversation flows as freely as the wine. Honestly, you would swear that we had not seen each other for months, when, in fact, I saw Anna on Tuesday in theatre, and squeezed in a coffee catch-up with Mary and Geillis only two days ago. The topics we cover are wide-ranging and random. Sangria and olives are accompanied by Anna’s search for a new flat, then the conversation turns to the destructive tendencies of Mary’s kitten as I serve the asparagus and Serrano ham starter.

For the main course, we have the tale of Geillis’ father refusing to wear a kilt for her wedding—he is prepared to don tartan trews but, according to Geillis, that will spoil the whole symmetry of the wedding photos. Neither, at the moment, seem willing to back down but, having known Geillis for so many years, it’s obvious to me who will win.

By the time I bring out the selection of Spanish biscuits and turrón, the conversation has moved on to men, more specifically Mary’s crush on a locum doctor newly arrived in the department. There’s a lot of good natured teasing about this—Mary seems to develop a new crush every couple of weeks, and why not?

Geillis drains her wine and turns to me. “Fantastic meal, Claire. Better than yer usual offerings.”

She pulls me close to her as she says this, and squeezes my arm to show she’s joking.

“Well, I have to confess. I did have a bit of assistance. I mean, I did the cooking, apart from the cookies, but everything came from FraserFood.”

“In that case, give me those chocolates back. I’m no’ sure ye’ve earned them.”

“But I have,” I moan. “I did all the cooking…and made sangria.” I reach across Geillis and help myself to another biscuit. They are melt-in-the-mouth delicious.

“It’s part of a new range they’re launching,” I try to explain as Anna and Mary start to squabble over the last biscuit. “Three course dinner party boxes. Everything you need. Jamie asked if I would test one of them out—“

Immediately Anna and Mary shut up, the last biscuit now abandoned on the plate.

“Woo-hoo,” Anna grins at me.

Geillis nudges me in the ribs. “Jamie, is it? And what else has Jamie given ye, eh?”

“Nothing, we’re friends, that’s it.”

“But we’ve seen pictures of him. Don’t ye want there tae be more tae it? I mean, c’mon look at him.” Now Mary joins in the questioning.

I sigh. “We can just be friends, you know.”

“Friends with benefits, mebbe?” Geillis isn’t giving up.

“No, just friends. Although…” my friends lean forward expectantly, perhaps awaiting some heartfelt confession from me, as if I’d suddenly realised my undying love, or, at least, a good bit of lust for Mr. Fraser. They’re going to be disappointed.

“...Although, I suppose you could say this free food and drink is a benefit. So,yes, I guess that makes us friends with benefits.”

Anna and Geillis look as if they don’t believe me, but say nothing. Mary isn’t prepared to drop the subject.

“So,” she starts. “So, suppose I meet yer—“

“Not mine,” I mutter under my breath.

Mary shrugs her shoulders and continues, “—yer Jamie Fraser. And suppose he asks me out and one thing leads tae another… ye’re telling us that ye wouldna mind?”

“No, I wouldn’t mind. Might be a bit awkward if you break up. I mean, can I still be friends with both of you?”

Geillis, laughing, joins in now. “Suppose our Mary marries Jamie Fraser and asks ye tae be a bridesmaid. Would ye mind then?”

I pretend to give this some thought. “Ah, now that does depend. Just how awful will the bridesmaid dress be, Mary?”

“Och, just hideous. We’ll be having a Disney themed wedding.”

All talking and laughing at once, we try to decide which would be the worst Disney outfit for a bridesmaid and finally settle on Moana.

I get up from the table to go and make coffee, but not before making one final statement on the whole platonic situation with Jamie.

“Look, I know it’s hard to believe, but I have no romantic interest in Jamie and neither does he. In fact, he told me that he’s got a date this weekend and that’s totally fine with me.”

Geillis grabs my hand in passing. “Ok, as long as ye’re fine. We jes’ dinna want ye getting hurt, Claire. We love ye too much fer that.”

I smile at my closest friends gathered around my table and feel a rush of warmth and love for them too. They’re my family, these girls, and, for all the joking and teasing, they have my best interests at heart.

“I know. Thank you for looking out for me. But, Jamie and I are friends, nothing more.”

And with that I head into the kitchen, giving Anna, Mary and Geillis, no doubt, the opportunity to continue to speculate about Jamie’s and my friendship. But really I don’t mind, they’ll get fed up soon enough when they see I’ve been telling the truth all along.

#outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #Just A Friend #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Chapter 6

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ama-kuu · 3 years

Text

Happy Valentine’s Day

Reader X Hawks

*Slight obsessive tendencies, soft hawks, suggestive yandere Hawks*

Sorry I’m a little late 😘

A small golden box with a satin black ribbon and a delicate red charm sat upon many other extravagant and luxurious valentine’s gifts, all offerings to the number 2 hero Hawks.

You didn’t get him anything too expensive, just a single chocolate strawberry with a meaningful note inside. The note mentioned how thankful you were for all the work he puts in and hoping for his further happiness whether that be in the hero career or settling down and starting a family. For as long as Hawks has been in the public eye you had always marveled at him. He appeared so assure of himself and put together. Anyone would be blessed to have him in their life. You were without a doubt a huge fan but like to try and keep on the down low. However you were mentally, borderline obsessed. Constantly following the news and social media for any updates. Swooning at new pictures that appeared. As you got ready for work, you hoped that he would be able to open your small gift to him. However with him being the top bachelor in japan, you were sure it would get lost in the fray. You sighed sadly before, leaving for work as you locked up the front door.

Hawks nearly collapsed onto his balcony at his office, today was another busy day for him. Reporters and fans alike trying to crowd him asking for his plans and if he had anyone special to spend the day with. He tended to laugh them off saying he was too busy for romance, which wasn’t a lie, but it did bum him out that no one had caught his eye yet. Taking a quick glance at the large pile of valentines gifts, a petite gold box snagged his attention. A red glistening wing charm pulling his attention. He plucked the box from the group and plopped down at his desk to open it. After carefully removing the ribbon, he lifted the lid and was surprised to not see an over the top piece of jewelry, but a sweet treat for him. His wings fluffed ever so slightly at the small fruit presented to him. He took a bite of the strawberry, his taste buds flooding with the acidic sweetness with the bitterness of the chocolate. It was a moment of relief after his day. Going back to inspect the box he found a small note folded up at the bottom. Carefully he unfolded the delicate paper and read through the contents, his heart swelled at the domestic feelings his heart started to flood with. Frantically turning the box over every which way and scanning the remaining area of the note all he could find was a name, no address or no contact info. This was also unusual, most of the people that sent him things left some way for him to reach them, that was everyone wanted right, for him to reach out for some fling? But all that was written at the bottom was y/n with a l/n initial. Hawks confidently smirked to himself, no matter, he would find you, he was the number 2 hero after all.

You just hopped off the city bus after a long day at work. Your feet felt heavy as you practically dragged yourself home. Night had fallen some time ago, you did your best to quicken your pace to get to the apartment building. You lived in a fairly nice area of town but being out alone always had your nerves on edge. You never had any close encounters but were always aware of the potential dangers of the world. Sure many people were good, but it only took one villain to ruin a life. You brought your arms around yourself to both fight off the night chill and make yourself feel slightly more secure. You mind wandered once again to the valentines you sent Hawks, did he get to open it or was it just tossed aside with everyone else’s cheap gifts. You let out a silent sign as you entered the apartment building and pushed yourself to climb stairs to your floor.

Little did you notice the determined avian gaze watching you from the adjacent roof top. Hawks was practically vibrating with excitement for you to find the gifts he had in place in your apartment. He followed you, watching over you as you retreated into your apartment. He hated the idea of you walking alone at night. That was something he was going to change. Never again would you have to face any dangers alone.

Once you reached your apartment, you slowly opened the door flipping on the lights so after. All you wanted to do was fall face first in your comfy bed. As you passed through the living room something unfamiliar caught your eye. You stopped in place and moved towards the unknown objects on your coffee table. There sat a bright red box with a card and vivid crimson feather. You immediately thought of Hawks, your heart racing from excitement with a touch of hesitation. Maybe he did this for all the fans or it was just a company courtesy that was in place for the holiday. You crouched down inspecting the presents close up, trying to calm your heart to smother any false expectations. But how did it get into your apartment? Did the feather bring it in? Was this actually one of his? You gingerly lifted the feather and lightly twirled it between your pointer finger and thumb. You held the feather up to your lips and whispered a polite “thank you”. The little feather ever so slightly fluffed out in your hold, and your heart soared, it was real! Next you moved to the card, opening it with a renewed excitement, the small note read “Thank you for the sweet treat -Hawks <3 “ Last you moved to the box, hands trembling from the flips your heart was doing. Slowing opening the package you were stunned by the simple necklace adorn with a single delicate downy feather. Mesmerized by the necklace, you secure it around your neck and run to your bathroom to see it. It was beautiful, you could barely breathe, you were so overwhelmed with your feelings. Returning to the living room, you grabbed the larger feather off the coffee table and continued to make your way to the balcony. Opening the sliding door to the brisk winter air you once again hold the feather up to your face, “Thank you so much, I absolutely love it.” You gently pet the downy feather at your chest and felt the other feather rise up out of your hand. With the feather now hovering in front of you, a feeling of longing stung your chest, “see you soon?” The feather trembled and softly brushed against your cheek before flying off into the darkness. “Yea…. I really hope to see you soon” you spoke under your breath and returned to the warmth of your apartment, still lightly holding on to the feather hanging from your neck.

Hawks can barely contain himself at this point. His feathers bristled with arousal. Y/n is perfect for him, he could feel it when he first opened your gift and confirmed it after this encounter. He stood up extending his wings and took off from y/n’s apartment roof and headed straight for home. As much as he hated to leave you alone, he needed to get things ready for your arrival. He had a lot to do before his home would be ready. But he would be back to sweep you off your feet as soon as preparations were in place. See you later, my valentine.

#hawks x y/n #hawks x reader #hawks #mha hawks #soft hawks #valentines #mha fanfiction #mha fluff

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prophet-of-booba-lady · 3 years

Note

Heyyy bestieeee! I saw you opened up match-ups for other fandoms and I could not resist like.......P L E A S E! So could I possibly have a Twilight and a Marvel match-up pleeeaasee? Also i'd be happy to give you a match-up for those too since your doing some for me! Anyways tysm in advance and as always I hope you wonderful day/night!!! :D

Zodiac sign: Leo sun, Aries moon, Leo rising

Personality Type: ENTP

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Straight (For now might be bi but i'm going with straight)

I'm 5'4 and I have a very tiny body frame so i'm extremely petite and pretty small. I'm not very curvy and I literally have the body of a cereal box...lol but its fine because I have nice hips and thighs. I have thick brown hair that goes down to my back and it gets tangled pretty easily but its kinda fluffy. I have brown eyes and tiny freckles all over my face and body. I also have a very strong grunge style, like Flannels, band t-shirts, combat boots, leather jackets etc. But i'd also always enjoy a nice oversized sweatshirt or hoodie with a pair of skinny, ripped jeans and some converses or something along those lines.For my personality.....this is where things get interesting. At first people find me very intimidating due to my resting bitch face and cold exterior but I promise i'm not like that ALL the time. When you get to know me, i'm goofy and about everything that comes out of my mouth is sarcasm or some dry humored joke. I'm also that one friend in a group where they literally will do the stupidest shit ever like for an example one time it was super dark outside and my other friend was there, while I was trying to climb a tree and I failed and fell out of the tree, and landed on my back. I got straight up after that somehow it didn't hurt.....like at all? But yeah i'm super reckless and sometimes people have to save me from myself if you get what I mean. I also have a very strong "I don't give a fuck" attitude and I will not hesitate to stick up for myself or my friends....like i'm the type of person where if someone glares at me, i'll glare right back.I have bad anxiety and I can be very self destructive. This is where my feisty, stubborn, hardheaded side comes in. If I want something then i'll fight for it even if it hurts me and i'll get into a bad cycle of putting myself down and trying to do better even if I did great the first time but I always push myself too far and other people have to stop me because I usually can't see it when its happening. I also cover my emotions up and I have a lot of trouble talking about whats bothering me or what problems i'm having emotionally so I put up a wall and I act tough, or happy and sometimes i'll be the exact opposite but I try to hide it.

Weird things about me: I've grown up in the south all my life so sometimes when I talk a few words they'll come out sounding WAYYY more country and southern then I wanted, I don't have an accent but sometimes my words just come out that way. I also love the smell of cigarette smoke....let me explain. When I was a kid my parents smoked a lot and I was used to smelling it and now it reminds me of home and is sort of comforting. Sometimes in the middle of the night you can find me just staring at a wall or something because I can't go to sleep.....I have trouble sleeping.....

Things I like: I love swimming (I was on a swim team for about 9 years), I love horror movies, I like rain and the sounds of thunderstorms because its calming to me, I also love the smell of rain, I like cloudy days, cooking, listening to 80's and 90's rock but mainly 90's because 90's is the best, My favorite bands are Bush, Audioslave, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Linkoln Park, Pearl jam but i'm pretty open to anything.

Things I dislike: Spiders.......I will scream if I see a spider.

For twilight I pair you with.....

Paul Lahote

I feel like both of you would have a chaotic fun time. I feel like Paul is the Himbo of the Wolf pack. He would 100% take you on a ride through the forest on his back while he's a wolf. The man would absolutely make fun of your height though. I feel like that's a constant with Paul is he makes jokes with people he likes and will absolutely rip people he doesn't like apart with words. He can and will argue with a Karen in a parking lot for you. Cook for him he will love you for life. Be besties with Leah, you guys would be a power duo on the kitchen.

For marvel I match you with......

Loki or Wade Wilson (and Bestie Wanda since you are questioning 💖)

Loki is the god of mischief but also I feel like you would center him huge ass ego. He is 100% scared of you getting hurt and will do anything to keep you safe. He will 100% take you to the beach, as long as you are happy he is happy. He likes to pamper you and likes to make illusions of rain for you so you can experience it when ever you want.

Wade Wilson/ Deadpool would be like Paul in the sense of chaos. The man however brings danger your way a L O T. He loves your taste in music but will tease you over it. He also teases you about spiders. If you scream about a spider and point he will also scream and point and freak out before laughing and dealing with it. The man means well though. He will take you to actual pools for you to swim, like professionally in if you want. He will absolutely cheer you on from the side lines.

Bestie Wanda appreciates you a lot since she feels likes she loses everyone close to her. She can and will manipulate things at will for you so that you are happy. She can and will use her powers to do things around the house so you don't have to stress about cleaning. Bestie Wanda will risk life and limb for your safety.

Sorry that the marvel ones are a bit short (I've only seen a few movies (for each of the avengers and a few avengers movies as well as deadpool (which now that I think of it he would have made a really good match too... 👀) (enough to know about the characters personalities :3) also I will 100 be hitting you up for match ups tomorrow, so keep an eye out 👀👀 ily bestie!!

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hawkinshellfire · 3 years

Text

Right Where You Left Me

Chapter 12 - Lover

We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January

And this is our place, we make the rules

And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you dear

Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?

“Let me help you with that.”

“I can do it,” Joyce says stubbornly.

“What the hell is in there?” Hopper asks, pointing to Joyce’s duffel bag.

“Clothes?” she replies.

“Why do you need so many?”

“We’re going for two weeks, Hop.”

“The cabin isn’t that far, we can always come back if you need more clothes.”

“But then we have to come back to reality and I was planning on spending two weeks very far away from it,” she smirks.

“You aren’t saying that because there are a bunch of books in that bag, are you?”

“There may be one, ” she admits, “but it’s not what I plan on distracting myself with.”

She steps towards him, drops her bag on the floor next to his feet and runs her palm along his chest. Rocking forward on her toes, she brushes her nose against his and pulls back with a devilish smile.

“Tease,” he calls after her.

Joyce looks back and tosses a wink over her shoulder then reaches for her bag and walks it over to Hopper’s car.

“Jesus son, get her bag,” Mr. Hopper remarks as he comes up behind them.

“She won’t let me,” he tells his father, “I offered.”

“You make sure you take good care of Joyce while you two are up there. And be sure to stack some extra wood so you don’t run out. Remember, you can always come back early if you need anything.”

“Don’t worry dad, we’ll be fine.”

“Joyce, if this one starts causing you too much trouble you make sure to give him hell, yeah,”

“Will do Mr. Hopper,” Joyce smiles.

They arrive at Hopper’s grandfather's cabin just after lunch. The wooden house, surrounded by a wrap-around porch, sat in the middle of the woods near a small pond.

Joyce excitedly leaps out of the car, leaving Hopper to get the bags while she checks out the cottage.

There was an old fabric couch in the center of the room across from a large fireplace, a small kitchen with a yellow fridge and a bedroom and adjacent bathroom off to the side.

Her heart leaps when she realizes there is only one bed, despite knowing that she was going to get to spend every evening curled into Hopper’s side and every morning waking next to him, the reality settles in and makes it all seem so real. They were going to have two uninterrupted weeks together and she was giddy with excitement.

Hopper comes up behind her and drops their bags to the floor, his arms circling around her waist while he drops his head to her shoulder.

“So? What do you think?”

“It’s perfect,” she smiles.

He squeezes her, pressing their cheeks together before placing a kiss on the top of her head and moving to the kitchen.

“Why don’t we unpack and stack some firewood before I make us some dinner?”

“Sounds nice.”

He begins to unload the freezer bag, filling the fridge with goodies while Joyce slowly walks around the cabin and admires the art hanging on the walls. A photo of Hopper and a man she assumed to be his grandfather hung over the mantle.

Running her fingers along the throw blanket hanging over the back of the couch, she wanders into the bedroom.

This was the perfect place to spend the next few weeks. Away from the chaos that consumed real life, she could focus on the two of them. Just her and Hop. The world could wait.

Peering out the window over the bed, she smiles at the swans swimming in the lake and moves closer.

“Joyce?” Hopper calls from the kitchen.

“Yes?”

“Do you want one burger or two?”

“Two please!”

“Great. It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

She’s nervous. Hopper can tell by the way her hands are folded in her lap and her shoulders are slumped. They’re sitting at the two person table located next to the kitchen, enjoying the burgers he prepared for them.

“You’re quiet,” he observes out loud.

“Sorry, I was just thinking,” she admits.

“About?”

“How nice this is,” she smiles softly. “The food is good.”

“Joyce,” he says in a near whisper. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m just a little nervous,” she tells him.

“Nervous?”

“It sounds stupid,” she looks down.

“It’s not stupid,” he reassures her.

“What if after this week you decide that you don’t want this?”

“I’ve wanted this for a long time, I was just afraid to admit it to myself,” he tells her, reaching for her hand over the table.

“But what if it’s too much, spending all this time alone together? Doesn’t it just feel so - serious?”

“Come with me,” he demands, standing up and tugging her towards the living room.

She follows his lead curiously, their hands still wound together and she watches as he excitedly brings them towards a stack of old boxes.

He drops her hand and begins rummaging through the cardboard boxes one by one. Triumphantly, he turns back to her holding up a string of multi-coloured Christmas lights.

“Lights?” she says confused.

“We’re going to put them up. Make things more fun,” he explains.

“But it’s summer?”

“So?” he shrugs, “who says we can’t put the lights up whenever we want? This is our house, we make the rules.”

Skeptically, she accepts one end of the light strand and stares up at him. “You really want to put them up?”

“Absolutely! Go grab me that tape in the kitchen.”

When Joyce returns with the tape, Hopper already has three strands of lights stretched out along the floor. She passes him the tape and waits for instruction while noticing he put a record on.

The soft sounds of jazz fill the cabin only ceasing when a crackling sound from the old needle in the vinyl interrupts.

The two work to string up the lights in tandem, Joyce ripping off pieces of tape and Hopper using the pieces to attack the multicoloured bulbs to the ceiling. Only when the ceiling has become a sea of reds, blues and greens do they take a step back to admire their handiwork.

A strange comforting sensation overcomes Joyce as she stares up at the lights with her arms folded across her chest. Somehow, Hopper knew this would comfort her. She adored him for always knowing exactly what she needed.

From behind her, he watches as she marvels at the decorations and proudly smiles to himself.

“May I have this dance?” he asks.

Feeling calm and bold, Joyce accepts his hand and allows him to twirl her into him. She crashes into his chest laughing and smiles up at him while he brushes her hair out of her eyes.

“Feeling better?”

“Much,” she smiles. “Thank you. You’re always so full of surprises.”

“Speaking of surprises,” he grins and releases her, “I have one more.”

He disappears into the bedroom and re-emerges holding a Polaroid camera.

Proudly, he holds it up and snaps a photo of Joyce beneath the lights.

“Where did you get that?”

“My parents said we could borrow it. Smile.”

Embarrassed, Joyce pulls her arms around her chest and casts her gaze to the floor while he snaps another photo.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says softly, stepping towards her. “You know you’re beautiful.”

The moment she smiles at his compliment, Hopper snaps another photo and lets it fall to the floor. “There’s the smile.”

Joyce gestures for the camera with an open palm and takes it in both hands when Hopper hands it over.

She raises it and snaps a photo of him, allowing it to fall to the floor alongside the one of her.

Hopper scoops both photos up from the wooden floorboard and turns them towards her. In her photo, Joyce looks petite beneath the lights and her smile takes up most of her face, while Hopper has his eyes closed and his nose scrunched in his photo.

“Oh god let’s get rid of that,” she says, pointing to the picture of her.

“Not a chance. This might be one of my favourite pictures of you.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope. You look perfect.”

The pair fools around with the camera some more before clearing their dishes and working as a team to wash and dry the plates. Joyce yawns as they work and nods when Hopper asks if she’s ready for bed.

He allows her to go into the bedroom ahead of him to change into her pyjamas. When he joins her a few moments later, he finds her propped up against a pillow in a pair of sweatpants and an old shirt with a book in her lap.

With a childish grin, he snaps a photo of her before setting the camera down on the nightstand and joining her.

“What was that for?!” she exclaims when the flash goes off.

“I just want to remember this moment.”

He slips beneath the covers next to her and uses one arm to pull her closer to his side.

“Do you mind if I read?” she asks.

“Not at all.”

Joyce is fast asleep against Hopper’s arm in a matter of moments. Carefully, he places her page holder back into her book and slides the novel from her hands. Once it’s on the table next to the bed, he reaches for the light switch and turns out the lights.

The next morning, he wakes before her and gently rolls her away from him so he can slip into the kitchen and surprise her with breakfast. He stumbles upon the Polaroids scattered across the floor on his way and decided to put them in a stack on the table.

The final photo he picks up is the first one he took of Joyce, the one she claimed to hate, but there was something about it that made him want to preserve the memory. So, he slips it into his wallet before beginning to prepare eggs and toast.

That afternoon, Joyce trails behind Hopper as he leads the way to the lake behind the house. He places a blanket down on the grass and begins to unpack the picnic basket he prepared while Joyce stares out over the lake.

“It’s so peaceful,” she remarks.

“It was my favourite place as a kid. Still is.”

“I can see why. I don’t think I ever want to leave.”

“Then we’ll stay,” he nods.

“Yeah right. Unfortunately, we have to go back to reality eventually,” she sighs.

“Says who? Who’s to say we can’t just run off and start our adventure out here?”

“Your parents, for starters,” she points out.

Joyce joins Hopper on the blanket he’d delicately laid out for them and folds her legs beneath her.

“Nah, I say we do it. Let’s just be crazy impulsive kids and we get the hell out of Hawkins. It’s not like anything ever happens there anyway,” Hopper says.

He leans back on his palms, legs outstretched between them and pinches his eyes shut. He knows what he’s saying sounds foolish, but a large part of him would love to leave Hawkins with Joyce and never look back. He hadn’t had a chance to tell Joyce yet, but lately, he’d been dreaming of leaving Hawkins more frequently. His father had been on his case about applying to serve and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. While he knew it was the right thing to do, he and Joyce had a good thing going here and he didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that. Was it childish to prioritize his teen romance over the duty he had to his country? Absolutely. But despite his father’s claims that he was a man (who should go and make the Hopper men proud) he was young and in love and a large part of him wanted to remain an impulsive, love-sick kid.

“We can’t,” she laughs, “but wouldn’t that be fun?”

“C’mon Joycie. If we don’t leave now, then when?”

Joyce laughs, placing her hand daintily on his shoulder, “One day,” she muses.

“Besides,” she adds, “we have to go back because I start working in a few weeks.”

“Of course, my little librarian in training,” he teases.

“I’m not a librarian in training! I’m helping out for the summer!”

“I’m just teasing you, Joyce, I think it’s great that you’re going to be working at the library.”

“Really?”

“Really. It’s literally the perfect job for you. Besides, now you can take me on a date,” he winks.

“Speaking of dates, do we get to eat on this one?” she giggles.

“Of course,” he says, retrieving two wrapped sandwiches from the bag he packed. “Grilled cheese.”

The two dig in and begin making plans for all the things they want to do during the week when the first drop of rain lands on Joyce’s cheek. Within minutes it’s absolutely pouring and the pair scramble to their feet and prepare to take cover.

Hand-in-hand, Joyce and Hopper dodge the raindrops as they sprint towards the cabin. When they reach the back steps, Hopper releases Joyce’s hand and pushes the screen door open to let her inside.

She’s drenched from head to toe. Her cotton t-shirt now stuck to her chest, showing off her pale purple bra, despite her efforts to stay warm by folding her hands across her chest.

Joyce follows him into the main area of the cabin and he shakes his arms and chuckles.

“I didn’t see that one coming,” he says. “Come here,” he calls her over when he sees her shiver. “I’ll start a fire so we can warm up.”

Hair leaving a trail of water droplets on the floor, Joyce makes her way over to the fire where she stands with her palms pressed to her sides while waiting for the fire to start.

Hopper rummages around in the pit, eventually turning back towards her once the flames begin to burn to life. “There we go it shouldn’t be long until it warms up.”

“Thanks, Hop,” she smiles.

With his wet hair slicked back and his shirt pressed to his chiselled arms, Joyce has a hard time tearing her gaze away from him. He catches her staring and she quickly looks away.

Stepping towards the fire, she stretches her palms out and falls to her knees so that she can be closer to the heat. Hopper follows her lead and kneels down next to her. Outside the sky has turned an ominous grey, leaving the fire to be the main source of light inside the cabin.

Joyce shivers again and instinctively reaches for the hem of her soaked shirt and pulls it over her head. She notices Hopper staring as she sinks back against her heels and shyly grins at him.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing,” he lies.

“You’re supposed to remove wet clothing or you’ll freeze. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that?”

“I might have heard it somewhere,” he shrugs.

Staring down at her petite frame clad in only her jeans and bra, he slides himself closer and reaches for her shoulder with a calloused hand.

Slowly, he runs his thumb along her exposed collarbone and she shivers.

“Are you still cold?” he asks.

“No.”

Gently, his hand glides down her arm and he moves closer, taking up the majority of the space in her orbit.

They lock eyes as his hand falls from her arm before he reaches for the hem of his own shirt and tosses it somewhere behind him.

Her palm settles on his bare chest and Joyce looks up at Hopper through hooded eyes. His heart lurches at the way the fire makes her face glow. She looked absolutely radiant.

“Hop,” her voice snaps him out of his trance.

“Yeah?”

“You’re staring.”

“Sorry, it’s just. Jesus Joyce, you’re beautiful.”

Unsure of how to respond, she leans forwards, placing both hands on Hopper's shoulders and kisses him, hard .

He responds by placing open palms on her bareback and tugging her as close as their knees will allow.

Hands roaming Joyce’s bare-back, Hopper begins to kiss along her jawline and down her neck. She tilts her head back in response, granting him more access.

From where they sit on their knees, their upper limbs tangled, Joyce reaches for the button in Hopper’s jeans and undoes it while he licks along her collarbone. His palm settles on her inner thigh and the soaked material of her jeans suddenly becomes hot beneath his touch.

When kneeling becomes an inconvenience and they are forced to part for breath, Hopper looks over at Joyce with a caring smile and whispers.

“Can I try something?”

She nods in response, a mixture of nerves and excitement.

“Lay back,” he whispers.

He guides her as she lays against the blanket on the floor and slowly slides himself down her body. When he reaches her naval he pauses before looking up and locking eyes with her.

“Is this alright?” he asks.

She nods again.

Wordlessly, he helps her slide out of her soaked pants and tosses them to the side. Leaning down, he places a hesitant kiss on her inner thigh and she trembles.

He reaches towards the elastic waistband of her cotton panties and again pauses to smile up at her.

“It’s okay,” she gives him permission before he has a chance to ask.

Joyce draws in a deep breath as Hopper once again kisses her inner thigh.

Her hands lay limply at her sides but she immediately reaches for his hair when he uses his tongue to lick along her center in one fluid motion.

He smirks as she bucks forward, the hand clutching his hair a sign that she’s enjoying this but he wants to be sure so he asks again.

“Is this-?”

“ Yes, ” she hisses before he can finish asking, the desperateness in her tone something he’s never heard before.

Once again, he leans forward and runs his tongue along her slit, this time following the motion up by teasing her with his index finger.

Joyce tightens her grip on him and admires the way his flexed arms look in the firelight. Propped up on her elbows and sprawled out on a blanket in front of the fire, she closes her eyes and tosses her head back while Hopper’s head bobs between her thighs.

It isn’t long before she’s trembling beneath him, coming undone around his tongue while she whispers his name harshly beneath her breath.

They manage to stumble their way through the dimly lit cabin towards the bedroom afterwards, where Hopper manages to make Joyce come undone yet again.

After breakfast the next morning, Joyce finds herself wrapped in one of Hopper’s flannels while they sit on the back step and watch the sunrise over the water.

With the sky painted a faint shade of pink and the stillness of the water only shifting beneath the ducks that swim across, it felt like a scene from a movie. Leaning her head on Hopper’s shoulder, she reaches for their shared cigarette and takes a long drag.

They sit in silence for the majority of the morning, Hopper occasionally shifting next to Joyce when he reaches into his back pocket for another smoke. She keeps her open palm resting on his lap, where he’s tracing gentle circles with the edge of his thumb.

Before lighting another, he shimmies from beneath her and cups her cheek in his hand, sliding his thumb along the curve of her jaw before his fingers settle on the nape of her neck and he brushes her lips with a gentle kiss. She smiles against his lips, caught off guard by his abrupt, tender action.

He chuckles under his breath when he feels her smile and she demands to know why he’s laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re smiling,” he teases with a grin.

“Well, it’s your fault for kissing me like that!”

“I couldn’t help myself.”

Their laughter fades and Joyce shifts back into her previous position with her head resting on his shoulder.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks.

“How much I love you.”

“No you were not,” she forces a laugh. At this point in their relationship, it wasn’t unusual for Hopper to tell Joyce he loved her. Though she’d yet to say it back, she adored the way he’d become comfortable with saying the words to her. He seemed to like to remind her with any chance he got and she received butterflies in her stomach each time the words rolled off his tongue. She also knew that he wasn’t hurt by the fact she hadn’t said it back. He wanted her to mean it when she said it and she was confident that when the time came, she would. Besides, she was certain that she loved him, she was simply unsure of how to process those feelings.

“I was,” he admits. “I think I’ll love you forever.”

“You can’t love someone forever, it’s not possible.”

“Fine. Then I’ll love you until the clocks stop ticking.”

“What does that even mean?” she challenges.

“It means exactly what you think it means. My heart will belong to you until the clock stops ticking.”

“Hop, the clock is always going to tick, that’s the entire point of time.”

“Exactly. So you know I’ll love you long after we’re both gone too.”

“That’s morbid,” she teases.

“It’s romantic.”

“Says who?”

“Me.”

After a few moments of silence, he speaks again. “I mean it, Joyce. ‘Till the clock stops ticking.”

That evening, Hopper invites Joyce to join him fishing but she declines and opts to spend her evening reading instead. After he sets out with his tackle box, wearing a hat Joyce describes as “ridiculously cute” she draws herself a bath and climbs into the tiny tub with plans to finish her novel.

It’s a quiet evening, the only sounds interrupting her thoughts coming from the crickets that begin to chirp with the rising moon. She loses herself in a world of fiction within moments and without a window in the bathroom, there is no way to tell how long she’s been reading. It’s perfect and blissful and everything she never knew she needed.

With a few chapters to go, Joyce places her bookmark between the pages and drops her head back against the tub, pinching her eyes closed as she absorbs the calmness the silence brings.

Moments later, the creaking of the floorboards on the back deck announces Hopper’s return and she finds herself smiling.

“Joyce?” he calls out as he enters the cabin.

“In here!” she yells through the semi-shut door to the bathroom.

The sound of his footsteps gets louder as he nears the door and she hears him come to an abrupt halt just outside the door.

“You can come in,” she laughs in an almost teasing tone. “I was just reading in the bath.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He pushes the door to the bathroom back slowly, the mere thought of Joyce sitting naked already overstimulating his senses. He finds her sitting in a tub with hardly any bubbles, book in hand.

“How was fishing?” she asks without looking up.

“Not bad. Caught a few,” he says, though his focus is elsewhere. “How was your evening?”

“Wonderful,” she beams, “I’m almost done with my book.”

“I’ll leave you to finish it then,” he offers, rocking back on his heels.

“Stay,” she whispers.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed how small that tub is Joyce but I don’t think we’re both going to fit,” he chuckles.

“I meant here,” she pats the empty air next to her. “Sit with me.”

“Alright. Why don’t I read the rest to you?”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Hopper waddles over to the side of the tub and plops himself down onto the tile floor. With his legs outstretched he reaches for Joyce’s novel, careful not to lose the page she’s on.

He begins to read, pausing every now and then to admire how she crinkles her nose when she becomes invested in a particular sentence.

“Earth to Hop,” she reaches over the side of the tub and waves a hand in his face. “Why did you stop reading?”

“I got distracted.”

“By what? You were literally reading the words off the page.”

“By you ,” he smirks, lowering the book.

Hopper places the novel down on the floor next to him and pushes himself to his feet. With a dopey grin, he grips both sides of the tube and looks down at Joyce. Her eyes widen when she realizes what he’s about to do and a shriek escapes her lips just as he slips into the water, fully clothed. He hovers over her to steal a kiss and brushes her cheek with a soap-soaked palm.

“Turns out we both do fit,” he beams.

“Barely,” she laughs.

Waiting until Hopper climbs out of the tub, his clothes heavy from the weight of the water and pressed to his body, Joyce grabs a towel and dries her hair before stepping out after him. She stands before him in nothing but a tiny towel and smiles shyly.

No words are exchanged. He glides towards her in three large steps and cups her face in his palms. He walks them backwards, towards the door and down the hall while they kiss. They bump into the doorway and two parts of the wall before making it to the bedroom, where Hopper lifts Joyce and carries her towards the bed. She wraps her legs around his centre and allows her fingers to dance through the baby hairs at the base of his neck while he carries her across the room.

After placing her down on the bed, her petite frame still damp from the bath, he looks down at her with hungry eyes.

“I’m not made of glass Hop. I’m not going to break,” she reminds him.

He nods.

Desperately, he moves forward to close the distance between them, greedily gripping the back of her neck while snaking his tongue into her mouth. She reaches for the hem of his soaked shirt and helps him remove it. His belt and bottoms are quick to follow and their damp naked bodies collide once again while their kisses grow sloppier and more desperate.

They tumble to the left and Joyce finds herself in a position to climb on top of Hopper. Straddling him, she looks down at him with wide eyes and grins. In a hushed tone, speaks while running her hands down his bare torso. “Tell me what you want.”

It’s a question while simultaneously a demand and it sparks something animalistic inside of him. He tosses both arms around her waist, tugging her closer while his lips curl up into a massive smirk. He presses them against hers hard, the force of them catching her off guard. Hopper pulls back slightly so that his lips ghost over hers while he speaks and in a deep sultry tone he replies, “I just want you.”

Cupping her chin in his palm, he greedily kisses her before leaning back against the pillows, tugging her with him while whispering, “Come here.”

Sitting on the back porch steps, Joyce passes her joint to Hopper and smirks when he coughs on his initial inhale. After a few hours of trying to convince him to get high with her, Hopper had finally conceded and agreed to split a joint with Joyce. He’d been high a handful of times in the past but was always hesitant when it came to smoking. On the other hand, Joyce enjoyed an occasional joint whenever she could. She found it eased the chaos swirling in her mind and it served as an escape from the hell that was her Hawkins life. She had never, however, been high with Hopper.

She watches as he focuses on his breathing and laughs beneath her breath. It was so typical of him to try and be good at everything; even something like this. As if on cue, Hopper inhales incorrectly and begins coughing.

“Jesus Joyce, how do you smoke this stuff?”

“They are no worse than your nasty cigarettes,” she says.

“They’re way worse! I don’t even think you can compare them.”

“I can and I will. Your cigarettes are ten times worse.”

“Agree to disagree?” he asks.

“Fine. But you know I’m right.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t not say it.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“You find it fascinating.”

“What can I say, you intrigue me,” he admits.

“Does that mean once you get me all figured out you’ll get bored?”

“Bored? Of you ? Not possible.”

“Oh c’mon. You won’t be bored of me a few years from now?”

“I won’t be bored of you a hundred years from now,” Hopper smiles at her.

“Now I know you’re lying,” she half-laughs.

“I’m being serious Joyce. It’s me and you from now on. Come here,” he says, standing up and gesturing for her to do the same.

Joyce slowly rises to her feet and follows Hopper into the cabin. He marches straight towards the support beam next to the couch and fetches a pocket knife from his pants.

“What are you doing?” she asks when he raises the blade to the wood.

“Carving our initials.”

The next forty-five minutes are spent carving their initials into a heart while discussing the exciting future plans they both had.

A day before they were set to return home from the cabin, Benny and his girlfriend Helen drove up to spend the night with them. The day was packed with outdoor activities and by the time the four of them settled around a campfire with some beers, Joyce was absolutely drained. She curls herself against Hopper’s chest, not caring that Benny or Helen may find it odd that she chooses to sit in his lap.

They decide on playing truth or dare. Despite Joyce’s initial protests that it was a childish game, she finds herself having fun.

“Alright Joyce, truth or dare,” Helen asks.

“Truth,” she responds.

“Tell us about your first kiss with Jim.”

Joyce blushes and casts her gaze downwards before beginning to speak. Rather than describe the kiss they shared at her party, she begins describing a party they both attended in the ninth grade.

Hopper nearly chokes on his drink when she begins telling the story, knowing exactly which story it is. All these years and he never thought she remembered that kiss. They were both drunk (her far more than him) and it was never mentioned again. It hadn’t even been mentioned now that they were together, which further convinced him she had no memory of it happening.

“Joyce!” A young drunken Hopper called after Joyce as she sprinted from the party. “Joyce, wait up!”

When he finally catches up to her on the sidewalk, he’s out of breath and panting.

“What is it Hop?” she asks with an exhausted sigh.

“Don’t let them get to you okay? It’s just a stupid game.”

“A really stupid game,” she mutters.

The two of them were attending Randy Smith’s birthday party when a game of spin the bottle broke out. When Joyce refused to participate in such a “childish” game, Randy stood up in front of everyone and exclaimed it must have been because Joyce had never been kissed and everyone laughed.

To prove that she was cooler than everyone else, Joyce downed three drinks and stormed away from the party, leaving Hopper to chase after her.

Hopper knew that this was the exact reason Joyce hadn’t wanted to play. Just a week prior she was telling him that she wanted her first real kiss to be with someone special. She asked if he thought that was stupid and he told her no, in fact, it was sweet.

“Can I walk you home?” he asks, noticing that she’s far drunker than she’s letting on.

“Sure,” she nods.

The pair walks home in comfortable silence, Hopper occasionally offering his arm to steady drunken Joyce on the bumpy pavement. Midway through the walk, Joyce starts rambling about the heap of trouble she’ll likely get in at home and that’s when he knows she’s had far too much to drink. She never talked about her home life like this.

As they’re approaching her house, Hopper asks if she’ll be alright. She looks him in the eye and meekly smiles before replying that of course, she would be, she always was.

Unconvinced, he follows her to the door where he spontaneously wraps his arms around her and makes her promise that she’ll call if she needs anything.

While pulling back, he locks eyes with her and before he has the better sense to stop himself, he’s leaning down to place a brief, chaste kiss on her lips.

Joyce says nothing in response, instead, she offers him a shy smile and a timid wave as she turns towards the front door.

He feels like an ass his entire walk home. She wanted her first kiss to be with someone special and he just took that away from her. With any luck, she wouldn’t remember it and he could carry on as if it never happened.

The next day at school she doesn’t mention it and he thinks he might be in the clear. A month later she tells him all about her first kiss with a boy from her art class and he’s convinced she doesn’t remember that night on her porch.

It was his first kiss too. He never forgets it.

“That’s so sweet!” Helen coos.

“I didn’t know you remembered that,” Hopper whispers to Joyce so that only she can hear.

“You never brought it up. I thought you wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened,” she admits.

“God no Joyce. I was embarrassed and thought you either didn’t remember or if you did you wish I hadn’t done it. We really did suck at communicating huh?”

“You did,” Benny interjects.

In the midst of their confessions, their whispers had somehow turned into a full-blown conversation without them realizing they had an audience.

“Everyone at school has known you two were into each other for years. You’re literally the only ones who couldn’t see it,” he informs them. “I can’t believe it took you two this long to figure it out.”

“But we figured it out,” Hopper smirks, leaning down and placing a chaste kiss on his girlfriend’s lips.

“Gross,” Benny whines, which causes everyone to laugh.

“Alright, Benny, truth or dare?” Joyce asks.

Tossing their bags into the trunk of the car, Hopper leans over and smirks down at Joyce.

“What?” she asks when she catches him staring.

“Remember last night when you were teasing me about being a typical boy that’s fascinated by cheerleaders because of, I believe your exact words were ‘they wear stupidly short skirts’?”

“Yeah?” she replies skeptically, “what about it?”

“Well, it’s not too late for you to join the squad for next year.”

Joyce’s eyes nearly pop out of her head and she swats at his arm to scold him for making such a ridiculous statement.

“You wish,” she scoffs.

“I do wish.’

“Hop!” Joyce exclaims, “stop picturing me in one of those ridiculous little skirts!”

“I can’t help it. You’re already hotter than the rest of the cheerleaders without the skirt. If you wore the skirt I think time might standstill.”

“Oh yeah?” she laughs.

“On second thought, maybe don’t join. When I told you I’d love you until the clock stopped ticking I was hoping that would last longer than the first pep rally of senior year.”

“I can’t believe we’re going to be seniors,” she muses.

“The seniors that everyone wants to be,” he reminds her. “I’m going to go after a football scholarship and you, my genius girlfriend, are going to get into any college you want, I’m certain of it. Then we can get the hell out of this small town.”

“Me and you?” she asks softly.

Hopper closes the trunk of the car, sealing in their bags and smiles over at Joyce, “Me and you."

“‘Till the clock stops ticking,” he adds with a cheeky wink before tossing the keys into the driver's seat and beginning their trip back to reality.

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

All's well that ends well to end up with you

#jopper #stranger things #stranger things 4 #joyce byers #jim hopper #mutichapter #au #highschool au

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blankdblank · 4 years

Text

Jewel Thief

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @here2have-fun, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore, @mariannetora, @shesakillerkween

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim, @jotink78, @pastelhexmaniac

X Thranduil - @evyiione, @sweetlytenacious25, @tigereyesf, @pastelhexmaniac

“She is set on thievery, I know it. Five days she has arrived to peruse our stock and nothing, not even a sizing!” Lowly Drorn grit out only to notice the time and force on a grin seeing the same woman back again, though this time with a burly Elf towering over her with a far from friendly demeanor, even towards her.

The raven curled wall of hair swaying around a petite Elleth with stunningly purple eyes and a face able to stun a man to silence and a body to match, no doubt with far from visible smile yet to be seen in the seemingly sullen window shopping sprees. Always women came in and her sunken mood set her apart from the others all too eager to try on various combinations and get closer glimpses at what they could never afford themselves from the shop known to fit for the King and his clan themselves for generations.

Rapidly a forced grin flinched across her face and in a honey dripped yet anxious tone at the tapping of her plum painted nail on the class case she walked straight to she asked in the common tongue, “Could I see this one?”

The Elf behind her stated about the single strand of square purple sapphires in a dazzling necklace any would be glad to have earned, “That is not acceptable. Far below value of adornment needed for the occasion.”

His stern tone clearly led to a prickling in her eyes and again she flinched out her smile in a try for a chuckle that died in a wispy exhale. Their eyes fell over her in her shifting peach layered sundress swaying as she turned to another case making Drorn’s cousin step back eyeing the tall shadow to the woman now in front of Drorn with another flinched grin tapping at a group of diamond strands to lay across the chest in varied layers, “This one?”

The question clear in her tone and the Elf shadow stated, “That will do.” Drorn brought out the necklace that was raised to be found seemingly made for a woman of her more petite build over a Dam then was added to its box and set aside for purchase. Next rings were set out and after a almost tear inducing bout of ‘no’ ended with a simple yet elegant purple sapphire rectangular cut stone on a tolerable white gold band coated in diamonds. Far from the usual varied blue stones they splashed out left and right for the Durin crown though a gritted refusal at the woven rings for a wedding band coated in both diamonds and more purple stones the meaning was clear for the visit.

Clearly the woman was off to meet her intended and with the offer of her hand sizes were taken for the rings thankfully not needing any adjustments, unlike the simple diamond bracelet to match the necklace to be taken in. And at the offer of a telling blue charge card for the crown the identity of the rumored Princess sworn to Crown Prince Thranduil.

The union was sudden, just as sudden as the King Oropher had been taken by sickness urging the need to travel back to Valinor to seek treatment with his Queen Taule. Leaving the Crown Prince to ready for his throne and with recovery needed from the war that had nearly lost them their kingdom of Amon Lanc requiring an alliance to repay their assistance in defending the kingdom and aid in rebuilding their peace. Fires had left the lands depleted. And for an offer of food and aid in returning the charred earth the youngest of a noble line of Vanyar dwelling with her distant family in Lothlorien since having fled as a child visiting relatives in the fallen kingdom of Gondolin entangling her with the leaders of all Elven lands in Middle Earth was now betrothed. The widowed Elleth so vocal on the Council of Lords, usually publicly at odds with the future King himself was far from their imagined future Queen assumed to be sent for from Valinor to establish old traditions in arranged unions, yet all the same if the Crown Prince had agreed surely some happiness could be found in the union.

In your stepping back to join the shadowing Elf to the waiting car surely meant to show you back to the Palace grounds to the appointed cottage snapped so often in the papers since the betrothal was assumed. Dwarven jewels were set to be acquired to aid in privacy while all of this was secured. No longer wed and now saddled with a second arranged union, the first followed tradition with an Elf brought from the rebuilt Tirion, which ended scandalously on the wedding reception opening speech as the groom had gotten entangled into a traditional duel of crossbows for honor ending with him shot through the head by your chosen victor.

No one had blamed you for not crying. Not after the groom’s disgusting speech alluding to beating the stubborn will out of you at the opening of the reception in which even Thranduil had stood readying to throttle the man, held back by his equally as furious father, who treasured your company and counsel immensely to invite you often irking his son to amusing levels. From the time the groom was zipped in a body bag off to Amon Lanc you jumped at King Oropher and Queen Taule’s offer to stay in the very same cottage for as long as you had required.

You were not the first choice, as most would hope that instant love would have secured a union, yet all the same you were clearly the most trusted and most capable to aid in guiding the new King into a good footing with other leaders all through Middle Earth. All of this could have been so amazing had it not been for how it was handled. Future Queen bartered off by a father hoping to have his home and attached cottages on the property back to just his possession alone after an assumed embarrassing slight from you in open council. Just nearly passed off to another man and abruptly passed back again, no longer a daughter but a piece of furniture to be sold off and in the first chance your father had he secured a meeting with the future King and had offered you up once again. It all would have been so easy, if you didn’t love the infuriating idiot now to be your King.

Always your enemy, your rival to the world, yet for you always internally, yours. At odds since infancy on seemingly everything except for when some stranger would strike out at the other, always commonly respectful of the safety and well being of the other. Never malicious or cruel, simply, at odds. It was safe in your respected corners, though now, the world would force you together into the same tiny square and the pressure to face that tiny square openly and withhold your former corners surely you would falter. You would fail, your mask would slip and he would see the single lie you had kept enforcing to the world bringing only two options, he had been honest or he had been lying too. And you didn’t know which would terrify you more to discover.

First it was back to the Palace to have tea and discuss the plans for your first formal dinner the following night leading up to the wedding and joint coronation on Saturday. It was soon but at least for Elven weddings you were allowed privacy for the sunrise service but the reception after the joint coronation would be broadcast as all other Royals would arrive to greet you formally. To yourself you muttered in folding your hands on your lap while your shadow sat in the front seat of the car divided by a clear divider, “This is going to be a disaster.”

* ..Thranduil.. *

“Don’t look at me like that!” In a croaking order to the giant elk he was brushing in hopes of calming himself. “I am the one getting married you can’t give me a hard time.” A snort was what he got in return making the blonde King shift to avoid any staining snot or spit from the creature to ruin his clothes he had wasted nearly half the night deciding on to greet you on his own. “You’ve already got your mate, mine’s been picked for me-,”

“You accepted,” the Elk replied making the King huff.

“After that disastrous twenty minute marriage of hers I couldn’t allow Princess Pear to be bartered off. Her father seemed so adamant to have her gone, and I wouldn’t let anyone dare try to repeat the behavior she has faced.”

“Hmm, and Pear will not assume-,”

Thranduil groaned laying his head against the Elk’s shoulder, “Princess Pear does not make assumptions. Not where I am involved,” again he stood upright and turned to pace again, “Why does this have to be so hard?! When this has all played out perfectly! I love her! I could not fathom how to begin approaching her for courtship let alone marriage and then she is betrothed, wed, and promptly widowed, now she was offered as my betrothed by her father fully blessed for the union with none to find an argument against my crowning her.”

“The struggle then?”

“Oh I don’t know! The 14000 years of our rivalry for one!”

In a low chuckle Lord Glorfindel entered the courtyard behind the King just beyond the ring of trees surrounding the stables, “You still imagine yourself to be at odds in all but politics?” Thranduil turned promptly with expression dropping to find his oldest friend chuckling to himself in a bow of his head, “Come now, my King, surely you could not be so obtuse to imagine the palace would not be in flames had Princess Pear not have agreed to the union.”

Thranduil rolled his eyes again, “I know her wrath well,”

Glorfindel smirked, “You know her temper,” that made the King pause and look at the smirking Lord, “You have reveled at her wrath being aimed at others in your defense. Even that runt of a betrothed she had been promised to, he knew her wrath in my being named her victor. You have received little past a paper cut and well earned tongue lashings in your ages in debates.”

“Your suggestion then? How to enforce I am not buying her? That I would never treat her as my property.”

“No need,” parting the King’s lips, “She knows you. Tell her you love her.” Thranduil’s brow shot up, “Be honest, and yield first. Should no doubt shorten the wait for her to admit the inevitable as well. You are perfect for one another.”

“Yield first?! You want me to-,”

Glorfindel’s hands rose for a moment in mock surrender at the King with furrowed brows, then smirked at his meek 180 when it was announced your car was at the front gates, “The way I see it, you yield first or we get to see her bring you to your knees in utter adoration.” Thranduil blinked at the Lord who neared him to aid in fixing the top button on his shirt.

* ..Months prior.. *

“There is no merit to the words on suffering from a woman!” Tilting your head a tick with brow raised to the Master of Dale shouting out his response to your argument on the Lords needing to aid in the plight of the Men who had fled Numenor and were building Gondor. With your hand on the podium you were beside due to its place damn near to your shoulder just a few feet from the now shouting Crown Prince among the sea of Lords doing the same.

Woman or not you were still a High Born Princess, though in the back of your row you spotted your father seated quietly more interested in his conversation with the man beside him on plans for another hunt to care how you were spoken to. Mingled into those from Lothlorien your sliver of kin tried their best not to draw too much attention in their being trapped in these lands. You had always demanded that someone from your people speak up and in their unwillingness you had taken that spot while they remained silent without aid to any slight exacting that it was your own fault and you had no right to anger or tears at breaking the unspoken code. Women, though free to work where they wished were still property and all funds won were passed either to father or husband with little rights to even choose which school they could attend if accepted on their family merits. So much had changed and yet you were no more than property, still.

“True,” the room quieted and he grinned, “No, what would a woman know on suffering? In fact we know little at all if our fathers refuse us education. We know little more than to follow orders silently and with a smile. Every stitch before you good Lords is woven and crafted by the permission of my father.” That turned his head luring a glare from him, “Women know nothing of suffering, our voices or even the simplest freedoms you take for granted and spite your sons for settling to and not aspiring for more. ‘Spare the rod spoil the child’, men are built to be strong for fear of lashes while women are cobbled to perfection and left to dust and decay between dinner parties as you conquer the world. From our infancy we are taught how to master our silence, our smiles, not for any gain but for the allure of a possible mate. We are the greatest farce of all, My Lords. You imagine a Vanyar Princess when I am naught but a mare,”

Men now rested back into their seats weighing all you had said against their own lives, except for a man from Bree shouting out, “I’d not bid on you for your temperament, bound to buck and bite.”

Chuckles roared through his section and you replied with a smirk, “I will take that as a compliment from a man who has owned more wives than dress jackets.” Jeers sounded through the rest of the room and even in his section as he grinned at your fair jab back. “We are the farce but you Lords are the greatest liars of all.”

Grins began to dim again, “Daughters swaddled and adored so fiercely, like hoarded jewels to a dragon, when once we begin to mature that kindness is gone, that wonder. No more could we be anything we wish from our greatest fantasies, we are limited to what a man would find acceptable of his wife. You talk of suffering my Lords, when you have never known the betrayal of the man we love most selling us off and no longer being our hero. Once out that door no more hero, we are the husband’s topic of worry now, beaten, forced and broken with every lie on those silver coated lips and tongue. All in the hopes of a son, that coveted son, who is never ours! Who will never defend us to join the masses of men who look down upon us. Our daughters lied to as we were. Then we share the truth, ‘you will know kindness, if you earn it. If he finds you worthy’.

Father’s never truly know the true man they barter us off to. If we will be their Queens or a common whore in an impossible dress adorned with jewels to boast on his prowess and finances. Plastered with a smile to cement the lie. What lie will you go home and tell your children tonight? Because every one of you is the product of a woman who created you. How many were kept from you at her husband, or ex husband’s whims because you were their property and not hers? How many of you lost their mothers due to their refusal to listen that something was physically wrong and the expense of Healers were found frivolous? How many mothers were cast off for younger more lucrative investments for more heirs?”

Next to your fuming father behind your uncle High Prince Inowen pondering your words along with the other Kings and Lords ruling their lands. “This is the birth of the Second Age, My Lords and this circlet on my head does me no favor past gaining spare pounds of gold towards my auction.” You raised the copied page the Lord had presented to you as proof to support his argument against your position for aid.

“This is your smoking gun as you said. This will solve all the problems each man in the territories instead of what I am asking to give aid in an offer of friendship to those remaining of our fallen council members unable to fill their section of this coliseum of half truths, because that is what this is, comfort, for the men.”

In folding the page in half you walked to the table seeing Thranduil shift in his seat peering up at you only to rise along with the Lords at the lowest of the tiered tables at your approach. King Oropher remained seated due to his rank higher than yours, merely tapping his fingers to his chest in a sign of respect to your title allowing you so close to him unrequested even here. The page was passed to Thranduil as the highest ranked at the table now entirely focused on your misty eyed gaze at him unmatching to the easy grin on your lips, “Here is your gun, please shoot me with it, put me out of my misery. For unlike the sea of silent women this would affect, I cannot bear the betrayal of a promise for a brighter tomorrow, yet again knowing the lies I will have to tell the children I can never keep as my own.”

The room was silent in your step back when Thranduil let the page fall to the table lost in the truth heavily weighing behind you eyes. So many truths you had shared and so many pains shouldered as rivals to struggle through for your people alongside his father to learn his future possible role and this he had never seen. The weight of unspoken pain women still faced. Greenwood was meant to be safe and freer for women and yet Elleths still had clauses to each choice and contract demanding permission from the highest male closest in their family line even widows having to hold their sons to mark the page for them to better their lives.

It never hit home until he had known that in your supposed confident stroll through the nodding now upright Lords you passed to return to your seat your heart was breaking for the monster you could be sold off to. In his seat again him and his father both readied their brains to unravel at their plight to aid women, a task they had completed over the next year in support of you and all overlooked women under their rule, fully backed by all the Elven nations now freeing their women completely. To the joy of Queen Taule, who had tried to nudge some easy changes herself into life the Council wouldn’t fight her and Oropher on, and yet it was too late.

As repentance for your embarrassing scandalous remarks your father had set that auction and off you were sold to a stranger far from timid on breaking in his new bride he was set to meet at the ceremony. Even rumored to have been barred from meetings, had the Kings all not agreed to issue summons for each council meeting after to ensure you were still present it might have been true. Yet the effect of that wrath whatever it was rang loud and clear in your silence, at least until the Crown Prince took the podium on each topic possible and hit every button he could blatantly provoking you to your feet to challenge him spreading a hint of a smirk seeing that fire still lingering in there.

*..Present time..*

This was in his mind on repeat through the press conference, still seeing an expected fear in your eyes at facing the auction block again, yet here you would be safe and far from your father’s reach. Safe in this palace and hopefully soon comfortably in his arms calling it yours as well. There was more to your tears that day he hoped, that it was an unspoken plea for proof he wouldn’t hurt you, that he would claim his place in your heart and prove you could be safe and belong to one another cherishing your children always Eru would grant you. It would just take patience as a good deal more jesting feuds to goad you out again to your former confidence around him in this new change to your bond.

He hated that you had been forced into marriage so young without an inkling of affection or trust for your spouse and that he especially could not shop with you leaving you to his adviser for the proper ceremonies and traditions to be met. Yet you were a new Queen set to be far more vocal and involved than any before if he had his way, you would share the rule together and he didn’t care what anyone said. All the Lords all loved and cherished your opinions and steadfast path to reason most would overlook or skid past and soon his subjects would calm down seeing that the fuel for the long-standing rivalry was a deep seeded adoration for one another steadily dawning on the pair of you over the past few years. The buzz of his phone however had his brow tick up in scrolling through the pictures of what you had suggested and finally chosen turning his gears noticing that this was a clear display of your settling for what would be tolerated.

“I’ve looked at these pictures of the rings you turned down and honestly it is astonishing.” Turning around in the sitting room on the usual chair you chose as your own you spotted Glorfindel seated at the window bench having waited to chaperone your tea while terribly late Thranduil strode in leaving his outer pale yellow robe on the back of the couch he passed to the carpet in front of you. His long blonde hair still brushed back after having removed his crown on his way here from a press conference in on the first agreed trade deal having been settled on the union between the pair of you with other Elven nations.

When he turned to face you he continued while Glorfindel raised the phone he was using to film you both for a better shot, “It’s as if you don’t even want to do this.” In a slight tilt of your head your brow inched up and Glorfindel smirked seeing the clues that you were ready to stand your ground to honor your word in this. “Five choices I know you would have preferred were skipped over for a spectacular, albeit, uninteresting ring, when I know since the first day we met you have wanted a heart shaped ring and clearly if you wanted this you would have fought for it. Clearly this is merely a contract and to silence the usual traditions you would settle for tolerable. Well I am not one to be tolerated.”

“Oh trust me I can barely tolerate you at times.” You fired back resting your hands on the arms on the chair readying to stand.

“Then we agree. The contract will be rewritten to exclude the betrothal.”

“Seriously?!” You stood up, “Just how would you manage that? Honestly it took hours of hammering out the details just for the drafted alliance between the other kingdoms teetering on the union you now imagine yourself to just be so flippant on.”

“I am not flippant!” He said looking you over already feeling a grin fighting to slip across his lips at the dress he loved to see you in since he had helped his mother pick it for you.

“Who then?” You asked crossing your arms making him puff up and do the same.

“I don’t care to understand what you are insinuating!”

“Who else will be your saving grace in all this? Which Elleth are you going to tear out of the sky to come down and be your Queen. Because honestly I highly doubt there is any other Elleth who could put up with you and this stack of cards you’re building.”

In a scoff he said, “Oh it’s a stack of cards now?! You love this kingdom, told my Ada in several occasions! Well this stack of cards could take any Queen I feel fit,” at your scoff and dart of your tongue to wet your lips he sharply inhaled. Again feeling his brow twitch at his urge to kiss you to ruin the maroon coating across your irresistible lips, but he was in too deep in his panicked ramble in a try to test if you really wanted this. “I am King. What I say goes.”

“Oh really, well if you choose another you won’t be King for long.”

“Threats now?!”

Your hand jut out and his eyes lowered to the finger that tapped him in the chest instantly loosening his arms to drop back to his sides, “If you choose another they would just kill you for the crown. At least with me you have a chance to survive.”

“A chance,” he scoffed back, “Really now, and how long would you rate my lifespan if I chose you and you did decide to kill me?”

“Just long enough for me to move everything lower so I can reach it.”

Wryly he laughed, “I’m all limbs to you then?”

“As you would be for anyone else. Even more so until your soldiers succeed”

With a hint of a blush on his ears he replied, “This is not about breeding!”

You nodded lowering your hand to your hip, “Kinda is. King needs an heir, to get an heir you need a Queen.”

“I am not using you for your uterus and you have no plot for my testicles, I know to be fact!”

“Then you should shoot your sources for lying.” The boldness of the statement made his eyes flinch wider and his brows furrow in your step closer, “I’m going to make this perfectly clear, I’m not tolerating this, I am demanding this. You are marrying me if I have to drag you down the aisle. For your safety and everyone else’s, I refuse to sit on that council and watch you tear your country apart by putting some diamond hungry antelope on the throne next to yours.”

“You demand?” You nodded, “You demand?!”

“What of it?”

“I’m King!”

“Good, you’ve got the title down Dew Drop, that would make me Queen.”

“What makes you think you can just demand that I marry you?”

“I just did were you not listening?”

Again he inhaled and Glorfindel glanced between you uncertain of what the King was going to explode with next, “Fine but I’m telling everyone that it was my idea!”

“Fine by me, I expect to be awed by the proposal.”

“Oh you will be, and you’re getting the ring you wanted since you made me spend three hours trying to fish the single green heart shaped ring out of the hundreds of other plastic rings on that shore resort!”

“The one-,”

“The one you picked is not fine! It is not tolerable or acceptable, because you love me and I love you more than air I am not letting you have to be drug into a second even more public ceremony and all that scrutiny unless it is exactly what you wanted!”

“What?” You asked feeling your ears start to prickle in the beginning of a stunned blush.

With a nod he replied trying to hold his confident expression as his voice cracked, “You heard me.” Suddenly his hands had cupped your cheeks and firmly his lips met yours for a passionate display you both melted into before his pull back nipping at his lower lip hearing a knock at the door from a messenger. His eyes turned to the door only to stop at Glorfindel asking, “You’re filming this?” lowering his hands to his sides.

Glorfindel smirked, “Future reference for your children to see what idiots their parents are.” His eyes flinched to you at your weight shifting on your feet to face him, “Trust me, we all know he’s the bigger idiot.”

Thranduil rolled his eyes at your hint of a smirk, “More size jokes.” After stepping back a fraction he said, “Come in,”

Only to glance down at you with a playful smirk as you said, “Is it though?”

Accepting with a hushed thanks the long black velvet box from the messenger who promptly turned to leave he offered it to you, “To wear tonight.” He opened the box making your lips part seeing the purple necklace you wanted, “I demand it.” He teased.

Softly you replied, “Dew Drop,”

Lifting his hand his fingers curled in a stroke against your cheek, “I am yours if any ever spur a debate on ownership. I will never raise a hand to you or joke on that matter in any fashion together in private or in public. You are and always will be cherished above all.”

“Well I never imagined you to have a death wish. And if you tried I’d cut off your feet.” Making his eyes narrow playfully and you said, “More than air, Hmm?”

“I had to keep it brief, I have another conference here in a bit…what plans do you have for my testicles?”

Back at him you teased in a reach for your purse, “That’s a discussion for the wedding night. You’d be surprised what sort of literature there is out there on them.”

“Ugh, don’t get me started I keep finding more in my room every night. ‘To help’.”

“On testicles?” You teased.

“Yes.” Glorfindel shook his head at Thranduil’s cocky reply.

“Good. We can compare notes then.” He looked over to his friend, “Why are you shaking your head?”

Glorfindel replied, “Idiots in love,” smirking in his playful bow, “And long may you reign. Because the throne can’t tolerate another courting pair attempting this.”

Thranduil, “You’re next in line.”

Glorfindel, “Yes, and I am worse than the pair of you. I can only imagine how the wedding will be if this is the bargaining phase for proposal rights.”

Thranduil, “I wouldn’t dare accept an offer from a flippant Queen.”

“And don’t you think for a moment I’m crossing the council room to your side just for two rings on my fingers.”

“Every syllable in that sentence is preposterous. What good would that do, silencing my longstanding opposition. Who else would call me a fool on live broadcast without blushing?” He asked with a playful glint in his eye making you smirk again, “Not to mention the time you compared my argument to fruit flies.”

“It was inconsequential buzzing and you were stalling for time.”

To which he replied, “See, exactly what we need.”

Glorfindel chuckled, “Ah,” his head turned at the next knock at the door, “That would be the conference.”

At which you said, “I’ll be in the theater then until you’re done.”

Thranduil, “I did try to move it. Only that new dam in Gondor..” his eyes looked you over asking, “What will you watch?”

Playfully you shrugged turning to step backwards to the door flashing him a copy of the new Sweeney Todd adaptation on disc parting his lips, “Maybe this.”

“You are not watching that without me! It’s my favorite!”

“How could I not know, we go every time it’s nearby. I’ll start on the guided tour of the sets feature, then I’ll start it. You might just have to watch halfway through.”

“We’re starting it over when I get there!” He said walking after you pulling on his robe again as you reached the door Glorfindel opened for you, “I’m not joking!”

“Better hurry then.” He scoffed then looked to you as you popped back into the doorway saying, “I’ll be wearing my gift.” Making him shake his head and smirk at your step out of sight again leaving him to huff and hurry to button his robe and find his crown to get the conference over so he could focus on your first film together as a betrothed couple.

Still to be supervised but none the less special in just Glorfindel’s company, after which he’d be able to go through with his planned proposal with the dream ring of yours he’d had for near to a year now for you. You hadn’t said you loved him yet and still seemed a bit tense but never the less he was certain this was what you wanted and you would ease into trusting him as your future spouse as you’d trusted him all your lives up until this forced situation. A stolen brush of his finger against the chain holding the simple green crystal heart and meteorite band ring you had bought him in return for his three hour debacle deepened his smirk remembering the peck you stole on his cheek then darted off. A tiny hint that there was hope to grow up and get married one day now all the more special as it was coming true. Now the perfect size to fit the very finger to seal your bond.

Pt 2+ on ao3

#Thranduil x Reader OC #Hobbit #lotr

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falllpoutboy · 4 years

Note

wait what happened w/ tom holland? i haven't been checking celeb's social media lately

ok so the last couple of days i (and the rest of his black fanbase) have taken notice of his lack of posts towards georgy floyd and blm in general. for 2-3 he was radio silent and only posting about stuff related to the brothers trust, a charity coalition he’s directly involved with while his peers (like zendaya for example) were posting about it, literally using their huge platforms to bring these issues to light. then finally he posted the george floyd # to text but then yesterday he went right back to posting his birthday well wishes on ig.

now today, a fan dmed him on ig with specific instructions with links to donations and petitions related to whole thing and he left that fan on read. next he had the audacity to post that little black box like doing the barest of minimums like seriously what good is that gonna do thomas?? finally, he made a final post with the black fist and put the blm carrd in his bio. with his hefty checks from marvel from starring in 5 mcu movies: no public donations, no going to protests, bare. fucking. minimum.

#anon #asks #also he was suspected of reading from his palm in his video ig story #*dates a black girl once* 'thats enough activism for today

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rainbows-fanfics · 4 years

Text

Our Nightmare

Summary:

Sally moves in with the man of her screams. But there is still so much she has to learn of Halloween Town, and what it's like living with The Pumpkin King.

A sequel to Two Dearest Friends, where the Christmas incident never happens. But there are still many ends that haven't been met, and much for these two dreamers to learn as they start to spend their deaths together.

Pairings: Jack Skellington/Sally, Dr Finklestein/Jewel

Note: This is a SEQUEL to my other story, TWO DEAREST FRIENDS. To read the original story, go here.

The Skellington manor has only housed 2 residents in most of its existence.

The 3-story mansion equipped with a large observatory atop has only ever sheltered Jack Skellington and his ghostly pet, Zero. It comes to no surprise that the house wasn't expecting the softer pair of footsteps that came in one fateful afternoon. The moment Sally Finklestein steps into the Pumpkin King's manor, there's an audible groan that sounds from the floor, accompanied by the walls making sudden, sharp creaks. The ragdoll freezes in fear. But as her foot lingers longer on the tiled surface, the noises stop and she is left to listen to the sudden silence in its absence. She turns to the skeleton watching from the doorway, not knowing how to express the right confusion from such a situation.

"Did I do something wrong?" She asks, her voice quiet and polite as usual. Jack shakes his skull and approaches one of the walls, patting it a couple of times and smiling weakly.

"No, no of course not. The house just needs to....get used to you, is all. It settles when it's comfortable."

"I didn't know houses can be aware like this..." She remembers the time he invited her in for tea, but doesn't recall anything peculiar. "It didn't make those noises last time I was here."

"It understands the difference between a guest and a resident. It's sentient, and very, very courteous. It won't do any harm to you, I assure."

She relaxes as he smiles at her, and watches as he picks up the boxes that were situated by the front door. She is suddenly reminded of why she's even here. After years of a long, eventful life living with Doctor Finklestein in his tower after being created by him....she is now moving in with Jack Skellington, the Pumpkin King. Her mind scrambles trying to recall everything that's happened prior to this moment - when she was first kidnapped by Oogie Boogie, saved by the skeleton himself, getting a tour of Halloween Town, finding Jack in the Graveyard and befriending him, experiencing a long yet blossomed relationship with the man......they started as friends and grew to something closer than that, then eventually, they became a couple. Everything about it was simply beautiful to Sally; how she turned from an imprisoned slave into a free spirit with a purpose.

How could she forget the first time she stepped out of that tower, when she saw Jack's smile, and all of the times she left everything she had to endure just to see him again...She had only dreamed of him reciprocating her love, showing him how much he means to her, and sharing a domestic life with him....she wanted it badly, and just today had she been presented with this opportunity. Nothing could've made her more happier. And how ironic, it seemed, that this decision was only supported by the Doctor because he had a replacement for her now. He had no use for Sally anymore, and handed her off to someone else. She was very lucky that happened to be Jack. She was more than fortunate to be with the man who did everything for her.

The skeleton steps around her and heads through a doorway. She quickly follows after, carrying a box of her own. "-I decided on a room for you already. I figured the stairs would be too much of a hassle for you, so I found a bedroom on the ground floor."

She blinks her eyes, marveling at the old chandelier hanging from the ceiling and the many paintings they pass. "How many floors does your house have?"

"Three, if you include the observatory. But don't worry. I try to keep all the necessities downstairs. There's mostly bedrooms and guest rooms on the second floor, so you won't have a need to come up that often." He stops once they reach a door at the end of the hallway. "-This is it!"

He hesitates to put his bony hand on the doorknob, looking over at her uncertainly. "Would you, uh, mind waiting here for a minute? I didn't exactly have the time to prepare the room. I'm sorry for being so unprepared, but I hadn't expected-"

"No, it's okay. I didn't plan on this either, otherwise I'd be more ready myself." She sets the box down carefully and sighs in relief. "Take your time, Jack. I'll wait out here."

He gives her a grateful smile. "Thank you, Sally...Don't be afraid to look around, get curious about things. Technically, this is your home now, too, so I want you to get used to the place."

"I will."

He gives her one last nod before leaving into the room, which she only gets a glance of before he hurriedly shuts the door. She waits a few moments before turning around and admiring the long hallway. There is a red rug on the floor with intricate designs of spiderwebs on it. Her attention is suddenly brought to the walls, where she now notices a collection of framed pictures hanging in neat patterns with one another. She admires them all as she walks carefully on the rug, humming in curiosity. Most of them are old photographs of Halloween Town. She catches one of Jack and the Mayor standing in front of the Town Hall shaking hands, and smiles to herself. She admires him for keeping such history of his town in his own home.

The longer she follows these photos, the more she finds of Jack himself. He's in various ones surrounded by other people, mostly his citizens and coworkers. But then Sally would find one of him by himself, or just him and Zero. There were times when his smile was big, and where it wasn't very enthusiastic. After knowing him for so long, she was able to recognize it. A troubled frown comes onto the ragdoll's face as she stops at one in particular, which is a picture of Jack sitting at his desk, turned around to smile at the one taking the picture. But there is something gloom about his posture, and something sad in his eye sockets. She holds her small hand over the picture and feels her chest grow cold.

'He looks so...lonely.'

She doesn't feel as excited to look at the rest of the pictures, so she turns around to look at other things instead. She adores the wallpaper in these hallways - it's of a crimson color with elaborate, yellow lines that break the color. The design reminds her of the fancy castles she used to read about - the exact ones kings and queens would live in. In fact, everything about his mansion reminds her of someplace...elegant, and tidy. It makes sense that the Pumpkin King would inhabit such a place like this. Nothing like the old tower she lived in before, that was always so suffocating, cold, and had leaks everywhere. The walls and the floor were made of metal there, but in here, the ground was warm and the walls felt inviting. Everything in the Skellington Manor looked absolutely well-kept.

'It's all so homey', She thinks. 'A gentlewoman would be suited better here than me, that's for sure...'

A voice suddenly breaks her thoughts:

"Sally? It's ready now, if you want to see it!"

She hurries over to meet with the skeleton, who happily clasps his hands together once she's in front of him. He doesn't look anything like how he did in that picture she saw. 'Which is a good thing, I guess...' She notices the door is closed and all of her belongings are brought in already. He clears his throat as he rubs his palms together, looking like a child excited to show something he had made.

"I think you're going to like it! I made a few touches here-and-there, though I'm sure you won't even notice them." He eagerly swoops over next to the door, fingers caressing the doorknob. "Now, close your eyes and wait until I say you can open them..."

She does as she is told, giggling slightly at the idea that the unveiling of her room has to be some sort of grand surprise. She listens as he opens the door and feels his hand gently guiding her forward on her back. She plays his game and takes a few steps in his direction until he stops her, then closes the door behind them. She can't help but feel giddy in this time, wondering what her new room is going to look like. She already knows it's going to be nothing like her old one, and yet, the curiosity is still gnawing at her leaves...

"Alright, you can open your eyes!"

Immediately, she opens them. And as she does, her jaw falls open in utter shock. Before her is, in her opinion, a room fit for a princess! Due to the high ceiling, there is a beautiful collection of cobwebs that hang above a queen-sized bed. It leaves enough space for a nightstand to rest on its left side, with a beautiful lamp and small clock. Across the bed is a vanity desk that contains a mirror, tall enough that she can see herself in, and enough room to work on whatever she desires. Beside that is a large bookshelf filled to the brim with dusty novels. She approaches it and glances at some of the titles, smiling when she notices that most of them are fictional romances. The exact type she loves to read. There are so many on the shelves...she could be reading for days!

When she turns around, she notices there is a petite desk next to the covered window with her sewing machine on it. Unlike her old one, there is plenty of space for her to set all the materials where they need to go, and there is even a mirror on the wall for her to check her work. She walks over to admire it before bringing her attention over to the window. She finds the curtains are closed, and gently opens them to reveal whatever is beyond it. This causes her jaw to drop once more - as she is provided with a beautiful view of Halloween Town. Since the manor is raised, she can see the roofs of all the houses and the streets from above. She had a similar view from her tower, but this one isn't obscured by the bars on the window. She has a perfect view she can see out of anytime. And to think, it's right by her desk, so she can gaze outside while she works!

"Jack, this is all so lovely..." She confesses. "I-I don't know what to say."

He starts to tsk. At her confusion, he simply smiles. "You haven't seen your new closet yet, have you?"

She blinks several times, wondering how in Halloween she could've missed her closet! The skeleton slides open a large door to reveal a spacious closet beside her bed. She finds the dresses she made are already hung inside, handled with great care. There is plenty of space for new ones and even a proper place to put her shoes in. She approaches it in awe and leaves her hand to trail along its side, imagining filling it with all the new creations she's bound to make. She sees nothing but a blank canvas laid right before her, and Jack seems happy as he taps his finger on the wall, watching her gawk at the room.

"I thought you would appreciate a room that felt like it was for you. You didn't have an awful lot in your last one."

She turns to him and smiles. "Well, the Doctor only gave me what he thought was necessary..."

"You mean a bed that looked like it would snap in half at any moment, and a closet that could barely fit three days worth of clothes?" He crosses his arms. "I have to disagree."

"I'm not sure if I deserve a big bed like this, or such a view, or....any of this, really. I don't need much, and I don't want to ask too much from y-"

"-Shh sh sh." He lays a bony finger over her lips. "All of this is for you. You have your own space now. And anything you need or want, I will happily get for you. You have as much right to a decent bed and your own hobby like anyone else. And I don't want to hear otherwise."

Her eyelashes brush against the tip of his finger as he brings it away. "Thank you, Jack..."

"Alright, then." He steps back and grins, opening the door and motioning outside. "I'll show you a bit more around."

She was happy to skip to the door and follow Jack around his mansion. He did as he promised, giving her a small little tour of his home and informing her where things were. There was a bathroom just down the hallway she was roomed in, and she wasn't very far from the kitchen. The living room and den were close from there, and everything else seems to be upstairs. She follows him above as he briefly shows her his own bedroom, which, she finds, has a respectably king-sized bed. There were even more stairs after that, and she grew a little fatigued as she stepped through a spiral one, before finding that she was standing in the middle of his study. The same room she used to watch him pace around in for hours when she was back in Finklestein's Tower, watching his silhouette through the windows...

After looking at all the projects he had laying around in there and admiring the highest view in Halloween Town, Jack helps her down the staircase to show her a few things they missed. She was having a hard time coming to terms that this is the house she'll be staying in from now on: an exquisite, 3-floor mansion filled to the brim with rooms and fancy things...she'll be sharing it with The Pumpkin King, and she'll be seeing these things every day from this day forward. It makes her excited, but under that, she feels a familiar insecurity brewing in the pit of her stomach...

----

By the time their little tour is finished, Sally collapses on one of his couches, wanting to take a break from all the steps and stairs she endured from this hour alone. Jack, meanwhile, is still musing about something with a skeletal finger propped on his jaw. He eventually shrugs and smiles happily at his girlfriend, who opens her eyes after she finally has her breath back.

"-And I think that's just about it!" He announces happily. "Do you have any questions, Sal? Before it gets too late?"

She glances out of a nearby window and notices that it's already night time. There was a lot that happened today, yet the time still feels like it flew right by. She lets out an exhausted sigh as she sits forward, trying to think of anything she is curious about. There's plenty, but now isn't the time to pester him with 20 questions. They both need a lot of rest after today, and in the morning, they can talk about things further. For now.....she had at least one question that was bothering her.

"Yes, I was just wondering..." She brings her gaze up to lock with his. "What are the rules here?"

"Hm?"

"You know, the rules you have for...staying here." She plays with her fingers. "How often do I need to do the dishes, when your meals should be cooked, what time I'm allowed to get up and go to sleep..."

The skeleton looks bewildered. She sinks into her shoulders, feeling embarrassed for asking such a thing. It just felt so natural, and like she was suppose to ask. Was it the wrong thing to say? Or did he truly not know the answer?

"There...are no rules. None whatsoever." He takes a seat next to her and holds her hand endearingly. "Sally, I'm not the Doctor. I'm not going to give you a million of chores you have to do just at the expense of living here. I want you here, and you shouldn't feel obligated to do anything for that."

Her eyes widen. "You mean, you don't want me to cook, or clean, or...or make your clothes?"

He shakes his skull. "Not really. If you'd like to do those things, then I won't stop you, but....you don't have to do them. Those things may have been a little tough for the Doctor to do, but I am able-bodied and I'm capable of cooking and cleaning like you are."

"I....I wasn't expecting that answer." She confesses.

He leans forward and leaves a kiss on her cheek, making her blush slightly. "-You don't owe me anything, and I want you to remember that. As long as you're comfortable, healthy, and happy here, that's all I ask. It's about time someone took care of you for once, rather than the other way around."

This makes her smile, and her leaves grow tingly. She lets out a content sigh as he pulls back. "You're right. I guess I'm just so...so used to being around the Doctor that...I don't know what it's like to live any other way."

"Well, we're going to change that. From now on, you don't have to worry about any of those things, and I'll be here for you. I'm ready to share my death with you, Sally. I certainly hope you're ready to share it with me?"

"Of course, Jack...I couldn't ask for anything better."

----

Jack Skellington prepares to rest for that night, and ensures that his partner is more than comfortable. He leaves her after she's settled in her bed and heads for his own room, where he leaves his door cracked open in case Sally needed him at all during the night. He promised her she could call for him, and he was more than prepared to fend for another person after so long. That thought buzzes in his skull as he changes into his sleeping clothes, laying in his bed and staring at the ceiling. A very prominent thought resurfaces in his mind, and he's left to dwell on it for the night.

Sally is living with him now.

It's almost the same feeling as when Doctor Finklestein first mentioned it to him. After being alone for so long, living only with his dog for years...now they have another person in their home. And it's not a guest or a mere visitor; it's the love of his death sharing the same space as him, and only a floor down. This was the least he could do for her after she got kicked out of her last place as soon as it was decided that the Doctor didn't need her anymore. 'This is his loss.' Jack thinks to himself. 'Sally is talented, kind, and sweet...having her around is going to be the best thing in my death.'

And what a thought that was...no longer will his mornings feel so empty and cold, and he won't have to come home to a nearly-empty mansion anymore. He's going to have her to listen to, her to see and hold, her at his side when he needs her most. It's felt like ages since he's had something like this to look forward to, and now that things were so much easier...he wasn't going to let any moment go to waste. He's going to cherish this ragdoll, show his love and appreciation for her, and take good care of her on the account that she hasn't had a very good home life before. He's going to do everything for her, and ensure that she is his top priority at all times.

He drifts off to sleep thinking of everything he is going to do for her, and how better his death is going to be after this night. He looks forward to the morning and wishes it could come sooner - so he can see her beautiful dark eyes again, and hear her soft voice the first thing after the skeletal rooster crows....

----

Sally Finklestein flutters her eyelashes after she finds her room engulfed in the pumpkin sun. The air feels only slightly musty as she rises from her bed and lets out a small yawn, blinking her eyes several times in an attempt to clear her vision. She recalls sleeping almost perfectly in her new bed, the mattress comfortable and her pillow so soft....the blanket was actually big enough to cover her whole body, and not once did she toss and turn in her sleep. It was unusually quiet this morning. This is new to her, as she would usually hear the Doctor screaming at her for his breakfast by now, and Igor would've surely waken her at such an hour like this.

She tosses the blanket off of her as she takes a weary step on the floor. She feels so well-rested, it almost makes her dizzy! She trudges on despite this, and gently opens her door. The sound of something sizzling comes down the hallway, and she curiously follows it. The closer she gets to the kitchen, the more she can make out the smell of something sweet - something that makes her tongue water, and her nose curiously inch more towards the source of the smell. When she peeks her head through the doorway, she finds a skeleton standing in front of the stove, one hand holding the handle of a pan and the other shoved in his pocket.

She quietly attempts to step in the room without catching his attention, but he happens to turn his skull in her direction. She freezes almost instantly - a habit thinking she had been caught. But after finding a large smile on his lips and hearing a cheerful hum, Sally relaxes.

"Awful morning, Sally. Did you sleep terrible?"

"Just horrible, thank you." She blinks curiously as she comes to his side, peeking at what was in the pan. She is surprised to find a couple slices of toast. "What are you making?"

"'Pain perdu'...or, as some call it, 'French Toast'." He reaches over to grab a plate. "I picked up this recipe from the human world. I'm wondering if you'll like it." He turns and motions towards the other room with his skull. "I made you a plate already."

She follows his gaze and notices a doorway leading into the dining room. She heads in and finds a plate of toast that has been sitting on the table. She curiously heads over and takes a seat, grabbing the fork and poking curiously at the bread. It certainly smells sweeter now that she's in front of it, and just staring at it is making her mouth water...she eagerly takes a bite and 'mmm's almost immediately at the taste. It is sweet! And it has just a little bit of syrup, cinnamon, and sugar coated on top...she begins to eat the rest mindlessly, not noticing how hungry she was.

Jack comes into the room and sits across from her, setting down his own serving. Sally notices that he's already dressed in his pinstriped suit while she remains in her pajamas. She shyly brushes her hair as he sits down, and sets her fork down as she thinks of what to say. This is their first morning they're spending together...and, already, it feels so much better. She didn't have to make breakfast, and for what awaited her that day, she had no clue. She was just relieved it wasn't chores or cleaning!

"Thank you for letting me sleep in." She tells him quietly.

"You needed the rest, with everything you've been through." He wipes his mouth with a napkin. "It is still rather early, anyway."

"Really? I'm surprised to see you awake and dressed already."

"I'm used to getting up the moment the sun rises. I have to wake early to work with the Mayor every morning."

"Oh..." She looks down and plays with her hands under the table. "I'm not taking you away from work right now, am I...?"

"Not at all! I wanted to make you something because I had a feeling you'd be wake up famished. Neither of us ate last night." He points to her plate with his fork. "How is it, by the way? Terrible?"

"The worst." She grins. "Thank you, Jack...it's delicious. I'm not really used to anyone making breakfast for me."

The memory of Finklestein making a meal for her once surfaces in her mind; the indescribable. awful food on her plate...she winces at the image. She's grateful her boyfriend knows how to cook properly. This won't be something she has to worry about every morning anymore, desperately working over the stove just so she doesn't have to worry about her disgruntled creator. The skeleton finishes his serving and sets his plate to the side.

"-Well, you might want to adjust. I enjoy cooking."

She smiles and finishes her food while the skeleton sits there, looking away in thought. It's only after her plate is empty that Sally realizes there is much to talk about with him. So much has happened yesterday, and while she already feels comfortable in this new environment, there are still other matters to handle. Ones they've neglected for awhile, and have been meaning to get around to.

"Jack, I want to thank you for everything last night, but there are other things on my mind, too." She brings up slowly. "I think we should tell the town about us already. If we don't, then me living here may look a little suspicious, or raise a lot of questions with our friends and the citizens..."

He brings his attention to her and nods. "-That's exactly what I was thinking! You and I were talking about...a meeting, weren't we? Where I called everyone for some Halloween announcement and finally tell them? I still think we should do that."

"I do, too. If only what happened with the Doctor hadn't gotten in the way..." Her gaze comes down as she mumbles quietly. "I wish he had taken it much better than he did..."

She finds his bony hand over hers, urging Sally to look up at him. The skeleton gives her an assuring smile. "What's important is that it's done with. The Doctor knows, and you're living with me now. If anything, that makes this a whole lot easier."

"Yes, that's true...he was the first one we wanted to know, anyway, wasn't it?"

"That he was. And now everyone else can! Well, besides the Band." He sits back in his seat and thinks for a moment. "I'll go ahead and schedule one today. You're going to be there, right?"

She plays with her hair, nodding slowly. "Of course I'll be."

"Great! You'll know when it is; I'll be sure to send the Mayor out to announce it. He'll be going around town soon if things go as planned."

He collects both of their plates before disappearing into the kitchen. Sally frowns and stares at the tablecloth while he's gone. She wonders how the meeting will go, and if her presence will complicate anything. She knows the females will surely be disappointed, especially the admirers of Jack. She quietly fears if any of them will take it out on her - but the better part of her thinks otherwise. Halloween Town is full of kind, generous citizens from what she's seen. They'll surely be respectful about her and Jack's relationship, won't they?

The skeleton suddenly comes back in the room, tugging at his sleeves as he lingers by the doorway. "-Well, I should be heading off, now. I need to catch up with the Mayor and explain my absence. The first thing I'll do is schedule that meeting."

She gets up from her seat and nods. "That sounds like a good idea."

He looks at her and smiles, turning to face her. "I guess I'll be seeing you there, then?"

"I guess you will."

He stand there idly before walking over to her and leaning forward. She gets the hint and raises her head slightly to kiss him. It was a gentle. And every passing second where their lips interlocked, it assured Sally that things are going to be okay. That she had absolutely nothing to worry about so long as she had this man by her side. Her best friend....her lover. They're going to get through this together, no matter how it turns out. She already feels immensely protected. Jack eventually pulls away and gives her one last smile.

"You'll be alright without me here?" She nods. "-I'm sure you know where everything is. Help yourself to anything in the meantime. I can't wait to see you again."

He heads for the door and dips his skull before leaving. As the door closes behind him, the ragdoll stares at it for a few minutes. She listens as his footsteps climb down the stairs, then silence ensues after. She clasps her hands together and squeezes them, rocking on her heels gently. Her leaves start to swell anxiously as she sits down, and she spends many minutes staring around the room hoping, quietly, that things will go alright.

#The Nightmare Before Christmas #Jack Skellington #long post #Tim Burton #Disney #Jack X Sally #Jack and Sally #Our Nightmare #fanfiction #fanfic #TNBC #Nightmare Before Christmas #Two Dearest Friends

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somberplaces · 4 years

Note

😍 aaaa

😍 – a first kiss

living with yuna became the most unique time of jayce’s life. paying rent wasn’t an issue, but he thought it might be fun to have a roommate beside his inane younger brother. especially when his landlord suggested it as a way to cut costs personally by adding a new person onto the lease. he gave his landlord the thumbs up on finding a tenant. his only request was someone neat. jayce can still recall the day he rang his landlord, asking why he chose to move a girl in. his response was that she was quick a reliable. his eager attitude for a roommate quickly dissipated as he realized he would have to be more of a gentleman than ever before.

“what if she’s like crazy hot or something?” his brother asked him the night before yuna made this place her home. “doubt it,” he said hopelessly as he sipped his beer. the next day left him absolutely stammered when he looked out the window to see the most petite, perfect girl unloading suitcases from a car. her hair was long and as smooth as silk. her eyes were beautiful and doe-like. jayce hurried to the door, helping her move all of her boxes inside of the empty bedroom. the rest was history.

almost two months had passed and they were your not-so-typical roommates. jayce is coming home before dark to fulfill promises to watch certain movies with yuna. they were sharing drinks and books. they teased each other when the sun rose and someone was feeling particularly cranky in the morning. usually jayce. unprompted, jayce would bring her home dinner. the blond marveled at their ability to coexist so peacefully. as time passed, his crush for her became feverish and blatant. he would tell her when she smelled pretty or would reach over her and grab whatever she was working for on the tip of her toes. they had gotten so cozy with one another jayce would make smug, flirtatious comments about her thighs in skirts and how they looked soft. yuna always brushed him off, reminded him that he was a silly boy, but he knew she liked it. he always saw it in her eyes or the way she’d trail into his room a few minutes later finding any excuse to talk.

two nights in a row yuna crashed in his bed. she recently started spending a tremendous amount of time in his bedroom. “your bed is more comfortable than mine,” she claimed every time before hopping up on his bed and using his tv. “yeah,” he knew it was only an excuse. the first night, she fell asleep watching one of her documentaries while jayce worked on a sudoku right next to her. he remained still on his side of the bed that night, not wanting to push things or make her uncomfortable. the next day, she treated him with more excitement than before. so when she fell asleep in his bed again, he slid his body next to hers, just letting the warmth from the proximity of their bodies heat up the bed.

night three and yuna comes stumbling into his room a while after sharing a glass of wine in the kitchen. she propped herself onto his bed, peering over at a book he had in his lap. “never read it,” she says freely. “not really your type anyway,” he spares her. the tv played quietly in the background, an old movie was on. “what are you watching?” “something old, i’m not sure.” he closes the book and turns toward her. “someone’s awfully comfortable. i guess that didn’t take long.” he laughs at her. “i’ve told you, i just like your bed a lot.” jayce felt sure that wasn’t the only reason. “and that has nothing to do with the guy that sleeps in it?” he tries to see past her passive aggressive attitude. “i mean,” yuna stumbles, jayce cuts her off. “it’s okay,” he soothes her. “i like you too.” his smile is beaming as he leans toward her. his ego is swelling with pride. he’s still baffled they’ve made it this far. “i never said i like you, jayce.” “you didn’t have to,” he rolls his eyes. his hand trails past her thigh, grazing his thumb over the skin. this was uncharted territory for the both of them. her cheeks turn pink and he can see he’s making her nervous. he’s flattered. “i think you’re only alright. you kind of sleep all day,” she tries to reclaim the power. “you like it when you’re asleep with me.” jayce chuckles. yuna huffs, her gaze isn’t direct. jayce moves his hand over her cheek, touching her slowly. their noses are nearly touching. he would like to thank the alcohol for the boost of confidence in this moment. “tell me you don’t like me, yuna and i’ll stop.” he brushes his nose against hers. she is completely quiet. jayce waits a moment, but he can feel they both want this. “i-” yuna breathes out. “just say it and i’ll back off.” his voice is low and his eyes find hers. when he sees her pleading look, he learns all he needs to know. jayce finally leans forward, grabbing her face gently and presses his lips onto hers. finally it happened and he felt like he’s been waiting from the moment she started unpacking to do that. her touch is soft yet demanding, he gives her everything she wants. not daring to part lips once until they slid away into the darkness of the night. fumbling under the blankets and kissing until the sun rose.

#wildeycs #&&. jayce x yuna.#super emo

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melyaliz · 5 years

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It’s Raining Gods

Part two of April Showers

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Loki just wanted to continue his conversation with the girl who had built a shrine to him.

Pairing: Loki x OC

Notes: The second part to a story I wrote a million years ago. This part just came to me and MAYBE there will be a third. Idk. Honestly just silly nothingness, sometimes I like just writing for the sake of writing.

All Masterlists @melyalizarchive

Connect with me! AO3 / Instagram / Pinterest

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Once upon a time, there was a girl, who met a god. Which was cool I guess, if this girl hadn’t met this god while basically creating an exhibit for him and his family. It’s like a pop star coming into your bedroom and finding your walls littered with all his posters or some actor submitting across your fan-website.

Only this god could kill you with a twitch of his eye.

Or at least turn you into a bug.

Both possibilities weren’t outside the realm of possibilities with this god.

And if anyone knew that it was April, after all, she had a master’s in it.

And that was BEFORE He had tried to take over the world, or at least New York.

So yeah, once upon a time there was a girl who met a god. And has assumed after not being killed or turned into a three-headed dog (wrong evil god) she would never see that god again.

Oh, how wrong she was.

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“Delivery for Miss April.”

A slightly pug-faced looking woman looked up face suddenly lighting up at the sight of Loki standing there holding the box. “Oh you’re new,” she said leaning on the door gently pulling down her shirt to expose just a bit more cleavage. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by Loki.

Unlike April, this girl clearly didn’t know who he was.

Good.

“I have a package here for April,” he said again.

“I can take that if you want, I’m her coworker.” the girl said leaning forward.

“I would rather deliver it to her myself,” Loki said smoothly already getting very annoyed at this woman who was standing in his way. After last week’s opening, he hadn’t been able to get the young museum's curator. She had peppered him with questions all night, eyes filled with curiosity and admiration.

And if there was one thing Loki lobed it was admiration.

The problem was he was kind of a wanted man and couldn’t quite just waltz into the museum. Especially after being noticed last time.

Although that had worked well in his favor last time.

“Well she’s working in the back room, do you want me to show you where it is? It’s kind of…”

“I’m good thanks”

Before the woman could say anything else Loki was halfway down the hall clutching the box.

“You were doing the ugly with THOR?!?” a woman’s voice stopped him in his tracks. The loud whisper was not April’s. Frowning he took a few more steps so he could get a closer look. A petite dark haired girl who was obviously pregnant was standing here waving her arms and basically jumping up and down in excitement.

Honestly, his brother wasn’t THAT exciting.

“No Carrie, his brother” April came into frame shaking her head as she handed the other girl a cup of water.

Instinctively the pregnant woman, Carrie’s, hand went to her stomach “Loki? The guy who tried to destroy New York?”

Loki rolled his eyes, of course, protect the children, evil Loki May appear at the mention of his name. Although he did come when a whole exhibit was about him so what did that say?

“Was he hot?” Both April and Loki looked at Carrie startled. Lokie smiled leaning forward, yes was he? “What,” Carrie waved away her friend’s shocked expression, “I mean he has that kind of I’m a bad boy in bed, kind of vibe. Did you guys... do it under his likeness”

Ok, he liked this woman.

“No, we didn’t do it I was more worried about him turning me into a bug or something. But yeah... he was...”

“Brother!”

Loki let out the most undignified scream as he basically jumped out of his skin. Behind him, Thor stood in a delivery uniform as well. However, his was of a competitor to Loki’s.

Of course, it was.

Both women turned at the sound and April looked like she was about to vomit.

This wasn’t happening.

Her friend, on the other hand, had a totally different reaction.

“Dude, I don’t think we can be friends anymore. You’re like… famous now.”

“I… Kill me now Carr.”

“No way I need to see what happens. HELLO BOYS!”

Both brothers turned and Thor stored right up to Carrie taking her hand.

“I am Thor Odinson and I am here to see the woman who has caught the attention of my brother.”

“Well it’s not me, the only attention I can catch is from one night stands who leave me pregnant.”

Thor stood there for a beat taking her in as if gauging his response. Leave it to Carrie to make even a god feel awkward. “I don’t know how anyone would want to leave such a beautiful woman as yourself.” was his smooth response. Guess it wasn’t that awkward.

Next to Carrie April prayed to whatever gods weren’t in this room that the ground would swallow her up whole.

Then again maybe if she prayed to the ones here there was a better chance of it happening. Since they all insisted on touching her anyway.

“We were leaving,” Loki said putting a hand on Thor trying to pull his brother away. This was NOT how this was supposed to happen. He was going to bring April an artifact from Asgard and have her tell him how cool he was while asking him a million questions about it. Not have his brother hit on some knocked up woman.

“But you haven't met April yet,” Carrie said, obviously enjoying this way more than she should. April looked from the girl back to Loki. please don't hurt her, she’s my best friend.

“April!” Thor said taking her hand in his,

“Schauer…” April said, “My parents hated me.”

“Well April Schauer it is so fascinating to meet you, I hear you are quite an expert on our history.”

“As it is told on earth,” April said, her eyes glancing from the large blonde man to his brother. Just waiting for all of this to go horribly wrong.

Or more wrong than it already was.

“She’s just being modest.” Carrie said, “It’s amazing, already won several awards or whatever these nerds call it. Come on I’ll show you.”

Thor held his arm out for Carrie, “Lead the way…”

“Carrie Fan, my parents didn’t hate me,” Carrie said taking his arm “Or they didn’t until this,” she said motioning to her swollen stomach as she lead the god of thunder toward the exhibit leaving Loki and April in the office. It was after Carrie had disappeared that April noticed the box that Loki was gripping so tightly she wondered how it hadn’t broken yet. Maybe some sort of magic?

“Is that the coins you promised me the night of the opening?”

“Yes”

“May I?” she asked holding out her hands to take the box. He shoved them toward her before crossing his arms frustration building. This was ridiculous. How did Thor even know he was here? He had not even mentioned her to anyone.

“I honestly didn’t assume you would. Or even come back really” April said as she opened the box. Her eyes focused on the contents of the box and not on the god of mischief.

That was when he realized he had said that allowed.

“These are amazing,” April gushed putting on a glove before picking one up, “the intricate detailing are beautiful. I know just where to put these.” She looked up at him with a large smile, “Thank you.”

It was stupid, and Loki later just told himself he was only doing this because he liked how interested she was in him, but at that moment he felt like his heart speed up just for a second.

“So while Carrie distracts your brother, last time you were here you were telling me about the time you talked your brother into dressing up as a bride to take down an enemy?”

“Yes, it was all my idea actually and while I could have very easily been the one I mean... “

“God of Mischief, Also the image on Thor in a bridal dress seems too good to pass up.”

“Exactly.”

Once upon a time, there was a girl, who met a god. And the while everyone said that god was a scary monster she found him to be very agreeable company.

And also didn’t turn her into a bug. No matter how many questions she asked him.��

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Loki: @wayward-hell

#Loki #loki laufeyson #Loki fanfic #loki x reader #Loki x oc #loki x you #Loki reader #Loki oc #Loki fluff #thor odinson #Thor oc #Thor x reader #Thor x oc #Thor reader #marvel fanfic #Marvel oc #my writing #april showers

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