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captain-aralias · 3 years

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Fic’s finished - here’s some trivia!

Includes:

References to 90s RomComs

Writerly ephemera

Baz’s wardrobe / Simon’s wardrobe

A deleted scene

90s RomComs

In the prompt, Liz mentioned Four Weddings and a Funeral and My Best Friend’s Wedding. (And The Proposal, which honestly I’ve never seen, even though now I’m thinking I should.) I didn’t really go with the vibes because I wanted to do a break up, but I put at least one reference to these films in every chapter. For fun.

He was the love of my life. My North, my South, my East and West. (Chapter 1)

It also, horrifyingly, sounds a lot like that awful song Daphne made us listen to earlier. I can’t laugh, and I can’t sing. (Chapter 2)

The whole ‘forgot the rings’ thing is reference enough

I like him dressed for weddings. (Chapter 3)

He crosses his arms. Pretends to be unmoved, even when half the bar joins in (I tipped Shepard off) (he thought the plan was brilliant) even the lobsters. They’re waving their claws in the air. (Chapter 4 - the only reference to My Best Friend’s Wedding)

“The boy’s a liar,” someone barks from behind me. “Tyrannus Pitch has been dead sixty years and good riddance.” (Chapter 5)

“Simon,” I say. “I do.” (Chapter 5)

Writerly Ephemera

Amy had this lovely idea a few months ago: Find bits of yourself that you gave to your fiction (memories and places and phrases and things into our stories).

Usually, there’s hardly any of my life in my fic, but I stole a few bits and pieces for this fic:

My father got re-married when I was at university. I like his wife, but I barely knew her then - I just knew, she’s the woman my dad left my mum for! He asked me to choose a reading and I had literally no idea what to pick. Retrospectively, I should have said no, you choose, but anyway. I chose a bit of Jeeves & Wooster where Bertie talks about wanting to get married for some reason - both my aunts loved it, the married couple were completely bemused. No idea what I was on about.

Also, their recessional music was Whitney Houston. The theme from The Bodyguard. I’d originally written this as the Spice Girls, since Daphne would have grown up in the 90s, but then I thought of the end of Chapter 2 joke, and I was like - going to troll my father from this gay fanfiction, I guess.

It was really hot when I was writing Chapter 3. That’s why it’s very hot in this chapter.

Simon and Baz choose not to get married at the end of this fic - not yet anyway. In part, because I didn’t want to re-do Golden Years, in part because that’s the end of Four Weddings, and in part because I feel a bit like I’ve written Baz in this fic. I thought I liked weddings, until I thought about it properly ... (N.B. I think actual Baz totally wants to marry Simon, btw, and Simon longs for an official family. But I had to get to my ending, so here we are.)

Baz’s wardrobe

You can still buy a very similar McQueen blazer if you like. Which I like even more. It’s completely not my vibe - unlike the Harry Styles Gucci below, which definitely is – and it’s a thousand pounds, but several times during this fic, I thought... I mean, maybe?

There’s no reference for the burgundy suit - I just wanted it.

Simon’s wardrobe

He’s wearing the Leaver’s Ball outfit at Jamie & Beth’s wedding, followed by a suit that has no reference, but is based - in my mind - on one from RooBadley’s Use Your Words

I consulted Roo about Simon’s wardrobe for this fic - for one summer wedding, one winter wedding. They gave me these:

I really liked this second suit for Simon - so much that when I remembered Simon was the best man in Chapter 5 and should probably be wearing some sort of matching outfit with Shepard, I was like... to hell with it. He’s wearing this!!!

I switched the green for undyed linen. Roo and I also had this conversation, which I wanted to use in the fic but never managed to fit in.

aralias i'm just reading in the gentleman's gazette that it's actually OK for linen to be creased

RooBadley

I would very much love for this to be a fact that Lady Ruth reassures Simon with and Simon then repeats to Baz his one bit of fashion knowledge

aralias "the really pronounced characteristic wrinkles of linen are a sign of a sophisticated casual style, actually, Baz"

RooBadley Baz: Shall I spell those wrinkles out for you, Snow? Simon: Actually, creasing is fine and acceptable when wearing linen, Baz. Though'd you'd have known that. ~smirk~

aralias i like the way this dude has rolled up the trousers too - it's not a safari, it's hipster

Deleted scene:

After the success (I think) of the end of chapter 1, I started to think ‘maybe every chapter will end with some texting!!!’

I started writing this conversation for the end of chapter 2 before I’d finished it - almost unheard of - but then I decided I hated it. Very info-dumpy. I kept the homo-positive joke, as you can see, even though I’m not sure it deserves to be kept. 😂

“HOLY MORGANA. penny just told me.”

“I know. She called me as well. It’s some sort of visa thing, I think. And she thinks it will be helpful in negotiating back all the children he’s bartered away, if she can tell people she’s his wife and has a claim on them.”

“it was more romantic when penny told me about it. shepard asked me to be his best man.”

“Oh dear. Are he and Bunce going to fight over you?”

“obviously not. penny’s a woman.”

“So? I’m going to be Fiona’s Best Man. Or Man of Honour – whatever the term is.”

“yeah, but that’s different.”

“How? Choose your words carefully, Snow.”

“I mean, because fiona doesn’t have any other friends & her sister is dead (sorry). who the fuck would she pick if not you? penny asked her sister.”

“Oh. I thought you meant because I was gay. And like to wear flowers.”

“wtf. no. i’m not homophobic. i’m LITERALLY homo … positive. (is that a thing?)”

“I think you can just say gay.”

“i’m not gay, tho”

“Right. Well, this is awkward.”

“why?”

“baz? you know i don’t know what i am. and you know it doesn’t matter, because the only person I want to be with is YOU. even tho you’re a touchy bastard.”

“man of honour suits you. you should go with that.”

“Best man doesn’t suit *you* at all.”

“fuck off.”

“are you going to come to penny’s wedding?”

“Yes. Even now I know you’re helping organise it. Do you want to come to Fiona’s?”

“fuck no. she tried to kill me. unless you want me to. i’ll go if you want me to. i’ll even buy her a gift”

“I would like you to be there.”

“all right. send me the invite.”

that’s all, folks!

Four Funereal Weddings and an American Stag Do

#carry on #awtwb spoilers #my fic #my deleted scenes #my content

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nothinggold13 · 3 years

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Peter the High King

“By his own words, he is Peter first. [...] When the people called him Magnificent, he still begged in quiet repetition to be called Peter.”

A thought in 25 parts.

Dedicated to @awfullybigwardrobe44 for being my editor & also listening to me rant about this analysis for the last month, as I got way too excited about the phrase “Peter the High King.”

I. "That [...] is Cair Paravel of the four thrones, in one of which you must sit as King. I show it to you because you are the first-born and you will be High King over all the rest." [The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe]

It is one thing to be King; it is another to be High King over others. The distinction is lost on Peter. He is still just a kid, and he has not yet tasted his first blood. All he knows is that he will look after his brother and sisters. He is, after all, the first born; it only makes sense that he will lead the other children. There is no fear. In the moment, he feels it plainly.

II. "And Peter became a tall and deep-chested man and a great warrior, and he was called King Peter the Magnificent."

In his eyes, “Magnificent” is an unexpected and undeserved title. For all he is, and all he is seen to be, he is still, in his heart, just Peter. He finds no love for the war that has made him into a warrior. Fears he had once never imagined have long since become his constant companions. But Peter is a King. Like all his duties, he bears this one well. There is peace in springtime, and there is joy in peace. Peter still breathes. Peter still believes. The people still call him Magnificent.

III. "And in a few years, if all goes well, King Peter has promised your royal father that he himself will make you Knight at Cair Paravel." [The Horse and His Boy]

The boy Shasta does not know the King Peter the Faun speaks of. He does not even know enough to recognize both the respect and familiar affection with which the Faun speaks. Tumnus knows the High King well, after all—as does Corin, who the Faun thinks he is speaking to. They know the High King well enough that there is no need to refer to him as such. They may call him King Peter, but only “King.” The title remains out of love and humble admiration, but his name stands firm out of deeper love and friendship. There is no need to call him “the High King,” as others do, and there is no need to call him “Magnificent.” They are familiar with him. They are family. He may as well, in their eyes, just be Peter.

IV. "For though the fancy of a woman has rejected this marriage, the High King Peter is a man of prudence and understanding who will in no way wish to lose the high honour and advantage of being allied to our House and seeing his nephew and grand nephew on the throne of Calormen."

If Peter could hear these words, he would laugh before settling into the depths of his anger. In all the conversation between Rabadash and his father, Peter’s name has never been mentioned. He has been, in their discussion, a nameless, vague, and distant figure. “The High King of Narnia,” they say, “their High King, not ours.” But now Rabadash risks his name, almost as if it’s an appeal; almost as if Peter is listening in after all. There is little cold in the warmth of the High King, but few have heard a laugh as cold as the one Peter would give at this. The inanity of the Calormene Prince’s words would amuse him before they enraged him; for in all his years as High King, Peter has never heard anyone misuse his name so badly.

V. "For though my brother, Peter the High King, defeated the Tisroc a dozen times over, yet long before that day our throats would be cut[...]"

Edmund gets it right. He often does. “My brother,” he says first. “Peter,” he says second. The familiar comes before his title. And Edmund knows, of course, that even if he’s just Peter - even if he’s the High King second - Peter will not suffer such an injustice. If “the High King Peter” is a prudent man, “Peter the High King” is a genuine one. In love and in brotherhood, Peter will always protect his siblings - or, Aslan forbid it, avenge them. He is and ever will be Peter first. He is and ever will be their brother.

VI. "For the truth was that in that golden age when the Witch and the Winter had gone and Peter the High King ruled at Cair Paravel, the smaller woodland people of Narnia were so safe and happy that they were getting a little careless."

This is how the legend starts: In the Golden Age of Narnia, the people were safe and happy. This is how the legend starts, before it is twisted and gilded and lost. In the Golden Age of Narnia, Peter is High King. Perhaps no one notices, but the narrative frames him as he wants to be framed: Peter first. His name comes first. He is a person before he is a king or a myth or a hero. This is how the legend starts, but the narrative is lost when the people need heroes instead.

VII. "’If I had but my cordial with me,’ Queen Lucy was saying, ‘I could soon mend this. But the High King has so strictly charged me not to carry it commonly to the wars and to keep it only for great extremities!’"

Here lies the cost of the title. Lucy doesn’t know the weight Peter took upon himself the day he told her not to carry the cordial into battle. Lucy can’t understand it. Not yet. But Peter has seen the hurt it has caused her to make terrible choices on fields of blood; the devastation she experiences each time she saves one and loses another. Peter is the High King because he needs to be - because someone needs to be - because he is the oldest. The High King must lead the others. The High King must protect the others. So Peter takes the choice away, and with it, he hopes, the hurt.

VIII. "And Lucy told again [...] the tale of the Wardrobe and how she and King Edmund and Queen Susan and Peter the High King had first come into Narnia."

You wouldn’t know it to listen to her, but Lucy doesn’t remember the tale so well on her own. The details of their coming are blanketed in snow; even to Lucy, the story sounds more like a fairy tale than history. But she knows well that among fairy tales, some truths still stand. There are truths like hope; like how the White Witch’s winter is all but forgotten in these peaceful days, but is remembered for the hope in the wide eyes of the young girl who saw it as a wonderland rather than a curse. Even now in Lucy, that hope remains. There are truths like change; like how the betrayal of a boy once desperate for affection became the groundwork for a king to grow in justice. Though all know Edmund is no traitor now, they know it is these past missteps and mistakes that have made him wise. There are truths like courage; like the queen who followed Aslan to his death, yet does not fight in wars. Courage exists in gentleness, in dedication, and in love, and Susan shows them this every day. There are truths like the death and resurrection of the Great Lion, which remains forever the source of salvation for all of Narnia — not for only one. And, perhaps least of all, another truth remains in the fact that Peter is still Peter. The High King was a boy once, and somewhere in their hearts, he is a boy still. It’s funny how as Lucy tells the tale, her beloved older brother takes the form of a brave, terrified child. He is in all their minds a warrior and protector, yet they can see him clearly even at the beginning. It’s funny, but it’s real.

IX. "'It is my sword Rhindon,' he said; 'with it I killed the Wolf.' There was a new tone in his voice, and the others all felt that he was really Peter the High King again." [Prince Caspian]

He is Peter first, when they look at him. His voice is far from mythic. It is Peter’s voice; the voice of man and boy and king and brother. They are reminded by the name of Rhindon how the Wolf’s blood was shed by unwanted bravery - an unwilling thrust. Rhindon is not the sword of a fearless warrior; it is the sword of a dutiful knight. Susan and Edmund and Lucy have never known the legendary Magnificent King. They’ve only known Peter.

X. "But at least you can try to be a King like the High King Peter of old, and not like your uncle."

Peter becomes a fairy tale in the eyes of the frightened Prince. The legendary High King - over all Kings of Narnia, under only Aslan - is, all at once, an idol. Brave and benevolent and wise, he is something to be striven for. The High King Peter is king first, man second. The stories paint him in golden light, and in the damaged remnants of copied portraits in Cornelius’ study, he appears to wear more a halo than a crown.

XI. "It may have the power to call Queen Lucy and King Edmund and Queen Susan and High King Peter back from the past, and they will set all to rights."

There is an old rhyme about Adam’s flesh and bone. There is another about the returning of spring. Few remember the latter, it seems, as a new Son of Adam comes of age. Faith is put on the heads of four children. But Peter remembers well, if he could only be asked, that it is by Aslan’s teeth and mane and blood that the earth is reawakened. It is He that will set all to rights, not the ancient Sons and Daughters. Peter remembers well, though the horn has not yet called for him. Peter remembers well, though when he comes, no one will ask.

XII. "’I'd much rather not have to vote.’ // ‘You're the High King,’ said Trumpkin sternly.”

The decision is placed in his hands, and the weight of it on his shoulders. It is clear by Trumpkin’s tone that he is not looking for majority rule; if the party were split unevenly, Trumpkin would still make the High King choose. Peter never asked to choose. “You’re the High King,” he’s told, and the words scold him, remind him, immortalize him. It shouldn’t be his decision. Peter once trusted Lucy more than he trusted himself. Peter once trusted Aslan more than all his siblings put together. He knows this, but he can’t see Aslan now. In fear, Peter votes to go down. Lucy cries.

XIII. "If you all go, of course, I'll go with you; and if your party splits up, I'll go with the High King. That’s my duty to him and King Caspian."

Peter doesn’t know what scares him the most about this. Two things have been made clear. The first is that Trumpkin, even if not maliciously, would leave the others alone. He would leave them behind, if Peter led him to. Lucy is 9, and Edmund just turned 11. Susan shivers even without cold. They look little like the Queens and King they used to be. And all at once, even if he has no other reason, Peter will follow Lucy in spite of reason. He can’t leave them alone. In spite of himself, in spite of his fears, he will follow. For that is his second - and perhaps greater - fear: when they make it to Caspian, he will still be alone. He sees it clearly. Trumpkin has decided that it is not the four ancient sovereigns on which the fate of Narnia rests. Now it lies on only one. Trumpkin will go with the High King, he says. Peter wonders now whether that means he will be followed or dragged.

XIV. "It's the High King, King Peter."

As he is introduced to the young King Caspian, Peter flinches at each word. They land at first like blows; clumsy punches, but painful all the same. Then, Peter realizes, they settle like cuts instead. He wonders how many it would take to bleed out. He sees the depth of it now. He is Peter last, in the eyes of the Old Narnians. They don’t want Peter; they want the mythical High King of old. So that is how they introduce him: “It’s the High King,” they say first. Second, they call him “King” again. And then tacked on to the end of his title, as if it were specification rather than identity, is his name.

XV. “’You say, Caspian, we are not strong enough to meet Miraz in pitched battle.’ // ‘I'm afraid not, High King,’ said Caspian.”

Every time Peter looks at Caspian, he is painfully aware that Caspian is just a boy. Every time he looks at Caspian, he is reminded that he, himself, is just a boy. Caspian has not figured it out yet. In the wide eyes of the future king, Peter is a mythic hero. It is no wonder he is awestruck. Yet when Peter looks at the other boy, he addresses him by name. Names are a kindness. The kindness is not returned. It is not Peter they look to; the Old Narnians have made it clear that it is the High King that will save them. He yearns to shout that he cannot, to have it out of his hands, to tell them that Aslan will save them instead. But, as always, he swallows these fears. He has a solution, after all. Confused child though he is, he’s already come up with a solution. He could never leave them wanting. The Narnians have hung their hopes on him, and he hopes, in turn, that his answer will buy them time until Aslan acts. They cannot all fight. They cannot face Miraz in battle. So Peter does all he can do, and lets them bleed him dry instead.

XVI. "Peter, by the gift of Aslan, by election, by prescription, and by conquest, High King over all Kings in Narnia, Emperor of the Lone Islands and Lord of Cair Paravel, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion…”

It slips from his tongue as if rehearsal has become nature. By his own words, he is Peter first. Always, he is Peter first. By the gift of Aslan, he is all other titles, but even his most beloved titles are secondary to him. When the people called him Magnificent, he still begged in quiet repetition to be called Peter.

XVII. "There's a man for you! Uses his enemy's arm as a ladder. The High King! The High King! Up, Old Narnia!"

There is a secret here; a secret so old and buried that even Peter himself has almost forgotten it. Because the secret is, for all his fear and doubt and unworthiness, Peter loves his title as a part of him. The rousing cheers of Trumpkin remind him. He knows once more what it is to be High King: it is his greatest burden, but in equal measure, it is his greatest gift. The Narnians rise up with him. The Narnians’ strength is his strength. The High King is just Peter, but Peter is the High King.

XVIII. "But the other creatures all cheered and rose up in honour of Peter the High King, and Queen Susan of the Horn, and King Edmund and Queen Lucy."

When they rise up for the Kings and Queens, they rise up for Peter. It’s like forgiveness, almost, for being man instead of myth; permission to be a boy instead of a man. He does not feel the weight of his title here and now. The memory of the crown he once wore feels, in this moment, more like the flower chains Lucy used to place atop his head. In their cheers, Peter feels that even in the Narnians’ adoring eyes, he is Peter first. The High King will be remembered. Memory, however, is no longer legend.

XIX. "'I've never understood why they belong to Narnia,' said Caspian. 'Did Peter the High King capture them?'" [The Voyage of the Dawn Treader]

Edmund and Lucy don’t know why these words feel as fresh as the sea air, but neither can deny that they feel even more at home now that Caspian has said them. They don’t know how Caspian first referred to their brother, and they don’t know how it was wrong. They don’t know the way Caspian said “High King,” as if Peter were modelled in precious metal. Caspian does not see him that way any longer. Time and memory change things. Perhaps they make idols out of men, but they can, in fact, turn gold and stone into flesh again. Edmund and Lucy don’t know, but they don’t have to know. It’s enough to feel. In love, Peter comes first again. In love, they know when it is right. And so the air is clear when their brother’s name is said, and wounds are healed in a world far away.

XX. "I am one of the four ancient sovereigns of Narnia and you are under allegiance to the High King my brother."

The words are flung like stones, and Edmund knows not what he does. This is, in the end, Peter’s fear. “High King” is a title easily weaponized by greed and pride, and now Edmund clings to it even though it isn’t his to possess. It’s not his fault; Magic is often stronger than loyalty, and sometimes even loyalty doesn’t know it’s own rules. The words are a grievous error, but no one knows to correct them. As Edmund argues with Caspian - both still children beneath all their growth - Peter is thrown under their feet. He is nameless in pride. He becomes Edmund’s brother secondly, and only that so Edmund can lay claim to what he desires. It’s an unintended betrayal. No one will remember it. Magic is often stronger than anger, too.

XXI. "That look is in the face of all true kings of Narnia, who rule by the will of Aslan and sit at Cair Paravel on the throne of Peter the High King." [The Silver Chair]

The High King’s throne is not a physical place; Cair Paravel has long since fallen to ruin and been rebuilt on the coast. Peter never sat in the throne that sits there now… but it is his throne still. In the figure of the High King there still lies a truth which can never and must never be lost in the kingdom of Narnia. For all the ages that lie between them, the throne is still his. Yet the comparison does not lie in that figure; it lies instead in the person. The legend has changed; the narrative has ordered itself after him once again. Memory does not recall a mythic High King, crowned in gold and light. Instead, memory falls on a soft boy who grew into a good man. Memory falls on the flesh and bone rather than steel and gold. Memory falls on Peter.

XXII. "I charge you in the name of Aslan, speak to me. I am Peter the High King." [The Last Battle]

It has been said that who he is always comes first, and what he is always comes second. Sometimes that is only partly true. Sometimes there are names and titles of greater importance and truer power which must come first. As Peter clenches his fist and screws up his courage, it is to Aslan’s name he clings. As Peter asks the vision in front of him to speak, it is to Aslan’s power he appeals. And when, at the end of his address, he does mention his own name, it is not from a place of authority. It is a plea. “I am Peter,” he begs, “Peter the High King. You can trust me. You can speak to me.”

XXIII. “‘Sire,’ said Jill coming forward and making a beautiful curtsey, ‘let me make known to you Peter the High King over all Kings in Narnia.’”

To be High King means and has always meant many things to Peter. He’s 9 years older, now, than when he was first given the title, and he has lived 24 years since then. He barely remembers how in those first days it hardly carried any weight at all. It had been, at the time, his natural role. For him to take that responsibility had just made sense. But Peter feels it heavier now — he feels everything heavier. The weight of the crown has never left his mind, even after nearly a decade. Peter hadn’t known in those moments Aslan first spoke to him — when he first promised him all of this — what it would be to be King, let alone a king over others. Peter knows now, and he knows well. It is the weight of a world; it is blood and sweat and tears; it is the sting of the sword, and the crack of the whip on his own flesh. It is the crash of the ocean, and the salt on the table. It is the lilt of the music echoing through empty palace halls. It is the rhythm of dancing feet, and laughter through open windows, and the patterns in the stars. And, above all, it is not a burden; for all the hurt, it is instead a promise. Peter is the High King, and always will be. The High King is a boy named Peter.

XXIV. “Tirian had no need to ask which was the High King, for he remembered his face (though here it was far nobler) from his dream.”

And it lifts: the heart, the music, the feet, the head. Everything lifts. The heaviest weights mean little in the end. The heaviest weights are worth it all to bear. And Peter is noble now, isn’t he? He is noble to his brother and sister - maybe even to the sister who won’t admit to any of it. He is noble to the friends who seat him at the head of the table. He is noble even in the eyes of a king who bore weights Peter never did. Peter lifts the other king off his knees. Eyes lift. Everything lifts. The weights are lifted off.

XXV. "'Peter, High King of Narnia,' said Aslan. 'Shut the Door.'"

It is to Peter that the command is given: it’s given to the boy who faltered, who doubted: to the boy on his knees. It is Peter, after all, who slayed the wolf, well before he held any title. And yet, as always, his title follows. Once more, Peter will do that which only the High King can. Once more, Peter will serve. Once more, Peter will obey. Even if he falters, or doubts, or falls again to his knees, he will do what he has been charged to do. The door will shut. The key will turn. The weight will be forgotten. It is understood. Peter trusts now; trusts in a reason for his crown and his calling; trusts Aslan even where he didn’t before. There is no fear. In the moment, he feels it plainly.

#narnia #the chronicles of narnia #peter pevensie #the lion the witch and the wardrobe #prince caspian #the last battle #he is Peter the High King #not the High King Peter

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letmewritemylife · 4 years

Text

Russian Winter Never Ends

For warmth, you'll be longing, nightingale. - Within Temptation (Ice Queen)

A/N A new baby joins the gang.

TRIGGER WARNINGS Implied torture

Sandra rushes down the hallway, heading to the garage on the other side of the building. If she has to be honest, the idea of getting rid of her children once and for all crossed her mind before she left the room, but then she remembered about someone else. Someone who had taken advantage of her friendship with Jonas Feige to betray them all. Because it doesn't matter how many times Jonas blames Shinn for the events of a few months before, Sandra knows for a matter of fact it was not her to bring Lara back to life in the wrong place.

"I don't know, Popova," Jonas shakes his head slowly. "We're already short on money and to be honest I don't really see how bringing her back could help us." Twirling his father's pen in his hands, the man looks up at Katrina.

She steps away from the wall she was leaning against and crosses her arms. "Your father would not agree with you."

His face turns darker. "My father never agreed with me on anything, but I was always right and you know that." He smirks for a moment. "Even Houghton is on my side."

Katrina doesn't flinch. "She's with you only because you're easier to manipulate," she thinks, stepping forward. "And she's absolutely right on this point." "Think about it, Jonas," she says. "Think about what will happen if this works." The man's imagination is already going wild and the smug smile on his face is the proof of it, but she doesn't stop. "Think about the fame, the money, the respect. We'll take a million-dollar project and bring it back by our side."

Jonas lets out a laugh as he gets up, hands on the dark wooden desk. "We've already tried, but she preferred death over us."

"That is no problem at all," she answers promptly, so invested in her speech that her thick Russian accent slips out. "Take one of those serums for memory loss Anderson is working on and the question is solved."

He nods with a smirk. "You know what, Popova? You're right," he says. "Would you mind leading this project?"

She thinks it through for a moment. No, it's too dangerous, Sandra may suspect something. "I could never steal such a honour from you," she replies with a light smirk painted on her red lips. "And this is how I pay my debt, Lee."

The knife plants in the wooden wardrobe perfectly, precisely hitting the point Katrina was aiming at. She sighs and gets up to collect her weapon, boredom written on her face. At least the screams coming from the adjoining room have stopped. The worst thing isn't even having to listen to all those agents (or victims, as Katrina calls them) being tortured and brainwashed over and over until they're nothing but a corpse walking around. The worst thing is knowing one of her closest friends is there, taking part against her will in the worst projects ever conceived, Project 79.

The door is slammed open and three agents enter right while Katrina is staring absently at her knife. "Room 101," one barks and the other two jump towards her, immobilizing her and dragging her out of the bedroom.

Room 101 is freezing cold, water dripping down a pipe on the ceiling. Katrina studies her surroundings like a wild animal in a cage, throwing a few deadly glances to the three agents sitting before her. And they all wait in silence, the only sound is that of the water drops falling on the floor tiles.

Then the door is slammed open and crashes against the wall. "Apparently no one in this goddamn building gives a f*ck about plaster," Katrina thinks while an annoyed grimace forms on her face at the sight of Sandra Houghton.

Sandra's lips, on the other side, are painted with a smug smirk as her gaze moves between Katrina chained to a chair and the variety of knives and torture tools on the nearby table. She sits down in front of her and takes a small blade, turning it over in her hands. She touches the top of the blade, applying just enough pressure for a small droplet of blood to fall down her fingers and on the floor. Her gaze moves from her own hand to Katrina's face and she gets up, her hands on her hips. "Tell me, Popova," she starts, "have you ever read Orwell?" The spy shakes her head slowly. "You have to know, then, that Room 101 is a very special room where criminals face their worst fears and nightmares." She takes a step forward and kneels in front of her. "But unfortunately, I don't have the ability to know your darkest fears." A grin forms on her mouth. "Or do I?" She suddenly gets up and turns to one of the agents. "Bring here Agent 225, I have a new mouse for her to play with."

Two weeks have passed. Lara turns another page, sighing heavily at the insane amount of information she hasn't even read yet. It's like the knowledge that Sandra could come any moment and put her brother's life at risk has taken away all her ability to focus. She closes the book and sets it to the side, throwing a quick glance to Stephen reading his usual volumes about magic on the other side of the Sanctum library. She gets up just in time for her phone to start ringing. She picks up the call and heads out of the room, careful not to disturb the much more concentrated sorcerer. It seems to be the same informer who told her about her brother. His metallic voice echoes on the other side of Lara's phone. "1623 Avenue Y, Brooklyn. It's a deadly important base. You have one hour and a half." Then the call ends.

Lara and Jonathan get out of the car. She parked a few blocks away from the given address, "for safety reasons." As Jonathan often says, she worries more about her car than her personal safety. There's no one around and the building, despite not being in some suburb area forsaken by God, seems completely abandoned. Lara kicks the door open, in front of her nothing but dust and old furniture. And partially broken stairs. The informer promised a base, but that in front of them seems abandoned. "You go upstairs, I stay on this floor," Jonathan says before putting a hand in the pocket where he has his gun and heading down the short hallway. Lara nods and rushes up the stairs, carefully looking around herself.

She slowly enters a room, the wooden door cracking. Her attention is immediately drawn away by a loud noise coming from downstairs and she turns back. Then an arm wraps around her waist and she feels something cold pressed against her neck. Before she can find out what that thing is, she kicks her opponent in the shin and twists their arm. Her eyes fall for a second on the taser now on the ground, on its side a small plate with "Agent 173" written on it, just in time for a punch to reach her jaw.

Lara stumbles backwards and meets the sight of a pair of ice blue eyes set on her face, the rest of her opponent's face covered by a black mask. She courses under her breath before another punch hits her stomach. She elbows her opponent in the face and bends down to reach the taser, which she then activates and presses against the other's neck.

While the agent is still on the ground, she rushes out of the room and down the stairs, almost colliding with Jonathan, a trail of blood under his nose. "There are some agents down there and-" He stops to inspect her body. "Are you okay?" He asks concerned.

She nods before someone starts shooting at them from the opposite side of the hallway. He wraps his fingers tightly around her wrist and drags her downstairs. The two hide behind a corner. He takes out his gun and is about to shoot at whoever is on the other side, but she stops him, lowering his weapon. "The agent," she whispers, "I know her." Upon his confused expression, she continues. "Just- let me try to talk to her."

Jonathan shakes his head and hands her his gun. "But keep this, I don't trust your 'friend'."

She smiles and steps into the corridor, the gun pointed at the other's head. She smirks at the woman in front of her. "You really should make up your mind about whether you want me dead or not."

The only answer she gets is a deep growl, followed by the woman launching forward and punching her in the face. Lara stops her attack, shoving her gun down her pocket to better fight. She avoids another punch and tears the mask off the woman's mouth, her eyes meeting the sight of Katrina's face. She's about to say something, but the Russian woman pushes her away, making the gun fall out of her pocket. Lara quickly gets up and kicks her hand, the gun sliding on the opposite side of the room. Her second kick is redirected on the close wardrobe, whose door shatters in a hundred small shards. Ignoring her failed attack, she pushes Katrina on the floor with a knee to her stomach and a punch, immobilizing her hands above her head.

Lara looks down at Katrina, a deep cut along her pale cheek and her lips cracked. Finally her eyes widen when they see the tracker on the woman's neck, a blue light blinking. Maybe she was wrong, maybe Katrina did decide whether she should live or not, but someone didn't agree with her.

Before she can even process it, Katrina pulls a knee to her crotch and rolls them both, the witch now pressed under the spy. "Мне жаль*," she mouths, as if she didn't want to be heard by anyone else.

As Katrina raises a gun to her head, Lara feels a knot forming in her throat. She doesn't care about her safety, all she's concerned about right now is her friend (can she call her a friend? She's not so sure about it) because she's being forced to do it all for reasons she doesn't know. What hurts the most is Lara knows perfectly she would have ended up like her if she had not been dragged out of her messed up state of mind by Stephen and Wong. Reaching for a shard of wood not far from her, she pushes it deep into the spy's neck. Actually, into the device on her neck.

Katrina feels a weak power discharge through her body, nothing compared to the punches she's received the day before. She shyly moves a hand to cup her skin right under her jaw, a now useless, bloodstained tracker falling on her fingers. She is about to look up, but before she can say anything her back meets the wooden floor, pushing air out of her lungs.

Lara, now standing upright, looks at her confused expression. "Thank you for everything," she says, her gaze set on her face and a grateful smile appearing on her lips, before she rushes to the room where her brother is supposed to be.

Katrina waits a second, two, three, four seconds, expecting to feel something curse through her body and tell her they've done it, they've kept their promise. "One of your friends shall die, you get to choose which one." As if there was any doubt in Katrina's mind. It didn't matter how many times that mindless corpse was told to kick the life out of her, Katrina would always choose her. And she did. And she does. And the safest thing to do for her, for Katrina, for everyone is letting go. "Lee will find her," she thinks.

She gets up and throws the tracking device against the wall, a sense of freedom and lightness filling her. No amount of alcohol has ever made her feel so high. She runs out of the building, still trying to convince herself it's not a dream and she's finally free.

Lara plops into the closest empty armchair, her laptop on her legs, and mindlessly stares at the screen, scrolling through the hundreds of emails and random messages. "Don't need a fridge. Can't go to Scotland, I'm broke. Don't care about hot singles in my area. And I don't want to buy a new car goddamn! And when did I search for goth shoes? What are you even using my data for?" She collapses against the soft seat, sighing loudly as she deletes a long list of spam messages. As her hand reaches for the cup of black coffee on the nearby table, her eyes fall on a new notification appearing on the screen. New email from [email protected]. Without hesitation, she opens the document.

"I'm just writing you this because I owe you an explanation and, most importantly, an apology. I'm sorry, I'm deeply sorry I left all those years ago.

Our relationship has never been the best and, honestly, most of the time I haven't insulted you just because of Elize. So when she… well… after that, I had no apparent reason to still stay with you. Until I saw what those events had done to you. And then I felt powerless, like there was nothing I could do for you. You know I tried to prevent you from falling for that guy, Main, but you wouldn't listen. And I could have done more, a lot more, but I only understood it after I left, after you helped me leave. And I'm sorry. I should have stayed when you needed me to. I should have not let him get inside your head.

When you died, I was there, helping Jonas and your mother kill Feige. As soon as I found out you were gone too, I promised myself to pay my debt. And I brought you back. You were supposed to land in an Agency X lab, but I changed the coordinates for your landing spot, then I found out where your friend lived and sent him to your house. Finally I started giving you small hints, showing you the way, starting with giving your spy friend a message she would for sure give you. But I suppose you'd already figured this out.

I can't stay here in America anymore, it's not safe. I don't know where I will go, but you don't have to worry, I'll find a place. Before I go, I have to ask you one last favour. Please, please, don't stop running after your mother. She's out of control and way more dangerous than that idiot of Jonas could ever be. There are things going on, things you can't even imagine. I can't tell you everything because I don't know anything else, but keep an eye on a guy called Mitch Anderson and his Project 79. And stop this madness. Please.

Thank you for everything,

Kat."

Leaning back, Lara smiles softly, a warm feeling mixed with a sweet melancholy filling her chest. Yes, she will go on fighting the Agency. And she will do everything in her power to stop it all. She has to. She wants to.

Her lips are still turned upwards when she opens her mouth to whisper something. "Удачи катрина**." She means it, she really does.

*Мне жаль -> I'm sorry.

**Удачи катрина -> Good luck Katrina.

#lara johnson #agata varano #scar #marvel #mcu #oc #writing #original character #mcu fiction #oc fiction #russian winter never ends #stephen strange x original character

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imagine-loki · 6 years

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Our Little Secrets

TITLE: Our Little Secrets CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter One AUTHOR: a7xing-forever ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine having a close enough friendship with Loki that you can share literally any secret without fear of judgment or of trust being broken. RATING: T+ NOTES/WARNINGS: Consumption and mention of alcohol.

I had a lot of fun imagining this scenario, and I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing! I’m not sure if this will be a one shot or a full on series yet. I’d love to hear your opinions <3

Read it on AO3 here

It was the height of winter and a bitterly cold evening at the compound. No matter how many layers you wore, the cold always somehow managed to seep through and nip at your skin.

Of course the heating system had to malfunction as soon as Tony had left the building along with the others for a mission. The worst part was that contacting any of the crew was forbidden to prevent jeopardising the mission. You were only allowed to make contact if the situation was life threatening and with the compound now the perfect temperature to be one huge fridge, you were starting to think that maybe this could in fact qualify as life threatening…

Not being able to feel your fingertips started to become quite the burden as you fiddled with the controls on the coffee machine to switch it to the hot chocolate mode Tony had added (only after pestering him about it countless amounts of times) in an attempt to warm yourself up.

As the milk and chocolate poured from the machine into the cup, you wrapped the thick, fluffy blanket you had draped around your shoulders tighter around yourself. Your toes were currently suffering from the same numbed curse as your fingers despite four pairs of socks and you thought of how wonderful it would be to be huddled up next to a toasty fire and defrost your frozen appendages, when you suddenly remembered the fireplace that had been installed in Tony’s liquor room (a strange place for a fireplace, but Tony had claimed it added to the ‘ambience’ of the room). As soon as the machine was done spouting the hot milk and liquid chocolate, you gave it a good stir. The heat of the beverage helped to regain feeling in your hands as you wrapped your fingers around its warm caress and started heading over to the liquor room.

The room itself was decorated to look the same age as some of the older alcohols it contained. Cabinets and racks filled the walls of the room and the liquors that were stored in them were sorted into type and age. The youngest liquors were placed at the top and the oldest could be found closer to the bottom. As for furniture, there was a single large couch that you could see the back of when entering, and it was placed in front of the fireplace accompanied by a beautifully carved coffee table complete with lavish coasters and an extravagant rug placed beneath it. Of course the room wouldn’t be complete without a bar, just right of the mantelpiece.

You approached the double doors of the room, hoping and praying that Tony had left it unlocked and to your delight the door gave way to your push, letting out a creaking moan in protest. You were contemplating trying to start a fire through the traditional method of lighting a few pieces of paper that would eventually catch onto larger piece of kindling or just pouring a bottle of vodka over the logs and setting it alight, when to your surprise, the fire was already lit and the only source of light in the room. You quickly noticed the silhouette of someone who was rather large sitting at the left end of the couch, their right hand draped over the back of the seat, and left hand holding half a glass of red wine. It didn’t take long to figure out who it was.

“Ah my dear, you caught me red handed.”

“You told me you had stolen Tony’s alcohol just once.” You said while walking over to the couch.

“Is it really stealing if he’s never going to notice?” Loki said before bringing the glass up to his lips to take a small sip and swilling the red liquid over his palette to savour the taste. “Besides, I wasn’t lying to you at the time. This is in fact the second time I have stolen a swig.”

A frigid night like this was Loki’s optimal temperature given his Jotun heritage. He was wearing just a green v neck and sweatpants which you had convinced him to buy when you went on a search for a new wardrobe for him that didn’t make him look like he was attending a renaissance fair. As for the fire, you remembered him telling you that despite being one for the freezing elements, he had an unsung appreciation of fire and it reminded him of celebrations held on what once was Asgard.

“Never knew you were a wine person.” You said, now sitting on the opposite side of the couch.

“Well it’s not quite as strong as Asgardian liquor, but I was never one to drink with the intention of losing my inhibitions and this stuff is rather rich in flavour.” He said while observing the wine left in the glass.

“I’ve never really been much of an alcohol kinda person in general, as you can probably see,” you said while slightly raising your mug enough to draw his attention to it. “I guess it’s just a taste I have yet to acquire.”

“Ah yes, I don’t recall finding the taste of liquors appealing until I was about 950. Even now my tastes are still evolving.”

You chuckled. “Oh yeah, Norse god, how could I forget.” You said, grinning at him. Loki smiled in response.

“Oh speaking of which, I appreciated my honourable mention from Gabriel in that TV show we’ve been watching. Though I still think the idea of archangels is preposterous.” Loki said, taking another sip.

“Funny how you’re from another realm entirely, yet you find the existence of angels hard to believe. Also, you’ve been watching it without me?!” You exclaimed, pretending to be more offended than you actually were.

“You told me that you’ve watched that show a countless amount of times. Besides, I was bored and I finally managed to figure out how that blasted viewing system works.”

“I wish I could have been there to see an a thousand year old god struggle with Netflix.” You said and giggled at the thought.

You both sat in a comfortable silence while sipping your drinks and staring at the fire, its flames dancing and leaving flickering shadows along the walls of the room. Sensation began to return to your toes because of the delightful heat provided by the fire as you lifted you legs to rest them on the table before you. Loki turned to you after about a minute or so.

“(Y/N), my dear. Tell me a secret.”

“Loki, darling, you already know all my secrets.”

Over the past few months, you had developed an unusual relationship with the trickster. You had been telling each other little secrets about yourselves and for you it had become a form of release. You felt rather relieved knowing that Loki didn’t care enough to tell anyone and that he trusted you to do the same.

“Lying to the god of lies won’t get you very far, my dear.” He said lowly, giving you a knowing look. You sighed in defeat. He was right.

“Fine. I uh, well…I’m self conscious about my chest…” You said, looking away from his gaze down at your fingers that were fidgeting around the mug.

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” He asked. You looked up in time to see him shoot a quick glance down at your chest and you felt heat quickly rising to your cheeks.

“Well uh…It’s just that…there’s practically nothing there. I don’t have shapely breasts like, say, Natasha. My boobs are super small and I can’t help but wonder if that’s why I’m never considered as a romantic interest.”

“Oh (Y/N), the size of your breasts do not make you any more or less of a woman. It’s unhealthy to be comparing yourself to others. Anyway, a man who pursues women based on the size of their chest is shallow, undeserving of a woman’s time and attention and quite frankly undeserving of the title of a man.” Loki said sternly while looking you in the eye. “And as for romantic interests, it’s quite bold of you to say that no one has ever viewed you in that way. I’m more than confident in saying that I’m sure that’s not true.” He winked at you and took a larger swig of wine from his glass.

You opened your mouth about to ask what he meant by that, but you were interrupted by the door, that had been left ajar, opening fully and flooding the room with the light from the hallway. The figure that walked in proceeded to turn the light in the room on and your eyes adjusted to see Tony looking at the two of you, the look of anger shaping his facial features.

“Oh I’m sorry, am I interrupting your little slumber party?” Tony asked while crossing his arms to project his unamusement.

“Well, as a matter of fact…” Loki started.

“Loki…” You said, looking sternly at him. It was unwise in this situation to be aggravating Tony when he was already in a bad mood, and Loki knew that. Usually that knowledge wasn’t enough to stop him from sassing Tony, but since you were involved, he seemed to yield and took the final sip of wine from the glass.

“Is that my vintage 1978 Romanee-Conti Grand Cru Pinot-Noir you’re drinking??” Tony said, pronouncing the french words horribly wrong.

“Oh that’s what this is. My apologies, I thought it was just glorified grape juice.”

“That costs $13,000 a bottle!” Tony exclaimed, beginning to raise his voice. “Look here Reindeer games, I didn’t let you stay here just so you could break into my liquor storage and help yourself!”

“Oh please, might as well put it to good use rather than using it as a conversation starter in your little pissing contest with other rich imbeciles.” Loki snapped back, glaring at Tony who gave you a look that suggested he was about to rope you into the argument, until Loki interjected. “Stark, you can blame me all you want but don’t drag poor (Y/N) under for this. She was only here to enjoy the heat of the fire since your heating technology is so unreliable.”

“Yeah, I noticed as soon as I got back.” Tony said, this time in a calmer tone.

“Yet your first priority was to have a drink straight after getting back?” You said, stating more than asking.

“It’s my way of dealing with what I’ve seen and done. It’s hard being a hero, you know.” Tony said, rather sassily.

“Tony, dear, that’s alcoholism you’re describing, not heroism.” It was your turn to sass him.

“You know what? Fine. I’ll fix the heater then I’ll have a drink. Will that make you happy?“

"Yes, Tony. I’d appreciate it very much. Thank you.” You said, smiling at him.

Tony just huffed and left the room, leaving you and Loki laughing behind him.

“I have a feeling you drink his wine for more than just the taste.” You told Loki then gulped the rest of your now lukewarm chocolate.

“What can I say? Getting a rise out of people is in my nature.” He said while chuckling and getting up off the couch. He walked over to the bar and placed his used glass on the side. “It’s getting awfully late, pet. How’s about you head to bed. Stark is going to be undoubtedly pissy tomorrow, so you’re going to need the energy to put up with his sour mood.” Loki said, turning to you and holding out a hand to help you up. You took his hand, stood up and adjusted your blanket that had started to slip off of your shoulders before placing your empty mug on one of the coffee table coasters and making a mental note to clean it up tomorrow.

“As much as I am an adult who can take care of herself, how could I turn down an escort from a god?” You giggled and earned a smile from him in response, and he held out his left arm. You bought your right arm underneath his and wrapped it around his left, and you both made your way out of the room and towards your bedroom.

It was hard to prevent the blanket from falling with your right arm occupied and the movement from walking, but you managed to keep it in place as you and Loki took your time strolling through the compound halls talking about his recent shenanigans involving the avengers and his plans to irritate the hell out of them. You came up with an idea involving tampering with the coffee machine so it made decaf and watching Tony spiral into madness by headaches and falling asleep at the most inconvenient times. Loki couldn’t help but commend you for coming up with a plan so devilish that he considered going through with it.

Eventually though, you reached the door to your room and you let out a small sigh in dismay knowing that the conversation would have to end.

“Here we are.” Loki said, letting you untangle your arm from his.

“Yeah, it’s a shame really. I could talk to you till the crack of dawn about everything and nothing.” You said, looking at Loki who grinned at your comment.

“The conversation could run dry some day, you know.” Loki replied, and you gave him an amused look.

“Well you already know all my secrets, but I’m sure we’ll find something else to discuss. Which reminds me, I wanted to thank you.”

“What ever for?” Loki asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“I guess for being that one person that I can rely on to keep my secrets. Being able to vent to you is something I really appreciate. It leaves me feeling like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders, you know?”

“Well in that case, I should be thanking you too for being my partner in crime.” Loki said while grinning. You couldn’t help but smile at the idea of sneaking around the compound with Loki and playing pranks on people.

“Okay, you really need to stop rubbing off on me. At this rate, there’ll soon be two mischief gods running around the place, and I’m sure Tony would have an aneurism if that was the case.”

“Oh but what’s a king without his queen?” Loki asked, giving you another wink before moving slightly closer so you were almost chest to chest and he took your hands in his.

“I’m not sure of how it is in this realm, but in Asgard, women were never judged by appearance. It was their strength, intelligence and personality that people took notice of and what shaped them as an individual. Something as trivial as the size of their chest didn’t affect their loving kindness or strength as warriors. You’re a strong and beautiful woman, (Y/N), and anyone who can’t look beyond physical features and see that may as well be blind.” He almost whispered, his voice dipping lower than his usual tone.

“I…thank you, Loki. I’ve never received such kind words.” You were unsure of what else to say, his mini speech had thrown you off so much.

“You’re very welcome. Now, go and tuck yourself in before you catch a death of cold.” He said, stepping back a little.

The sudden urge to hug him came over you and you jolted forward and wrapped your arms around his waist. A part of you expected him to recoil, but instead he bought his arms up to hug you back, and planted a kiss on your head. You blushed at the gesture and pulled away to look at him.

“Goodnight, Loki.” You told him softly.

“Goodnight, my dear.” He replied and turned to make his way to his room as you closed your door.

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aliaisonfanfiction · 7 years

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Chapter 53

She could barely contain her laughter, closing the great oaken doors as Adlanniel left for the king’s chambers. Despite the light hearted humour between them, she knew that her warning to her lady would not be heeded. Sighing, she walked over to the secret door that lead to her own rooms; as long as her lady and the king were in the same realm, nothing could separate them. There was no more she could do but continue to lend her support and try to dissuade Adlanniel further, even if it were to fall upon deaf ears.

Going over to her dressing table, she looked over her hair in the mirror, twisting it here and there, trying to make it presentable for when she herself would seek out her lover. But her current appearance did not impress her. If it could not impress her then how could it impress her ellon? Perhaps a bath and a change of clothes would help, she continued to think to herself. Taking a fair amount of dresses from her wardrobe, she lay them upon her bed and held them one by one in front of herself as she stood before the mirror. Eventually she decided on one of light turquoise and greens, symbolising the snows that blanketed the surrounding Greenwood. Taking off her current dress and her fur lined cloak, she now stood within her room in nothing but her undergarments, the cold winter draft sending a chill down her spine. Quickly she moved over to her bath, turning the tap which would allow the hot water from the hot springs to flow through.

She shrieked and almost fell into the bath as she felt something squeeze her buttocks tightly. Instinctively she spun around to punch the culprit, but tripped on her own feet and fell into his arms instead. “Melethril you… you…!” She snapped at him as she went to punch him again. Laughing, he dodged her aim and brought her closer to his body. “Did you miss me?” He asked smoothly. Gwendalyn frowned at him and pouted in exasperation. “How long were you watching for?” “I was in here before you arrived.” He replied with a cheeky grin. “And watching you undress has really… peaked my interests.” Gwendalyn blushed and turned her head away. She was very glad to hear those words, but she could not allow him to have the upper hand. “How improper.” She frowned again. “I heard no complaints when my hand was down your panties the other day.” He retorted, making her blush furiously once more. “Stop teasing me.” “Stop being a prude.” He replied as he brought her body ever closer, skimming his lips along the nape of her neck and the back of her ears, knowing well that she could not resist a mere touch from him. His hands slid around to her front and groped her, and she let out a small moan in response. “I would very much like to see you unclothed…” He whispered then, his desire for her as strong as it had ever been. He felt a strange sense of confidence being before her, perhaps as she portrayed herself as being petite and meek, although she was quite the opposite. “Now you are being improper…” She murmured as she averted her gaze. “Am I?” Melethril chuckled at her. “If I am, then I do apologise....” Gwendalyn smiled innocently and shook her head. “I accept your request, only if you also comply,” She said as she turned to face him. This made Melethril now blush. Even though her request was fair for he had requested the same, he never expected her to actually concur. “I did not think you would agree…” His eyes were pinned to her breasts as she began to untie the ties of her undergarments. She lifted a finger to hush him. “I am full of surprises, dear Melethril, now close your eyes.” Hesitantly he did as he was told, a cold sweat forming on his brow in anticipation. His whole body shivered now as he could hear her undress. “Keep your eyes closed Melethril.” She warned him, taking his hands now into hers. Slowly she brought them to her naked chest, and cupped them around her breasts. He gulped and his heart began to race at the feeling of her delectable flesh, her nipples now standing taught between his fingers. He could not help but let out a sigh of contentment when she began to trace her own fingers over his own chest, tugging at his shirt for him to pull it off. He complied quickly, and his skin prickled when he heard her too gasp at what she now saw; a torso so chiseled and refined. “By the Valar…” She whispered as she traced her fingers down his musculature, circling his navel which made him squirm and giggle.

“May I open my eyes now?” He pleaded sweetly, desperate to look upon her. “In but a moment.” She purred as she crawled into her bed, covering her body from his sight with the sheets. Telling him to open his eyes then she beckoned for him to come to her, and with reddened cheeks he did, and stood by the side of the bed. “Get in, silly.” She laughed as she threw back the sheets for him to enter the bed beside her, covering herself enough as not to reveal any of her more intimate flesh. “Off with the rest.” She ordered him then, and he again did as he was told, hiding himself beneath the sheets she had thrown over him in order to pull of his pants and undergarments. When he had completed his task, he lay there and stared up at the ceiling, the sheets covering up to his shoulders as he breathed deeply, nervously. Slowly Gwendalyn sidled up to him, making him go rigid when she reached out to touch his skin once more. He chuckled nervously once more and turned on his side to face her, yet she were still covered with the sheets. “Please, let me look upon your beauty.” He pleaded once more.

This time she accepted his plea and slowly pulled the sheets from her body, revealing her slender frame. She had not long come of age and thus her body still held onto some of its adolescent youth, just as much as his did. His eyes, wide in awe, trailed their way up and down her body, making him hitch his breath. Beneath the sheets that covered him could he feel his member stiffen in anticipation, but for what she would allow, he was yet to find out. As he gazed upon her, lewd thoughts floated into his mind. Oh how we wanted to delve deep into her as he looked over the soft pelt of her womanhood; how he wanted to take one of her breasts into his mouth. But no, he would do no such thing against her permission. He could only but fantasise, and even then he felt shamed for doing so and blushed furiously as he averted his gaze. “What is it Melethril?” Gwendalyn asked sweetly. Melethril gulped and gazed into her eyes with a fervent hunger. “What I would like to do to you right now….” He trailed off, feeling his erection press harder against his thighs. “And what would that be?” She teased. “I wouldn't dare say it, I could not disrespect you or your honour.” He averted his gaze bashfully. Gwendalyn chuckled, bringing herself close so that they were mere centimetres from each other. She pulled the sheets over so that she too could now see him in all his glory, and she gasped and flushed at the sight, especially at the sight of his hardened manhood. She was in awe as she stared at it, reaching down to touch it, only for it to lurch from her fingertips. But no sooner did she touch him did he pull her close into a kiss full of passion. The fact that his member now rubbed against her thighs highly aroused her.

She sighed deeply as she felt his fingers glide up her cleft, his other hand nestling on her breast as his lips grazed hers gently.He knew he had found his mark when she squirmed as he touched her nub, and so gently he began to stroke and press against it, sending shivers of pleasure down into her loins. He had remembered a night previous where they had hidden within the barracks, kissing feverishly in a concealed corner, his hand down her leggings, teasing her pearl. She had thoroughly enjoyed that, especially when he had pushed his fingers further down. He was taken aback when he felt her hands upon his member, stroking it, gripping it to pull gently up and down. A moan escaped between his lips when one of her hands glided back up his chest to a nipple, teasing it delectably. He took her lips with his and entwined his tongue with hers, pulling her body close so that she pressed hard against him. Skin against skin. “Melethril?” Gwendalyn asked softly through their kisses, sweat already beginning to dew on her brow. “What is it, mel nin?” He rested his forehead on hers and traced his fingers down her face. She hesitated for a short moment, wondering if it were the right thing to do considering the current situation she was in, yet it had nothing to do with her own relationship. But at the same time, her relationship with Melethril was still so fresh and new. They could not get enough of each other and had decided to wed. Was it too early for such a thing even though she had already agreed? She knew he had admired her for quite some time, and he had risked his life for her and her lady, regardless of it being his duty. She knew she was in love with him, and she knew what her heart desired. Now her heart and her mind were at one with each other.

“Melo nin…” She whispered, his fingers pushing harder against her pearl, making her moan against his chest. He stopped his touch in that moment and looked at her, contemplating for a moment if he had understood what she had said. “Make love to me Melethril… please?” “A… are you sure?” He questioned her, nervous at the thought, despite his member stiffening more so at the prospect. “I do not want you to feel obligated or pressured into such a thing, especially before we have our wedding ceremony.” “I want to be at one with you.” She pressed. “I am ready, and I want it. I want to feel you joined with me in passion.” Melethril gazed into her eyes, searching them. He let out a long sigh of wanting then as he kissed her once more, moving to be between her thighs. “Are you sure this is what you want?” “Do you not?” She questioned teasingly, her breath hitching slightly when she felt the head of his shaft probe at her womanhood. “I do…” He leant down to her once more to kiss her, and she reached between them to guide him to her entrance. She gasped as he entered her, a sharp pain stinging at her thighs at the breaking of her innocence. Grasping his body she whimpered softly, and gently he kissed her tears away. He stroked her face as he slowly rocked against her, reveling in her inner warmth and the soft moans that escaped her lips. The bliss that resonated through her body was something she had never imagined, and her mind floated into the clouds as her body arched against his, trembling as she began to reach some zenith she had not expected. Her sounds of pleasure elicited his own, and soon he too felt a blinding sensation engulf him, making him cry out as he became spent inside of her. Panting, he looked down at her, and she too breathed heavily as she looked back up at him, pearls of sweat having formed on her brow. Without saying a word she pulled him down beside her, and slowly nodded off to sleep as she snuggled into his arms.

Sindarin Elvish - English

Mel nin - my love Melo nin - make love to me

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rose--nebula · 7 years

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Thanks to the absolutely fantastic @tenroseforeverandever who helped so so much with this, to @hanluvr for pointing things out, Mercedes who helped me clean the first version and @timeladyofthesith and @zekimmzie for having a read-through and liking it. :) ---

The Pleasures Of Jealousy by Rose_Nebula “On a girls-only day with Donna, Rose finds herself the subject of malicious behaviour. When her Doctors find out, they are not pleased.”

The Tardis doors opened with a loud squeak and a bang when Rose Tyler popped free of the time ship and stumbled into the street. "Thank. Heavens. I couldn't have taken it for one more second," she told no one in particular while taking in her surroundings. A second squeak announced the exit of her companion and partner. The Doctor leaned a brown-suited shoulder against the blue wood of the door frame and folded his arms. He watched in silent amusement as Rose took in deep breaths of London’s polluted morning air, fanning her face with her hands as she did so. Even though his time sense told him it was only April on Earth, Rose wore only the tiniest of dresses. Well, not exactly a dress. The planet they had just left issued specific rules about the make-up of their female citizens’ clothing. It consisted of a single strip of fabric that wrapped artfully around the whole body and was held together by several strings of red leather, leaving a rather astonishing amount of skin exposed. Rose's ensemble was made of a beige linen-like material that felt incredibly soft to the touch, and made her look delicious. Not that she didn’t always look stunning… But that wasn’t the point. The fact was Rose had not bothered to go through the unravelling process yet… Weeell, he rather hoped she would leave that to him and his other self. Thinking of - A voice wafted out from somewhere inside the ship. "Rose, the Tardis scanners suggest we go and watch this movie. The one with that horribly unrealistic take on alien life on Europa. You know, the moon? We could sit in the back, laugh ourselves silly, share a popcorn and a few snogs… and maybe a grope. The human experience!” Rose shot an exasperated look over the Doctor’s shoulder to where an identical man, dressed in blue, had appeared cheekily waggling his eyebrows. His hopeful expression quickly turned into a thoroughly chastened one, even though he wasn’t completely sure what he was being scolded for. Rose huffed and the Doctor in blue pulled his ear. "Would you rather ... do something else?" he asked. Rose took another deep breath, filling her lungs with the familiar sense of home and tried to rein in her irritation. It wasn't their fault after all. "I'm sorry, Doctor," she explained. "All this ... alienness lately has just been so exhausting. Don’t get me wrong, I love it … but we’ve been stumbling from one adventure to the next and I feel like my adrenaline level never dropped back to normal after the incident on Nevas.” The Doctor was about to protest, but Rose steamed right on. ”I just need a day off. Time to do human things. Girl things. We’re not too far from Donna's. So what I'd really like to do is walk over there and drag her out for a bit of mindless shopping." "Do you want us to join you?" the full Time Lord asked, guessing the answer but still willing to offer. Rose appreciated the sentiment. "Nah, you two go and watch your movie. We can meet up later." "Right," the Doctor in blue sniffed without his usual manic enthusiasm.

She ignored his disappointed pout, knowing it wouldn’t do her any good to give in now. Human time for the human was a necessary thing once in a while. Besides, Time Lords didn’t pout, so that was that. “Don’t worry, I'll signal you when we stop for a bite to eat and you meet us when you feel like it.” Rose watched them retreat into the Tardis to grab their coats, the part human Doctor having acquired his only days before. Being a similar shape to its twin, it sported a reddish brown colour the Doctor found quite dashing. It toned with the burgundy shirts he liked to combine with his blue suits. Even though the full Time Lord Doctor proclaimed his own Janis Joplin coat to be the best in the universe, Rose had caught him in the wardrobe winking at his reflection while flapping his other self's coat around his body in a rather roughish fashion. Hiding a grin at the memory, she waited until they were suitably dressed and dapper for their day in town. One Doctor pulled the door shut, the other turned the key. Rose whispered a kiss onto each of their right cheeks and shared a hug with both of them. "Be careful," the Doctor in brown insisted, his eyes sincere. "Of course," she smiled. "I have Donna to watch over me. She is a force of nature." "That she is," he replied, sharing a look with his other self, identical eyebrows raised. Donna hadn’t gotten any less feisty after being subjected to the chameleon arch. The Time Lord consciousness she had gained during the meta-crisis had been conveyed just in time to the part-human Doctor, whose body had absorbed it quite happily. "See you later." Rose retreated with a little wave before they could utter any more worries about her safety, or go on about her supposed jeopardy-friendliness. --<--@ Spring in London was something else. Special. Even though Rose didn’t live through the long and dark winters anymore, she always appreciated the smell of the fresh pink and white blossoms. They swayed in the soft breeze and showered her once in a while with satiny petals. A tiny laugh of joy escaped her lips. As much as she loved her Doctors, this quiet alone-time did a world of good for her sanity. Rose’s legs were accustomed to regular exercise and covered the distance to Chiswick in no time. Soon she rounded the final corner. The Noble's little row house sat calmly in its street of similar buildings. The brick facades were alive with a pattern of varying tones of red, changing with the play of sun and clouds. Rose entered the front garden and leaned down to brush her fingers over a handful of lush red tulips that sat in a spot of honour next to the path. A little sparrow, disturbed by her presence, hopped onto a nearby hedge to throw her a reproachful look. Rose winked at it, walked up to the front door and gave the inlayed glass a few firm knocks. It wasn’t Donna who approached the door in a slow but steady pace. Wilf had given them all a scare the previous year when his foot had gotten stuck under a root on his way down from his hill, making him fall down and break his wrist. He insisted it had just been a little dark, but they all knew his eye sight wasn’t as good as it once had been. Donna had decided to tolerate Sylvia’s nagging and move back in with her family to spend more time with her beloved Grandfather. Wilf spotted Rose through the pane and broke into a huge grin. He had taken a shine to her when she had first hidden with them in this very house during the Dalek invasion. The door was opened with a flourish and Rose got pulled into a tight hug. “Didn’t you bring those Doctors of yours?” he asked, releasing her and having a good look at the front garden as if the men in question would suddenly jump out from behind the bushes. Rose laughed at his antics. “No, I needed a bit of girl-time. I want Donna all to myself today. Is she in?” Donna came from the kitchen, leafing through a stack of letters in her left hand. “Granddad? I thought I heard … Rose!” She stopped short at the sight of her friend. “What the hell are you wearing?!” “Oh, this.” Rose brought her hand up to her shoulder, only now sensing that her appearance would look a bit odd to the good people of Earth. After travelling through all of time and space for so long, she hardly even noticed what she was wearing anymore. “We just came back from Tau Ceti.” “That rock with the heat and dust and everything?” “The same.” Rose half smiled. “This time we stayed there longer so I had to change into the native fashion. It’s quite comfortable”, she said, stroking the fabric. “You must be freezing”, Donna snorted. “That strip of nothing is nearly as thin as a Time Lord.” Rose’s ears turned pink. “Actually I am wearing a gel that protects my skin from too extreme temperatures. The Doctors found it in a cabinet of the med bay … and rubbed … um applied it in preparation of the trip. Thought it might be useful.” Donna rolled her eyes. “You can stop right there, Blondie. I don’t want to know what those old lechers are up to with their paws.” Rose glanced in the general direction of Wilf whose eyes were sparkling in merriment. “Right” she said, changing the topic. “I hope you didn’t have any plans for today ‘cause I really need some human-time, if you don’t mind.” “Desperate, huh?” Donna sympathized. “A bit, yeah.” “MUM!” Donna shouted, making Rose jump at the sudden racket. “I CAN’T DO THE SHOPPING TODAY. I’M GOING OUT.” Not waiting for an answer, she grabbed Rose by the elbow, kissed her Grandfather’s cheek, and out the door they went, Rose waving a hasty goodbye. --<--@ They spent their day on Chiswick High Road, ruffling though the shops. Rose couldn’t try on any clothes due to her complicated outfit, so giggling like school girls, they picked a greenish pantsuit with a matching hat and handbag for Donna. Rose found a pair of red Converse with a swirly golden pattern. It reminded her of the sticky notes that cluttered the Tardis console. She also picked a little gift for her Doctors and pocketed everything in her bigger-on-the-inside pouch, patting it with a little smile. After an extensive stop at the bookshop, they were getting a bit footsore. Aching arms laden with bags and parcels they drifted towards an inviting looking corner café. “Let’s get in there, I’m starving,” exclaimed Donna. Rose agreed with an exhausted sigh. Through the wide glass front, they could make out tables of different sizes positioned in a circle around a parquet floor. It guided the view to a bar in the background and some more cosy looking sofa areas, everything illuminated by generously-sized windows down the length of the left wall. While Donna went inside to secure them a table, Rose pulled out her sonic and fiddled with the settings. Satisfied, she pressed the button that would broadcast a beacon to the Doctors’ screwdrivers that would lead them to her current position. Repacking the sonic in her pouch, Rose pressed one shoulder against the door and entered the café. She paused for a moment, looking for her friend, when she heard a barely suppressed snicker from her left, followed by some whispers and a derogatory snort. Following the sound with her eyes, she found a group of three young women watching her … laughing at her unusual clothes .... judging her. Whatever, Rose thought. She was an Estate girl and used to aspersions. Holding her head high, she crossed the floor to a carpeted section. Her marvellous friend had secured them one of the couch-surrounded tables, probably murdering someone in the process. Smirking, Rose sank into the comfortable cushions. They were pleasant against her exposed skin. She tried to let the lingering uneasiness from the encounter by the door dissolve with the slowly decreasing ache in her feet. “Sooo, what’s it gonna be?” Donna asked oblivious to Rose’s discomfort, burying her nose in the menu. “Lava Cake is apparently a speciality of the house. What do you think? I haven’t had one in ages.” “Sounds gorgeous,” Rose replied. --<--@ The third time Rose glanced over to the other table, Donna noticed. "What's that dark look for then?" she asked, frowning. "It's nothing. See the girls over there? They were laughing at me earlier, what I’m wearing. I shouldn't let it bother me, but apparently there are some of my old insecurities left, even after all this time," she shrugged. Donna barked a laugh. "Rose. You are ten times more worthy than they will ever be ... a hundred times. If they knew what you have done for them and everyone, they would worship the floor beneath your feet." Rose gave her half a smile and studied the rug. Golden rays of sunlight filtered through the side windows, painting dancing spots onto the flooring. Little dust particles floated slowly around like a cloud of scattered stars. Rose calmed down. She relaxed back into her pillows. No way would she let those cows destroy her mood any further. She was a bloody grown-up woman who faced evil things on a regular basis. She could certainly face these shrews. “So,” she uttered with a more sincere smile. "That's the spirit", Donna approved. They talked a bit more about traveling and work. Rose had some fascinating new stories about wondrous worlds she had visited. Donna told her about the guy she had met at work. "I know,” she said, when Rose jerked an eyebrow at that. “But he's nothing like Lance. And I like to think that I learned a thing or two since that time." She went into detail about the amazingness of her crush and Rose zoned out for a bit, watching people passing by on the side street. A sliding noise from the front door alerted her to the presence of another customer. Donna and Rose turned in time to see the girls at the sneer-table make eyes at the Doctor in brown as he stepped through the door. Standing in a puddle of sunlight, eyes sparkling, he slowly let his gaze have a wander through the room, searching for his companions. However, before he discovered them in their comfy spot, a call from his left distracted him. The bints waved him over and with a confused frown he complied. There was a short conversation and one girl actually fluttered her lashes at him, making Rose roll her eyes. Although, seeing the Doctor politely refuse a seat appeased her inner hag. Eventually he turned his gaze in her direction and a smile lit up his face at the sight of her. Her answering beam was just as bright. The Doctor closed the small distance to her quickly and Rose stood up to catch him as he enclosed her in a tight hug. His fingers slipped around her back, finding sensitive spots of soft skin beneath her mesh of cloth. Both she and the Doctor squeezed their eyes shut, relieved to be back in each other’s presence. After a long moment Rose pulled back slightly to place a sweet kiss on his mouth. The Doctor, intoxicated by the feeling of her warm body, soon deepened it into a full on snog. "Oi, get a room!" Donna disrupted the awkward silence, her hand kneading a tissue into a projectile to throw at them. Reluctantly, with one last lick at Rose’s lower lip, the Doctor let go. "Mhmm, chocolate," he exclaimed, making their friend snort in amused exasperation. After he had shared a friendly hug with Donna, Rose pulled him down into the seat next to her. "That gained you an extra round of dirty looks," Donna winked. Rose allowed herself a little smirk. Now that the Doctor was back by her side she had fully regained her equilibrium. The Doctor, who was busy inspecting Rose's cake, trying a spoonful, raised his head. "What?" "Oh, it's nothing", she assured him. He gave her a stern look. ”What happened?" Rose sighed. "Oh, alright. That lot over there laughed at my outfit earlier. A bit too alien for them, I’ll wager. But they made me feel a bit self-conscious.” The Doctor took another look at her. “Why would anyone do that? There is nothing wrong with it.” He leaned in to whisper, “I think it looks rather fetching.” “Because,” Donna explained, “people are narrow-minded and perhaps a bit envious, especially if they happen to be silly girls sitting alone at a table, desperate for male attention.” The Doctor felt something tighten within him. How dare these petty females insult his Rose! He pulled his feet under him and was about to give the little cows an earful about manners, when Rose laid a calming hand onto his arm. “Really, I’m fine now. They’re not worth getting all worked up over.” He searched her eyes. When he found sincerity and acceptance, he nodded, swallowing his rant and decided on a different strategy. --<--@ “What did you do with the other Doctor,” Rose asked him several minutes later, shivering a little when his deft fingers worked their way under her hair and up her neck. “I raced him. We took different routes from the cinema. He probably got lost,” the Doctor smirked, feeling superior. He was massaging the back of Rose’s head now, fingers tangling the strands of her hair. Some hidden petals from her morning walk tumbled to her shoulders, making the Doctor smile. Rose purred. Donna, trying to ignore that little scenario, exclaimed “Let’s hope he didn’t find himself in any trouble. It’s been such a nice day.” “Nope, there he comes now,” Rose proclaimed happily. The Doctor in blue just wandered past the side windows, eyeing his sonic screwdriver. He was still following the beacon when he suddenly sensed his other self’s presence and looked up. They seemed to share a short telepathic conversation and the outside Doctor’s face hardened noticeably. He nodded through the window and rounded the corner to the front of the café. Stepping inside he stood still for a moment pretending to search for them. To his left the girlish voices fell silent as their owners gaped at the newcomer. Disbelieving looks were shot at the man next to Rose and the Doctor in blue. Sensing a second chance, one girl left her chair and swayed her hips over to chat him up. The Doctor graciously talked with her, staying friendly but reserved. Apparently the girl took that as a challenge, as she became more and more flirty. When she touched his sleeve and tried to take his hand however, he pulled away. “Sorry, but that hand is reserved. Forever.” Looking flustered at this implicit refusal, she followed his look to Rose who winked at him. “Rose Tyler," he gesticulated, "the bravest, kindest, most compassionate, stubborn, and determined woman I have ever met ... and the most beautiful.” The girl flushed deeply at that, muttered something apologetically, and returned quickly to her seat. The Doctor didn’t watch her go. Instead, he strode through the café, circled the table, and slid into the bay next to his Rose. His other self smiled proudly at him while Donna dabbed at a tear. "Thank you," Rose whispered gratefully, cupping his face in one palm and pressing a lingering kiss onto his lips. --<--@ For the rest of the day, they were all in a carefree mood. Donna and Rose giggled about the Doctors' descriptions of the movie they had watched, both men one-upping the other in their indignation about the limits of human imagination about alien life. "There are endless forms of colonisations and infinite forms of life out there and they managed to get them all wrong." Rose found a piece of popcorn under the blue lapel of the Doctor she currently cuddled and proceeded to eat it. A moan escaped her lips at the taste of the buttery treat, making her male companions twitch. Donna showed off her purchases and asked Rose to do the same, so she pulled out her new shoes. As they came into view, both Doctors doubled over in laughter, pointing and gasping. At Rose's puzzled look, they explained how back when they were still one person, the Doctor had sent an enquiry to the Converse manufacturers. Apparently, the Tardis hadn't translated it, so the staff mistook the message for an actual request. Rose now owned a pair of red shoes that said in gold circles "I was quite miffed to discover that there is no banana pattern among your wide range of offers. Please rectify this as soon as possible." "Well, at least they’re pretty," she laughed. When Rose put them back into her pouch, her fingers brushed the other little package hidden inside. Waiting until Donna excused herself for the loo, she pulled it out to show the guys. With a little smirk and under their curious looks, she opened the casing. It revealed a tiny pair of scissors with rounded tops. Rose fondled one of the leather straps on her dress-like clothing, counting the seconds until the penny dropped. They hurriedly left money on the table and a note for their friend that promised they would visit again very soon. When Donna stepped out of the restroom all she could see were flapping coats disappearing through the swinging café door, and the bunch of girls gawking after the trio with expressions of jealousy and awe. She rolled her eyes. --<--@ Over the next few weeks Donna noticed a rising tendency to strappy little excuses for outfits among the young females of Chiswick.

#Doctor Who #Rose Tyler #Doctor x Rose #Doctor x Rose x Doctor #Ten x Rose x Tentoo #fanfiction #fan art #rose nebulart #first fanfic #wohoo I've done it

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littleangryhammy · 7 years

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Jumper guy/ HamBurr Drabble

So I did a thing... A little Hamburr Drabble I actually got the idea from a request I saw someone else receive and I really liked the idea so wanted to have a little play around with the concept myself Guys there are probably so many spelling and grammar mistakes I'm sorry I am trash. Also if you have any requests I'd be happy to give them a shot 😶hit me up. Jumper guy Pairing: Hamburr Rating: PG Notes: plz be gentle this is my first time posting any of my work anywhere. 🤗 Aaron flipped over another page in his book and wiped his brow with his sleeve, he sighed heavily before leaning into the cold breeze being created by a fan he had sat on his desk. Three frickin' days it had been like this, a heat wave was sweeping New York and showed no signs of letting up. Aaron had never been one to enjoy the heat, it was sweaty, sticky and made it almost impossible to have a full nights sleep. It was just all around uncomfortable and Aaron disliked uncomfortable. He felt another bead of sweat form on his brow and cursed, wiping it once more before undoing the top few buttons on his shirt. He cursed himself for not just staying home in his air conditioned apartment but he knew he couldn't. He owned and ran his own bookstore, and even though it had been quite the past few days Aaron just couldn't justify missing work because he was too hot, it seemed like a waste to do that, so he just bought himself a fan and kicked himself mentally for not having air conditioning installed in the store during the last heatwave. Aaron perked up as he heard the familiar sound of the bell above the door jingle as it opened and closed, he glanced at his watch and smiled as if like clock work jumper guy had arrived at exactly half past two. For months this man would turn up almost every day at the same time and he would stay for hours, usually sat crossed legged down one of the aisles, surrounded by small mountains of books, jotting down notes in an old journal of some sort. He had never spoken to the man, as jumper guy never even bothered to buy anything. That had annoyed Aaron at first but every time he attempted to confront him about this he found himself loosing his nerve. The more he observed him the more enthralled with the man he found himself becoming, just by watching him read. After two month of observing Aaron knew how his tongue would slightly stick out of the left side of his mouth when he concentrated, how sometimes he would quietly hum to himself as his eyes darted over the pages, how when he had read something particularly interesting he would get this excited gleam in his eyes and would rush to write it down. After two months He didn't have the heart to ask him to buy something or leave, he enjoyed watching him, it had become somewhat of a daily routine for Aaron. To say that Aaron had developed some kind of fondness for him was correct, in fact that fondness had spiralled down straight into a bit of a crush. He found himself now waiting for him to walk through the door, and everyday he would try to find a reason to talk to him, but even at the end of the day, exactly five minutes before Aaron started closing up a set alarm would sound on the mans phone. Aaron speculated this had been set because the man would get so caught up with what he was reading he lost all sense of time and his surrounding and he needed to be reminded when it was time to leave. Every night he would get up gather his things and put everything back exactly where he found it before scurrying out of the store without so much as a word. So Aaron couldn't even start conversation by saying the store was closing soon because he was long gone before he even took out the keys. Aaron had thought of everything but found all the ideas left something to be desired. They all seemed forced and too thought out. So he decided that if it was going to happen to just let it happen naturally. Aaron smiled as he took the sight of him in, and couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped his lips. The guy was in a jumper... again. This was why Aaron had nicknamed him jumper guy, because even during his awful heat the guy had an jumper on that was oversized to the point that the sleeves covered his finger tips and it hung slightly off of one shoulder. Aaron was starting to think the only thing in this guys wardrobe were huge jumpers. He had his hair tied up today Aaron noted, in a messy bun with strands of hair falling into his face. His glasses as usual sat on the bridge of his nose which seemed to have caught the sun a little bit judging by the light shade of pink that dusted across his cheeks and over his nose. Aaron internally groaned at how cute he looked like that, like he was blushing. Jumper guy nodded in his direction with a shy smile and Aaron gave a small wave, before the man disappeared down one of the aisles. Aaron sighed and relaxed glancing at the thermostat, he realised it was the hottest it had been since the heat wave started. He turned the fans power up to the highest setting and thought about getting himself a drink. He paused, That might be a good way to start a conversation, offer the man a drink! He pondered over this for a while, before with a quite "fuck it" he quickly moved into the back of the store. He grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge, and hurried back, when he reappeared he saw that the man had already set up camp as usual on the floor and was already surrounded with at least ten books, all open at various chapters. Aaron looked down at the bottle in this hand and watched a drop of condensation run down his finger and drip on to the floor. It was now or never. Jumper guy had his head buried in a book, only lifting his head to glance at the other books that lay open on the floor around him or to jot something down in the usual old journal. Aaron signed and quickly mentally prepared himself before he made his way down the aisle, coming to a stop a few feet away from the piles of books surrounding the smaller man. He stood there for a few moments, then cleared his throat to catch his attention. Nothing. "Ah... excuse me?" He muttered, after waiting a few minutes and still not getting a response he repeated himself a little louder. Still nothing, Aaron sighed again and tried to regain his quickly depleting nerve, it was too much of an opportunity to miss, so he mentally vowed he wouldn't miss it. "Hey!" Jumper guys head shot up and he seemed startled, he stared up at him with a look of shock and confusion that Aaron couldn't help but snort at, he had a real deer in the headlights look. "Um....hi" He smiled sheepishly before closing the book in his hands slowly. "Oh! I guess you wanting to know why I haven't bought anything yet huh...I'm sorry I'm a little broke at the moment I needed to study for this big essay I have to do but I don't have the books they recommend that we buy and your store has them and it's the only Bookstore that hasn't asked me to leave after a few days. If I buy something can I stay? I don't mind I can probably afford one, it's just I like your store and it isn't air conditioned which is so rare and pretty great considering-" "Hey" Aaron stopped him, for someone who had been so quite for the past few months he sure did like to talk. "Actually I was just going to offer you this." He held the water up for him to see. The guy glanced at the water then back to Aaron. "I actually brought coffee with me" he smiled, pulling out a flask from his bag. "But thank you for the offer" Aaron blinked once, then again, before he began quietly chuckling to himself which quickly turned into a hearty laugh that only increased by the bewildered look the other was giving him. "Hey what's so funny?! " the man scowled while his face flushed slightly. Aaron wiped the tears from his eyes. "Hot coffee?! You're drinking hot coffee?! And those jumpers! How are you coping in this heat with those!?" He managed to get out in between chuckles. The guy shook his head and slowly joined in with his laughing. "I grew up somewhere a lot hotter then here okay? You should see me in the winter, two jumpers at least! A coat, Hat, scalf, gloves, the works!" He grinned, Aaron liked his smile, he liked it a lot. They laughed together for a few more moments until it died down and Aaron sat, leaning against the opposite shelf. "Hey what's your name? I usually just call you jumper guy in my head" The guy snorted at that but stuck his hand out none the less. "Alexander, Alexander Hamilton." Aaron took Alexanders hand firmly, trying to ignore the sudden rush of tingling that shot up his arm at the contact. "Aaron Burr." There was a pause, a pause so long that he thought the other didn't hear him. Alexander didn't say anything, just stared at him intensely, Aaron opened his mouth to repeat his name when Alexander gasped and jumped up to his knees, gripping Aaron's hand with both of his own. "Are you shitting me? You're Aaron Burr?!" He gawked at him, smiling from eat to ear. "You're the guy who went to Princeton and graduated in two years! When I came here I read all about you! I was determined to do exactly what you did, you were like my hero! I thought so many times about what I would say if I ever met you and now your here! So how did you do it? How did you graduate so fast? Did you go into politics after? Why on earth do you work in a bookstore?? With your honours you could have walked into any job you liked! Wait, why are you are you in New York?! I'd heard you'd moved to England. Wait wait did you come back to go back into politics, or maybe law?! I can't believe I've finally met you and-" "Alexander" "Yes sir" he replied eagerly "Talk less. Smile more" he instructed, giving Alexander a smile of his own. "But there's so much I need to know about you" he wined a blush appearing across his cheeks, blending into his sun burn. "I've admired you for years" he muttered his blush darkening at least three shades. Aaron was a little taken back, he had met people who were fans of him before but never to this extent. He looked adorable, his cheeks red, gripping on to his hand, looking so hopeful for him to tell him all about himself and for the second time that day Aaron thought "Fuck it". "Have dinner with me" ... ... "Wait what?" "Have dinner with me?" Aaron asked once more. "Like... a date?" Alexander squeaked, his blush darkening once again, Aaron was actually worried his whole head would pop if it darkened anymore. "Well... if you swing that way I guess, if not then just as friends would be fine, I think your interesting Alexander, I'd like to get to know you too". Aaron said softly, and ran a thumb gently over Alexanders. Aaron noticed Alex shiver under the touch. "I swing that way! Well I swing both but I mean, not that it matters but yeah I think a date might be, I mean would be nice. I don't have much money at the moment though so maybe somewhere not too fancy would be best, then next time we can go somewhere better, if there is a next time I mean we should probably see if the first date goes well first but-" Aaron cut off Alexander for the third time today. However this time he decided words what not be enough to stop him, this time he halted the other instantly by pressing his lips softly against his. Alexander tensed at first, to the point that Aaron was going to pull away and apologise, but just before he could Alexander melted into him all at once, his hands moving from his hand to snake up around Aaron's neck. The kiss was simple, nothing too heated but it sent bursts of what felt like electricity running through both of them that, when they eventually parted, left them both breathless and panting. They just stared at each other for a moment while they regained their composures. "Meet me here at eight?" Aaron asked, his eyes still a little glazed from the kiss. Alexander opened his mouth twice and nothing came out, until finally he just nodded frantically. "I'm... ah... gunna go change... I'll meet you here later" He said standing and tripping over the books around him before hurrying off down the aisle. "Hey, wait!" He called out but Alexander was gone. Aaron sighed, maybe he had come on too strong, maybe too quickly. He shook his head and tore his eyes away from the end of the aisle and began collecting the books Alexander had left behind. Aaron already started constructing the apology he would give to Alexander the next time he saw him, if he ever saw him again. He cursed himself for jumping the gun, and hoped that maybe if he was smart he could still salvage a date out of the situation. Aaron was bought out of his thoughts to the sound of hurried foot steps making their way down the aisle, Aaron glanced up only in time for two hand to grab his face before he was pulled into another kiss, this one a little more urgent then the last, the pressure fiercer and the sparks stronger. Aaron dropped the books in his hands and didn't even hear them hit the floor, he just wrapped his arms tightly around the smaller mans waist. Aaron pushed Alexander until his back hit the shelves and then covered his body with his own, not once breaking the kiss. Their mouths opened and tongues began to dance together, gingerly at first before becoming bolder until the little make out session was full of heat, with Alexander nipping gently at his bottom lip and Aaron growling deeply into the kiss. Aaron's hand buried itself in Alexanders hair while the other was firmly planted on Alexanders bottom pulling him as close as he could get him, after a few minutes and a little bit of dry humping the door bell jingled once again and Alexander pulled away from the kiss quickly, panting and blushing with even more stands of hair falling around his face. They couldn't help but chuckle at each other, then even more when an elderly lady began to peruse some near by books. "Alright... Eight. I'll see you then" he grinned and exited the store once more. Aaron chuckled and shook his head. He couldn't wipe the grin of his face. Not even when he asked he elderly lady if she needed any help. Thankfully she refused the help because Aaron mind was definitely elsewhere. He sat back down behind his desk, in front of his fan and slumped back into his chair. He had a date. It had been a while but he had a date! And Aaron could already tell... this one... would definitely be a handful.

#hamilton #hamburr

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ilovehighhats · 7 years

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Scutum, ch. 2, The Walk

The bed was made after she forced herself to get up and do some chores, shower and dress. Hopping on top of the cover she sat comfortably, preparing to surf the net. To distract herself from tempest raging in her mind since yesterday.

Thoughts coiled in her head all night, simultaneously tightening and releasing pressure over Helena's heart. Bane was alive. He was a short walk away, a distance she could scale anytime she wanted. He came for her, to be with her. It was everything she wanted. More even, since he was silently watching over her through all the years. Vigilant but careful, he never let her feel pressure other than concern of a friend.

All that while he planned to destroy a whole city, after keeping its occupants hostage for few bitter winter months, exposed to elements and cruelty, and oppression. Men, women, children alike.

Death was indiscriminate, but his pragmatism and casual way he talked about it rung discord in Helena's brain. How could one be both loving and murdering? Focused on subtleties of academia and brutally murdering scientists?

She spent unnecessary hours trying to find in her mind arguments against him. Every single one felt hollow. Bane was a child of circumstance he was born into, molded by violence, later excelling in a cutthroat mercenary environment he was an autonomous part of. Tied by honour or sentiment he worked for League of Shadows, destroying and tainting the world… but what was the difference between him and some shady businessman who funded those kinds of operations? Where was he worse from people ordering abductions, assassinations, assaults? How were his sins comparing to presidents ordering their troops to invade foreign countries, supposedly for peace and upholding higher moral values?

Ultimately, Helena knew Bane was at the very least a murderer. Probably objectively could be qualified as mass murderer. She couldn't find in herself an ounce of honest to God fear over that fact. What she needed was an explanation, reasoning, validation.

Above all, she wanted to make sure he was done with his mercenary work for good.

If only he'd spent all those years and resources towards his research. At fifty there was still some time left for him to leave his mark on the world, a different one he had scored already over the years. Maybe he could bridge the gap between his disposition and what the world made him become, maybe he could reconcile merciless machine of destruction with intricate tool of discovery.

After all, many inventions came to life from dusts of war.

Helena was still the most interested in Bane the person. The man behind now non-existent mask.

How would he be without everything he built so far? No people to govern over, no tasks to complete, no places to conquer. Peace and quiet of retirement crushed many men before him. Would he be like Napoleon, a genius tactician reduced to moping around an island he was confined to, no light in his eyes anymore? Would he become gluttonous and complacent?

All she needed to do to find out was simple - let the man do what he wanted.

But damn, he always got his way. This didn't feel right to just let him slide into comfort of a relationship, without a hitch, hindrance, without second thoughts.

She wanted nothing more herself...

Chime announced new email. She wasn't in the least interested in anything but her neighbourhood friendly mercenary, but obsessing over Bane had to stop. And for that she needed distraction. An email would do.

Was it a commission? A friend with news on their kid? A request from LinkedIn? Some horribly disfigured person asking for money for a medical procedure?

No such luck.

‘I read your emails.’ the message said simply.

Another chime.

‘All three hundred sixty four of them. It took a while.‘

Helena stared at the screen. Laptop could use some cleaning; the edges were darkened with grime. Fingerprints smudged the dark plane of glass. She focused on them instead of words displayed below.

‘One might think you were worried about me.’

“Oh, you fucking dick!” she growled.

‘Contrary to what you might have thought, I took care of you to the best of my abilities and possibilities. This land for instance, along with everything on it would be yours in the event of my death. There is a hefty sum to go with it. The notary is obliged to assist you in any legal matter you might encounter.’

‘Also, there is the small subject of your concessions. Who do you think gave Herr Schmidt your contact info? ‘

‘Also, there is another plot of land in Italy, and apartment in London. A mansion in Kashmir. Summer houses in Chile, Namibia, Mongolia, and Argentina. House in Louisiana. Pick any if this place doesn't suit your needs.’

‘Also, you might want to reconsider your comment about being indebted to me. You're welcome to follow my suggestion as for the interpretation of this whole situation.‘

Infuriating. He danced around important subjects, never leaving any information that could link him to his true identity, all the while conscious of Helena’s awareness of the double meaning of his words. Playing her knowledge against her.

Closing her eyes to think she exhaled slowly, ignoring pings of notifications coming from the computer. Well, for one Bane did put enormous effort into tricking her. Then again, it was all to make her comfortable and content. He never talked her out of her numerous affairs. Instead, he made sure she was well provided for, either by his own commissions or those of his friends. As control freaks go, he was actually quite caring and generous.

Okay, now he was agitated too. Five messages in span of around five minutes.

Very unlike Bane.

Helena glanced over the emails, more ranting with “also” as a starter, and hit reply on the latest one. If they were to discuss anything it certainly couldn't happen over monitored emails.

‘Let's go for a walk. Meet me at mine in five.’

She sent it and closed the laptop. Not wasting time immediately went to put on her boots and warm jacket. She was finishing with laces when Bane appeared on the pathway to her cottage. Well before the time she gave him.

She thought he'd look out of place, the memory of his imposing silhouette from Armenia still etched in her mind, but he was irritatingly casual to a bystander. If not for the scars one could think this was just an ordinary man, past his prime but still fit. Dark jumper with turtleneck hid most of his markings, the sleeves long enough to cover his hands down to base of thumbs. Washed down blue of baggy jeans blended with grey sneakers. The only spot of colour was scarf tossed carelessly around his neck.

Helena could have sworn he magically shrunk over the years. Once she thought he was a giant. Now, as he stood politely by the glass door to the terrace waiting for an invitation in, she saw he couldn't be taller than her latest fling. Which put Bane from realm of fantasy back into cozy normalcy. Unnerving. Dangerous. He was anything but normal, average or ordinary.

She stood up and gestured for him to come in.

“Since it's all yours I don't see why you're sticking to formalities,“ she observed, sliding her hands into warm jacket. It was still chilly out.

“It's your home. I'd hate to be impolite.”

Helena only hummed in wonder. Bane watched as she tucked scarf and hat on, zipped up and put gloves on her hands.

“Are we going far?”

“Don't be so amused. I was always amazed how you'd burn up even in the middle of winter.” They went out to the terrace and Helena immediately congratulated herself choice of wardrobe. Despite the sun, cold wind pinched her cheeks with unpleasant gusts. “We might take a turn around the beach?”

Bane nodded and they started, silent for the short walk down to the sea. He followed Helena down wooden steps through budding foliage, across the tarmac and down to the sandy patch by the water. Only then he stepped up a bit to catch up and stroll shoulder to shoulder.

“I like your hair like this,” he gestured vaguely towards her messy bun.

“Dishevelled?“

“Long. But the disarray is quite charming too,” he admitted.

“Thank you. I like you with your hair on better too.”

The weather was nice, even though gale from over the sea tossed their scarves around carelessly.

“You know, I don't think we ever went anywhere together like this. Always either you or I was one step behind, trailing along.”

“Technically you’re wrong, since I carried you around once or twice. Almost the same.”

“I disagree. That's hardly comparable to walking together.”

“Perhaps.”

“I'm worried, you know.” She sighed. Bane waited patiently for a follow-up. “You turn up all of a sudden after all this time and I have to remind myself of everything you are.”

“Do you?” He sounded genuinely interested.

“No, I really don't.” Helena laughed dryly. “But it feels wrong to just pick everything up and start anew.”

“Why?”

“Well, you're a mass murderer. Maybe not exactly, since the bomb exploded safely away from Gotham, but you confirmed yourself you wanted to blow everyone up.”

“Does it matter to you?”

Fuck.

“Maybe.”

“Helena.”

He knew her too well, had her thoughts, intimate and private, on display for him for years.

“How do I even call you now?” she spat angrily, furrowing her brows in impotent frustration.

He only chuckled. “Tony.”

Nose wrinkled in comical display of distaste Helena sneered.

“Don't be ridiculous. It doesn't fit you one bit.”

“It’s my name.”

“I get it, your alias should be like a second skin, yadda, yadda…”

“No,” he interrupted. “You don't understand. That is my real name.”

“It is?”

“Yes.”

“But you were born in prison.” Like that would be the explanation to everything.

“Every penal institution keeps meticulous records.”

“Even ones where people are treated like animals?”

“Yes, even those. I know exact time and date of my birth, names of my parents, my weight, height, and credentials of doctor who cut the umbilical cord. No different from any other person.” Looking down at her he snorted inelegantly. “You thought it was all savagery and dirt?”

“It sounded like it.”

“Nazis treated people like inferior beings, which didn't stop them from recording every name anyway.”

“Point taken. Still, Tony just doesn't suit you.”

He chuckled again. “What would then?”

“...Bane.”

He laughed.

“But we can't keep using that name, what if someone overhears?” she continued, oblivious to the way he stared at her in amazement. Whether she realized, the decision was made, and she already acted upon it. “I could always try calling you ‘babe'. “ She winked at him. “Sounds almost the same and is culturally acceptable. Alas,” theatrical sigh escaped her, followed by slight shaking of her head, “that would imply a relationship closer than what we have.”

“How do you mean?” Bane furrowed his brows again. Maybe she knew exactly where she stood and only played with him?

“Well I don't really know you. I thought once I had you all figured out,” rueful smile softened her gaze for a second, when she recalled one conversation they shared, “but in reality I don't know how to reconcile everything I know about you. You're like three different people to me now. Bane the terrorist, Tony the scientist and this unnamed man who said yesterday he loves me.“

No, she wasn't sure what she wanted, Bane thought. She was figuring it all out still.

“It’s too much, all at once. Two days ago I was mourning your death. Yours and Dorrance's!” She huffed a small scoff. “And now here we are. But enough on that. What did you mean when you said you want me to go away with you?”

“There are people who know your name and your connection to me never was a mystery. I wanted to take you somewhere where we could both have a fresh start.”

“But I like it here.”

“It would be safer that way.”

“You assumed I'd just pack my things and go because you say so?”

“Yes.”

“How typical.” There was some disappointment in her tone, but she was surprisingly stable otherwise. “How about this. Stay here with me. Let me get to know you. Then we'll see.”

The proposal was risky at best. Unwise.

“For how long?” Bane found himself asking to buy some time.

“I don't know. As long as it takes, I guess.”

“It’s not a game, Helena. “

“I'm not playing games with you… pal.”

“Pal?”

“I have to call you something!”

“How about ‘mate'?”

“Tsk, tsk, you try to sneak double meaning in there?”

“Never,” he winked.

But his smirk faltered into a disappointed scowl.

“I imagined this to be different,” he admitted towards the sea.

“Well, it's real.”

“It is,” he agreed.

No matter what happened next he knew he'd never let her go now. Even if she would keep him perpetually an arm’s length away. Just being together like this, walking down the beach, was doing wonders to his battered soul. For the first time in years he felt good. Even despite aches of his body and discomfort the conversation brought along.

The smile he gave her when he turned back threatened to overpower weak March sun. She didn't see it, observing rolling clouds, swimming deep into her own thoughts.

He faltered. That was his mistake in the past. He was too focused on his own musings to take into consideration she had ones of her own. Valid point of view, vector of actions she took. He would do well to listen to her more carefully this time. What he wanted could be different from what she needed...

“How did you get here, anyway? After you've been hit by a rocket back in Gotham.”

The reply was automatic, he had other things on his mind, but he was glad she was interested in him still.

“There was a lot of commotion that I missed, since I was unconscious for the most part. I ended up in a bunker, been roughly patched up. Transported around the city to avoid detection, then out with a smuggling tunnel. Spent most of those two months on a vessel at sea.” And in a hideout that was tropical mansion in Bahamas. Details, details, details. Helena didn’t have to know everything, at least not all at once.

“And you magically healed yourself?”

“No. There was a professional who took care of me.”

“So, the League of Shadows just let you go?”

“No.”

“Are you going to volunteer any information without me explicitly asking for it?”

“Probably not. It's not who I am.”

“Go figure,” she chuckled.

Bane resisted an overwhelming urge to gather her close and kiss that sound away. He hadn't had a chance to kiss her yet. How did that omission even happen?

“Okay, so what about your primary occupation then?” she continued, unaware of his inner turmoil.

“I'm an astrophysicist.“

“I'm being serious here, friend.”

He was taken aback.

“Is it really so hard for you to call me by my name?” Do we have to negotiate everything too? He thought. Do you still want me? Why won't you accept me for who I am now instead of who I was?

“Yes. Now stop evading the question.”

Her sincerity put him in his place.

“They thought I was dead, but are probably looking for me.”

“Why?”

“They expect me to lead them. Expected. Now they probably want me eliminated.“

It came out more bitter than he intended, resentment towards Helena bleeding out into his words.

“Would you stay alive as long as you did, if that was really their objective?”

Bane stopped dead midstride.

“Well, your men are League’s men, are they not?”

“They are loyal to me.” The argument sounded childish even to his own ears. But he knew that to be true.

“Maybe they just let you retire with dignity.” Helena reasoned, offhand remark offering no comfort, only brutal honesty backed by cold logic. That was a hard blow. The realization he might have been let go of consciously, as a courtesy for years of work. As a reward for his sacrifices.

“You could step up and lead them different path, right? But you chose to come here instead.”

Action as clear to interpret as a written resignation.

“What happened to the people who cared for you when you were convalescing after Gotham? The ones who smuggled you to safety?”

“They work for the league still, or went into hiding.”

He never stopped to think about what happened to them. Some leader he was.

“I still don't understand how you are up and about so fast after major injury.”

“That drug I was taking, the one the mask was for. It had many purposes beside the main one. One side effect was vastly improved self-healing ability of my body,” he supplied absentmindedly.

He didn't leave them, they abandoned him. A general no longer needed. Broken soldier sent back home to put himself together, too incomplete to be an asset again.

“Cool.”

Helena's amused voice brought him back to reality.

Wasn't that what he wanted? To be left alone, to live in peace?

If the League let him go, as she suspected, he had nothing to escape from. He could just stay here.

“Plus I was cared for by the person who concocted it. She is real magician with organic chemistry,“ he finished his previous thought out loud.

“Isn't magic an undiscovered science?”

“Indeed.”

This time he made sure she saw his happy grin. Relief pooled in the pit of his stomach and he started different kind of plotting nearly instantly.

Again, why didn't he kiss her yet?

oOo

Bane stopped at the threshold waiting for Helena to permit him entry. She scoffed and waved him in, aggravated with his attention to formalities.

“Do it one more time and I will legitimately treat you like a vampire. With your accelerated healing and all.” She warned half seriously.

“That was Venom. Don't have it anymore.” He vaguely gestured around his bare face.

“Oh. Mere mortal like the rest of us puny humans.”

“Quite so.”

He followed her downstairs to the kitchenette.

“Take a seat,” Helena threw over her arm as she busied herself with the stove. There was still enough soup for the two of them, and she could make some grilled cheese to go with it.

Warm chest pressed to her back and two big palms splayed over the counter on each side of her. Bane leaned in to peek over her shoulder.

“What are we having?”

“Chunky tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Do you like them with mustard?”

“I don't know.”

“I'll make two kinds then. Fried in butter or baked?”

“You decide.”

“Mustard ones will be fried, and I'll make plain baked too, then.”

“Sounds good,” he rumbled and turned back to sit at the table.

Silence stretching between them was cozy like a blanket, invaded only by sounds of Helena working, heating up pan and oven, layering cheese over toasts and checking on soup back on the stove. Bane just watched her sprawled in the chair like in the old days, listening to her absent-minded humming. Skylight in the corner let some of pale sunlight in, but it hardly reached the counter below and rest of the room. Helena worked under cold spotlight stretching under upper shelves over the working station. The oven emitted warm, yellow light, a counterpoint to almost medical detachment of grey planes of steel shelves with their cold blue of led lamps.

This was it. The feeling of rightness washed over Bane, the familiarity of place and situation, ridiculous since there was nothing he could attach himself to. But he did find himself at home. Sitting in a chair and watching Helena like he did so many times before.

It was right, somewhat. He was complete.

“You make me satisfied. That's why I came here. You make life simple. There is something that's just enough, without much fight, without much arguing. You allow me to just, be,” he said, recalling a rant interested same subject years past.

To think she knew what was best for him even back then.

“This is the first time in your life no one expects anything of you,” she mused, mulling over his words while she ladled the soup.

Bane only murmured in agreement, waiting for anything more she might add.

Twin bowls clunked softly on wooden plane of the table, followed by plates Helena set gently with a smile.

“Tuck in,” she encouraged Bane, sipping soup with a muffled sigh of satisfaction.

“How barbaric,” he noted, smiling over bite of toast.

“Cutlery is useful, but not always necessary. This is much better at warming one up after a stroll,” she defended herself, glancing coyly over rim of the bowl before she set it finally on the table. “Besides, isn't it nice to wrap your hands around something warm and pretty?“

“I had in mind something else than clay,” he smiled. She didn't pick up on frivolous tone he used. Too soon still? “This is my new favourite thing. This soup.” He practically inhaled half of it in one go. “If I knew how good you were in the kitchen I would have you cooking along with copying.”

“You don't get to joke about that!” She huffed in mock annoyance.

“Why not?”

“I'm supposed to be traumatized over the subject, you know.”

“Are you?”

“Not over this one, no.” There was enough between them to leave open the possibility of working through myriad other things other than the fact she was abducted and imprisoned. “So, did you have anyone? Over the years?”

Surprised look he sent her was a gem, the unguarded way his lips opened a bit taking off at least a decade of strain off his face.

“There were women,” he admitted.

“Anyone long term? “

“No,” he furrowed his brows, leaning back in the chair. “You know how difficult it is to meet anyone not professionally interested in my person, in my line of occupation. They were all paid.“

Helena nodded with a hum, not in the least put out.

“I expected as much.”

“Last one was few years back,” he said quietly, munching on his toast, eyes turned down.

It wasn't like him to be embarrassed, so what was it?

“So this is the first time in your life you're allowed to just get to know people, develop healthy relationships, without complications over work.”

That wasn't a question. She said it like she only needed him to confirm something she thought about long and hard, before they even started this conversation.

Bane didn’t like the look of resolve on her face. Not one bit.

“Where are you going with this?”

“I think we both should give each other ample time and space to work this situation over,” she said, a decisive nod punctuating her conclusion.

“Explain.”

“Perhaps it is not me you're in love with, but the idea of this life that I lead. The peaceful life you want to have. Perhaps I'm in love with the memory of you, more than the actual person.”

He couldn't argue otherwise immediately, which in itself gave him pause.

“What then? How do you want to proceed?”

“We have the basic covered already. Let's get to know each other. You have your cottage, I have mine. I wouldn't mind if you wanted to broaden your circle of friends.”

With some effort Helena could pretend she didn't notice how he seethed across her.

“Which reminds me, Grace and Graham will invite me over for Easter, am I allowed to say you're here?”

“Yes,” he hissed.

“Would you like to come with?”

“I don't know,” His eyes were impassive, but his jaw was set so hard he barely opened it to speak. “My thanks for the meal,” he nodded and turned to the stairs.

“Are you gonna sulk because I want to deal with this situation like an adult?”

“Am I allowed to?” He sneered.

“Do what you want. I know I can take care of myself and just live on my own. Can you?”

He turned at the bottom of narrow staircase, straightening up to look down at her. No more a scientist she walked with over past hour.

“Helena, you will do well to remember one simple truth about me. Whatever you or I would like to think, I am not a product of my circumstances. I am a product of my decisions.” His voice was quiet, but gravitas of words seeped to her in powerful confident waves, strengthening their message. “And my decisions over past decade proved that not only am I capable of taking care of myself, but also of you, and a very complicated military operation, all at the same time.” His eyes narrowed, conducting the anger he felt. “Now for the solitary living, the whole point of me being here was to avoid it. I've been alone most of my life. But I understand your fears. You won't hear from me again, until you ask yourself for my presence.” He nodded in farewell. “Goodbye, neighbour.”

#bane #fanfic #bane dcu #original character #tdkr #fanfiction

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ruffsficstuffplace · 7 years

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Keeper of the Grove (Part 88)

“I suppose I really shouldn’t be surprised things turned out this way...” Weiss mused as she sat beside Ruby. “As it was with my grandparents, we Schnees really don’t know when to quit a good thing once we start...”

“What’s the story behind that?” Ruby asked as she began to row back to Keeper’s Hollow.

“After my grandpa to my grandma got together, they just couldn’t away from each other—or more accurately, she couldn’t. Grandpa talked and wrote a whole lot about how she always seemed to be working, scheduling, and acting as efficiently as possible so she’d have as many opportunities to be with him.

“It surprised him, everyone else on the team, and grandma says she never realized she’d act that way, too.”

“What was she like?”

Weiss smiled. “Cold. Logical. Almost constantly annoyed about something. It was why grandpa called her ‘Frosty,’ and the first time he said it, it wasn’t as a pet name. She didn’t change that much after they got together, but at least she wasn’t hostile, secretive, and defensive all the time—just most of it.”

Ruby chuckled. “At least now I know I know where you got it from!”

Weiss blushed. “Yeah… I always felt like me and Winter take after our grandparents more than we ever did our own parents.”

“You hung out with them a lot?”

Weiss sighed. “Well, both of us did, but mine was when I was too young to remember most of it; everything I know about them is from second-hand accounts, holos, or what’s left of grandpa’s journals—a lot of them got corrupted or destroyed, while he and the rest of his team were out in the Country, trying to find Candela.

“How about you: did you spend a lot of time with your grandparents?”

Ruby shook her head. “They were both dead long before even Yang was born. It’s one of the problems with Keepers: we don’t really last all that long, because eventually our bodies are going to crap out, and the Soul Eaters are just going to keep on coming.”

Weiss frowned. “How long are we talking about, exactly?”

“Well, about 40-60 years old if they don’t get killed earlier than that.”

“That’s… not very long, is it…?”

“Nope! It’s not that weird, though; watchers tend to live up to just past 60 at best, or they retire once they hit 40; all the hunting, the action, and even the echoes we absorb just become too much, and we have to quit, go into another job, or train the next generation of watchers.”

“What about the rest of the Fae?”

“If something bad doesn’t happen to you, like getting eaten by predators or getting really sick? Probably about 70, little over 100 years at best. Even the Eldan Council is constantly shifting soon as it feels like someone’s gotten too old for the job.”

Weiss blinked. “… Oh.”

“How long do you humans tend to live, anyway?”

“250 years or so if you can afford the best healthcare we have; even the average citizen lives to about 80-110…” Weiss replied.

All was silent for a while.

“Ruby… even if we work out, we’re not going to be together for very long, are we…?”

Ruby shook her head. “Abner says he can’t back it up with science, but he says it’s probably why Keepers and their mates tend to fall in love so quickly and so hard; they’re making up for the time they do have.”

“… Ah.” Weiss looked down. “I see...”

Ruby stopped rowing, put a hand on Weiss’ thigh. “Weiss… don’t think too hard about it, okay? Just enjoy right now. That’s what water weavers try to be with the Flow, right? Never where you were, never where you will be, but always wherever you are.”

Weiss didn’t reply. “Ruby…” she whispered as she turned to her. “This is really your only shot at a serious relationship, isn’t it?”

“Well, technically no! We can still date and start families when we’re older, it’s kind of one of the first problems we solved with our genetic engineering!” Ruby looked away. “… But yeah, with how much more likely it is that we’ll be killed by something or we just conk out when we get older, and how important it is that there’s a new Keeper to replace us eventually, we really have to get it right the first time with whoever we chose as our first official mate.”

She looked back at Weiss and smiled. “So it’s a good thing we also seem to able to know who it will be, just like that.”

“But what if I’m just a fluke? You’ve dated before, surely you felt like this for other people?”

Ruby nodded. “I have.” She gently butted her forehead against Weiss, looked her right in her eyes. “But they never came anywhere close to the way it is with you.”

Ruby gave her a quick kiss on the lips, before she pulled away, and continued rowing.

Weiss blushed, before she looked out to the water, lost in her thoughts.

They returned to the Tube station, Ruby climbed out first and helped Weiss onto the dock, before the two of them returned to Keeper’s Hollow, hand-in-hand.

“I’m really glad we had this talk, Weiss,” Ruby said as they neared the barn, lights all off. “I promise, no more keeping secrets like this!”

“I’m glad we did too, Ruby,” Weiss replied. “And speaking of secrets: any more you’d like to share with me before they become a problem?”

“Just one for now: I really want to sleep on your chest, and use your boobs like pillows.”

Weiss blinked, her face turning bright red. “I… but… what…?” she quickly down at herself, then back at Ruby. “I don’t really have…?”

Ruby smiled. “Small boobs are still boobs.”

Weiss blushed even harder.

Ruby kissed her again. “Good night, Weiss.”

Weiss blinked, her face feeling like it was melting again. “I… uh… good night, Ruby.”

The two of them began to go their separate ways.

“Oh, wait! Weiss!”

Weiss turned around.

“I’ll get started on those wardrobes and trunks you wanted for your stuff when the Makers finish making your and Winter’s new home on top of the barn; it’s easier for all of us if I know how much space I’m working with, and if I just build them where they’re going to go in the end.”

Weiss blinked. “Oh. Thank you...”

Ruby nodded. “Also: I love you.”

Weiss blinked again, then smiled. “I love you too, Ruby.”

Ruby crossed the farm and climbed up the side of the house and into the house, Weiss washed up at her laboratory’s sink, before the both of them joined their older sisters wherever they were staying.

“Weiss!” Winter cried as she sat up from being buried underneath her plushies. “You’re back!” she said, lowering her voice for the others’ sake.

“You really shouldn’t sound so surprised, Winter,” Weiss said as she sat down in front of her. “Ruby’s not nearly as bad as we’ve been led to believe.”

“I know, but I’m your big sister,” Winter said as she leaned over and hugged her. “It’s in my job description to worry about you constantly.”

“So, how’d the Big Talk with Ice Princess go…?” Yang asked as she let go of Ruby and pulled away.

“It went great, actually!” Ruby replied. “I was really worried that things were going to get ugly and this was when we’d break up, but it went a lot better than I could have expected it to.”

“We discussed boundaries, what we need out of this relationship, our feelings about recent events like mature individuals,” Weiss continued.

Winter nodded. “And did you tell her that you needed a year’s time to figure things out?”

Weiss looked off to the side. “Uh, yeah… about that...”

“We’re actually back together now!” Ruby and Weiss said. “We’ve even got a contract with the honours about how things are going to work out from now on.”

Yang and Winter blinked. “Wait, what?” they said.

“It’s been less than three days!” Winter whispered frantically. “This was a whirlwind of a romance, not to mention all the other disasters and crises that you’ve gone through all in the span of a month! Shouldn’t you be giving this more time?!”

“You only get one chance at this, Ruby!” Yang cried. “Are you really sure you want to spend that with Weiss?”

Ruby nodded. “Yes, because I know she’s got that something I’ve been looking for, what I didn’t see in everyone else.”

“And even though I won’t be completely separating myself from her like I originally planned, I’ll be living with you from now, and I will also be doing my best to spend a lot less time around her, figure out what it’s like to just be me again, hang out with my friends, make up for all the lost time with you,” Weiss finished.

Winter scowled. “She’s not pressuring or rushing you into this, is she?”

“Because if she is, just say the word, and I will personally teach her ‘Hand’ for ‘Fuck you!’” Yang added.

Ruby held out her hands. “Okay, Yang: one, please don’t punch my girlfriend unless you’re sparring, and two, she’s not pressuring or rushing me into anything!”

Weiss looked sheepish. “… As a matter of fact, if anyone’s been rather overenthusiastic and keen to escalate things… it’s me.”

“How so…?” Winter asked.

Weiss looked away. “Uh, how do I put this…?”

“We almost totally”--Ruby made a sexy animal noise. “But then Weiss pushed me back to make more room for herself, I fell off my seat, hit my head on the back of the boat, and that just ruined the mood.”

Winter started quietly screaming.

“It was completely consensual!” Weiss added quickly.

“Really?!” Yang cried. “Because it seemed to me like she was trying to tear your clothes off and ravage you—which by the way is a word I never thought I would ever be using seriously in a sexual context!”

“Well, duh? Besides, I like it when she gets super aggressive like that—it’s pretty hot!”

“Okay!” Winter cried as she began to hyperventilate. “I… this… Weiss, you know you can talk to me about anything, anything at all, right?!”

Weiss blushed. “I’d rather this be all we talk about on the subject, thank you.”

“Weiss, please, I won’t judge; I’ve been pining after a cartoon wolf for the past decade, even before I learned she was both real and a Fae, I can understand what interests us can get very… strange.”

“But even if you aren’t so innocent anymore, you’re still my darling little sister, and I will protect you from anyone who dares try to corrupt you or use you!” Yang cried as she hugged Ruby again.

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Yang, I haven’t been innocent since I was--”

“Shh...” Yang whispered as she stroked Ruby’s hair. “Shh… let me maintain this illusion just a while longer, please...”

Weiss groaned. “Winter, I believe I am old enough now to make responsible decisions for myself, and more so, I can safely determine when I can handle those things just fine by myself!”

Winter sighed. “I know that, Weiss, but still: growing older didn’t stop grandpa from making terrible impulse decisions, and we both seem to have inherited that same tendency from him! I don’t want you to get hurt or do something you’re going to regret for the rest of your life, okay?”

Ruby’s eyes softened. “Yang, I know you’re only trying to protect me…”

“… But there comes a time when trying to make decisions for me will just do more harm than good, and you’re going to need to let me make my own choices and deal with whatever the consequences will be,” Weiss continued.

“I’m not a little kid anymore.” Ruby and Weiss finished.

Winter sighed. “True… but you won’t hesitate to come to me if you need to, right?”

Ruby smiled. “Well, duh? I thought that was pretty obvious!”

“I’m never going to completely outgrow my need for my big sister, don’t worry.” Weiss said.

Yang teared up as she hugged Ruby. “I love you, Ruby.”

“I love you too, Yang,” Ruby said as she hugged back

“I love you, Weiss,” Winter said as she leaned out and hugged her.

Weiss nestled her face into her chest as she hugged back. “I love you too, Winter.”

“Man, never realized I’d ever be back here with you, and that it’d take a massive terror attack, and the Heralds trying to kidnap me and dad specifically for the Council to change their minds...” Yang said as they laid down to sleep.

“I’d rather not think about that please,” Weiss said as she and Winter snuggled up together. “Like Abner said, the seekers have got this, and we’ve got our own problems to deal with...”

“… So so long as we don’t try to leave the Valley any time soon, or accept any more suspicious tickets anywhere, we should be fine!” Ruby finished.

#white rose #rwby #fanfic #the keeper of the grove

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fashiontrendin-blog · 6 years

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How To Tackle The Rugby Shirt Trend

http://fashion-trendin.com/how-to-tackle-the-rugby-shirt-trend/

How To Tackle The Rugby Shirt Trend

Oh rugger, a sport so English we’d play it on crumpets in the Queen’s honour if we could. Granted, we’re not the best at it any more but when it comes to rugby style, well at least that is still something we can claim for our own. And the rugby shirt can be the creative outside-half of your wardrobe, posh and preppy if that’s your thing but just as happy playing with urban streetwear looks.

The jersey has come a long way. Rugby was started in 1823, when William Webb Ellis, a student at Rugby School first ran with a leather ball during a game of footie. The sport grew in the British public school system and as a way to differentiate teams uniforms were created.

The first rugby uniform was a collared dress shirt worn with a bow tie, but the tails were found to be too easy to grab hold of. Buttons were also taken off the front lest they scratch another player’s face. The wool jumpers that succeeded the dress shirts also failed to be fit for purpose with the cloth becoming heavy in the wet British winter so the more breathable cotton was chosen as the de facto choice of fabric.

The collar remained and bold stripes came into play with horizontal lines reigning (vertical stripes were already taken by footballers). As time went by the stiff collars became less prominent than your typical dress shirt in an attempt to prevent a pesky prop clinging onto them for dear life, which takes us pretty much up to the modern version of the rugby shirt (ignoring the skin tight sausage cases the pros play in these days).

The Rugby Shirt As Fashion

People didn’t cotton onto the rugby shirt as a fashion piece until over a century later. It was the 1950s as the now-timeless preppy wardrobe was first being formulated. A thicker alternative to the polo shirt, American teens began wearing rugby shirts as a way of showing off their athleticism while still keeping their look tidy (we are about 40 years off sweatpants as fashion here).

Since then the shirt has dipped in and out of fashion along with other preppy staples like the sweatshirt, peaking in the 1980s and 1990s as a symbol of old money yuppiness (which was then hijacked by subversive hip-hop stars) before returning big time this summer season.

Mick Jagger

How To Style Them Today

“Rugby shirts first piqued my interest when I saw Gucci revisit them for their SS18 pre-collection,” says Chris Hobbs, Mens Fashion Editor at Matchesfashion.com. “In thick bold stripes, they had an easy David Hockney vibe about them. I paired it with baggy rolled up vintage Levi’s and loafers in a louche artist-in-his-studio manner but equally, I think they look great with a pair of tailored trousers and sneakers. I’m also not adverse to a turned up collar.”

You can also try wearing it under a blazer as an easy alternative to a normal button down shirt. And side-stepping away from its traditional, buttoned-up origins, the rugby shirt has also been greeted with open arms by the streetwear community, with the loose and relaxed shape suiting the baggier streetwear fit, although we would stay away from wearing one with joggers – the skiving lectures until the next rugby social look was never en vogue.

The Best Brands For Rugby Shirts

Tommy Hilfiger

Tommy has been taking a lot from its early 1990s archive a lot recently. It was a period when both the rugby shirt and the preppy American brand were riding a massive wave, with Snoop Dogg making his performance debut on the star-making Saturday Night Live in a Tommy rugby shirt. With its bold logo and colour blocking pattern it’s a version that didn’t really need to be messed with and although Tommy Hilfiger does more traditional hooped shirts, it’s this 90s style that still rules its rugby shirt roost.

Buy Now: £84.99

Hackett

Hackett is synonymous with the type of Englishman who would most probably have lived in a rugby shirt growing up (Prince Harry is a good point of reference). For gentlemen by gentlemen, its rugby shirts are classic P.E. lesson in 1954 fare with a relaxed fit in thick cotton and a bold classic neutral like white or blue.

Buy Now: £112.49

Kent & Curwen

The style of rugby shirt on offer at David Beckham’s fashion brand Kent & Curwen is a bit like Goldenballs himself showing up the new kids on the streetwear block with a timeless and classic style that will never cease to be stylish. The collars are rounded as opposed to pointed and styled to be worn up like your some debonair Welsh fly-half, while the breast patches on some of the shirts are a nice touch, like something your mum would sew on the night before school.

Buy Now: £115.00

Ralph Lauren

In a weird sort of mirroring to Snoop Dogg’s rugby shirt wearing SNL performance in 1994, one of the hottest hip-hop stars at the moment Chance the Rapper wore the style for his SNL hosting appearance. Only this time it wasn’t Tommy, it was Ralph Lauren. Both brands chase that 90s style but Ralph Lauren is more vibrant with its colours and patterns while holding off on the obvious branding.

Buy Now: £215.00

Gucci

Not one to miss a trend, the Italian fashion house was the main torchbearer for the rugby shirt’s ascent into high fashion. Surprisingly for Gucci, its rugby shirt offering is quite conservative – there are no baroque swirls here. Instead, we see traditional hoops and contrast collars in thick cotton although it does do a version that features a bold V-stripe over the chest (a pattern more often associated with rugby league shirts). This being Gucci, the brand can’t resist little flourishes like an emblematic cartoon pig.

Buy Now: £580.00

Gant

American founded, now headquartered in Stockholm, Sweden, Gant is recognised as the brand that brought the button down shirt to the mass market back in the 1950s. Aimed at a slightly older customer than its other preppy American rivals, the Gant rugby shirt is a sensible and hard wearing choice for the man who is less bothered about popping out on Instagram and more about making a good impression with the father-in-law.

Buy Now: £100.00

H&M

While we might all have heard the phrase ‘false economy’ Swedish fast fashion chain H&M has a tendency for surprising us with its wares. So while the price is by far and away the least expensive on this list, its styles are some of the most eye-catching and in a 100 percent cotton there really is no difference in quality to many of the others.

Buy Now: £19.99

Beams

Ivy League style by way of erm…Japan. Founded in 1976, this brand’s wares don’t come cheap but for your money, you can expect high-quality craftsmanship and subtle updates on old classics that can more than justify the expense. Its take on the rugby shirt is a perfect example, purposefully faded to give it the classic look of something you’d steal from the back of dad’s wardrobe, with a chambray collar to set it apart from the rest.

Buy Now: £280.00

J.Crew

The oldest of the big four US preppy brands, J Crew might not have the same cool cache of Ralph or Tommy, but for someone more concerned with style than showing off their logos, it can more than hold its own. The brand was one of the torchbearers of the rugby look in the 1980s and while it does offer those throwback wide striped and block-coloured jerseys, it also has newer designs that keep the feel classic while subtly playing around with those verticals.

Buy Now: £75.00

Adidas Originals

Coming from the retro lifestyle part of the monolithic German sportswear makers, Adidas Originals rugby shirts take most of their influence from 1980s continental Europe rather than anything to do with British public schools or 1990s LA. In fact, there’s a touch of the five-a-side footie as well in this heritage polo and rugby shirt hybrid, so you can tick off the vintage football shirt trend off too.

Buy Now: £54.95

Thom Browne

Anyone who has been to a Thom Browne catwalk show will know the American designer lives in some sort of Dr Seuss land of uber-twee outrageousness. It’s all founded in the preppy world that rugby shirts exist in, and while the Thom Browne version is vastly different from others on this list the style (if not the price tag) does come with some restraint. Expect multi-colours and disjointed stripes, but above all a high fashion quality the designer has cultivated after 15 years in the biz.

Buy Now: £499.00

Saturdays NYC

There is no better place to be on a Saturday than NYC, whether you want a night on the town or a new rugby shirt. Less than a decade old, this brand rests on a unique formula of elegant streetwear that doesn’t try too hard to stand out. Its take on the rugby shirt, therefore, doesn’t try to reinvent the traditional. Instead, it just aims for a subtle spin with shades like plum and seafoam green in slimmer stripes.

Buy Now: £129.00

Marks & Spencers

Marks & Spencers has been a trusty bastion of the British high street for over two centuries and is the only brand on this list whose history can match that of the sport of rugby itself. Its rugby shirts sit in the Blue Harbour section of its menswear collection, which is aimed at the older gentleman so expect classic patterns in relaxed fits.

Buy Now: £29.50

Aimé Leon Dore

When it comes to fashion, the French are top of the pile and while Aimé Leon Dore might only sound gallic the young New York streetwear brand does tap into that all-conquering sartorial spirit. The ALD blueprint takes on a more 1990s hip-hop bent with a hoodie-like pouch and in bold primary colours, while the scripted logo adds a touch of French panache.

Buy Now: £115.00

Abercrombie & Fitch

As stepping into one of their stores in the middle of the day (is this a nightclub?) will tell you, Abercrombie & Fitch know how to get down with the kids. And actually, their youthful stylings on preppy pieces in the menswear canon work brilliantly on the rugby shirt, with a range of colours and retro branding that set them out as a go-to brand for anyone looking to channel the rugby shirt trend without looking like Dad.

Buy Now: £60.00

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