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formeandmyfics · 5 years

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What Do You Have to Prove

JUGENEA FAN FICTION

December 1951 Manhattan, NY Gene Kelly felt a warm sensation fill his heart as his cab rolled through the snowy streets of Manhattan. It had only been a week and a half since he was away from New York and already his favorite city had been transformed into a Christmas wonderland. He had left to start pre-production on ‘Singing in the Rain’ and spend Thanksgiving break with his daughter back in LA. It was home there, but it felt more like home here.

As the cab pulled up in front of the Ritz Carlton, Gene’s sentimental feelings started to turn into pleasantly anxious ones. Judy wasn’t expecting him for a few more days and he was excited to surprise her. Her phone call yesterday morning was positively depressing. Now that Liza was back in LA with her father, Judy said she was lonely. Kay was in town but busy working and Judy was also drained from her extended run at The Palace.

Currently off her medication, she was usually okay when she had that support system from him, as he wouldn’t leave her side, but without it, her mental and physical state went totally weary. She wept saying she missed her best friend before she hung up. He quickly made arrangement to come back sooner than scheduled. Not only was he excited to see her, it would also be the first Christmas season they’d spend together as a real couple, their divorces having been finalized.

Gene walked into the suite at the Ritz Carlton that he and Judy were sharing and tossed his fedora hat on the coffee table and set his small suitcase down.

“Hun?”

When there was no answer, and he heard no radio going- Judy always had a radio going - he knew she must be out. He plopped down on the couch and closed his eyes with jet lag. Laying his head near a throw pillow, he gently smiled when he got a whiff of her perfume. It had only been a week and a half that he last seen his girl and yet he missed her as if he hadn’t seen her in a month. And unfortunately, it had been nearly that since the two made love. With her back-to-back shows seven days a week and him going back and forth to LA; the couple had been utterly exhausted. Of course, it was more so on her part, but he was a patient and understanding boyfriend. Hell, he was there in the wings every show; he saw how much energy she brought to that stage. She was magnificent. He was so proud and she was so damn happy and elated. He hadn’t quite seen her that happy before, not in that way at least, and he wasn’t about to ruin her mood by urging her for sex when she wouldn’t be fully into it.

But he did secretly hope his surprise would excite her to that point. He fucking missed her.

Gene sat up and checked his watch confused at where she could be. Usually at this time, she liked to nap and relax before a show. Placing a cigarette between his lips, he got up and walked to the nearest phone. He lit his Philip Morris smoke as the phone rang. “Yes, Plaza hotel, please. Thank you.”

Kay Thompson shook her fur coat free of snowflakes as she walked across the lobby of the Plaza hotel.

Behind the concierge desk, a desk clerk held a phone receiver to his ear, but did a double take on Kay as she made her way past the desk.

“She’s actually right in front of me, Sir. Let me see if I can catch her. One moment,” the clerk held the phone to his shoulder and politely called out for her, “Oh, Ms. Thompson.”

The elegant blonde stopped short in her tracks, “Yes?”

“Phone for you, ma’am.”

Kay walked up to the desk with a mischievous eyebrow, “Call me, ma’am and I turn around for my mother,” she teased.

“A Mr. Eugene for you, miss.”

Kay made a mental note that is was Gene on the phone, as he always used Eugene as an alias, and she giggled as she took the receiver from the smiling clerk, “That’s more like it. Hi, Gene, how are you, baby?”

“I’m good, sweetheart. How are you doing?”

“Oh, peachy keen, jolly bean. How’s the weather over there?”

“Oh, it’s precisely 31 degrees and snowing.”

“Bullshit,” she giggled as she observed her manicure, “I bet its 72 and sunny and not a cloud in the sky. I tell yah darling, as much as I love this city I miss the California weather during winter.”

“So do I, but it’s good to be here during Christmastime.”

“I do agree on that. Wait, what do you mean, here?”

Gene chuckled, “I just got back a little while ago.”

“Oh, you really weren’t bullshitting me then.”

“Nope.”

“I thought you weren’t coming until Friday.” “Yeah, I was but Judy sounded so depressed on the phone yesterday.”

“I had drinks with her last night after the show.”

“Oh, you did,” he said gleefully, “That’s good. I bet she needed that. How was she?”

“Uh, ok…” Kay trailed off.

“Why do you sound trepidacious?”

“Well, because she was acting just like that last night. She seemed nervous and she didn’t talk much, not about anything other than work related. Her mind kind of seemed elsewhere.”

“Eh, she was upset that morning on the phone. She was probably just in a mood. And I guess that answers my question, I was calling to see if she was with you. I was going to surprise her.”

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, she isn’t here.”

Just then Kay looked up and saw Judy standing across the lobby signing an autograph for a little girl and her older sister.

“Oh, I lied, she just walked in. She’s over signing autographs. What do you want to do?”

“We’re you guys meeting up for lunch or something?”

“Not that I can recall.”

“If she’s there to spend some time with you, see if you can get her to come back here or something.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, but you’re good at that stuff. Please,” he whined, “I want some alone time with her before her show tonight.”

“So, really, you want me to come up with a scheme to get her back there so you can get laid?”

“I can only hope,” he mumbled.

“Hey, who am I to stand in the way of a fu…” Kay stopped short when she saw a familiar looking man walk up to Judy and give her a big hug, “What the hell.”

“What?”

“Is that…” Kay’s mouth went a gap when she realized who the mean was and then she watched Judy slip her arm through his as he ushered her towards the Oak Room, a lavish cocktail lounge just off the lobby, “Oh, shit.”

“Kay,” Gene then whistled to get her attention, “What’s going on?”

“Well, Judy’s definitely not here to see me. That’s for sure.”

“Why? Who’s she with?”

“Gene, you won’t even believe me If I tell you.”

“Try me.”

“Artie Shaw.”

“Artie Sh-that’s not possible. Are you sure they didn’t just bump into each other or something?”

“No, it definitely looked like they were meeting up. They just went into the bar together.”

“There’s got to be something else going on. I mean, Judy is a person who doesn’t hate anyone…” he then chuckled, “…but she hates him.”

“Yes, I know. Why do you think I’m so shocked? What do you want me to do? Do you want me to go say hi and see if I get any signal from her?”

“No, no. I’m just around the corner. I’ll come by.”

“Okay.”

Gene removed his coat and hat as he walked up to the coat check girl to the side of the Oak Room. He smoothed his hair as he walked up to the host stand where a blonde girl, who didn’t look more than 21, stood. Her face expressed shock as he walked up with his cheeky smile.

“You’re Gene Kelly.”

“I am.”

“Mr. Kelly, I am a huge fan of yours.”

Gene chuckled to himself at her flattery, “Well, thank you.”

He looked up past the girl’s shoulder looking for Judy when the gawking girl leaned in, whispering with a wink, “Judy Garland is in there.”

“You don’t say,” he said with an even cheekier grin.

“Is it true you two are dating?”

Gene looked a little uncomfortable as he never discussed his personal life with fans, “Um, well…”

The girl cut him off as he looked both ways to make sure her manager wasn’t looking as she handed him a cocktail napkin and a pen, “Will you autograph this for me, please? I’d be tickled.”

“Sure thing,” he said and suddenly he heard Judy’s unmistakable laugh. Just the sound of it gave him a hard on. “Here ya go.”

He pinched her cheek before walking past her into the lounge. He saw Kay standing at the bar with a fresh martini in her hand looking conspicuous.

“Spying,” he said with a raised eyebrow as gave Kay a kiss on the cheek.

“I wanted a drink…and I’m nosy,” she said as she took a sip.

Gene turned to spot out Judy. They were in a booth by the potted palms and laughing together. She looked beautiful in her black fitted cocktail dress, her hair was in a French twist away from her face and her red lips were luscious. Then there was that idiot, the forty-something womanizer.

“She, ah, she doesn’t exactly look uncomfortable, does she,” Kay asked a bit slyly. She looked at Gene who bit on his lower lip looking as if he were now a tad bit uncomfortable himself and she continued, “But, she is the greatest actress in the world so it could just be a front.”

“Could be,” he murmured.

In mid laugh, Judy mindlessly looked over their way. They watched as she did a double take on them and her smile faltered before she stared at Gene in shock. Artie noticed this and looked their way as well.

Kay wiggled her fingers at them as Gene stood with his hands in his pockets smiling genuinely at his girl.

Judy cleared her throat a tad bit embarrassed, “Well, it seems I have an audience.”

“You’re dating, Gene Kelly, right?”

Judy nodded and giggled nervously, “He wasn’t supposed to be here for a few days.”

“That’s Kay Thompson, isn’t it?”

“Yes, she’s staying at this hotel. Will you excuse me for a minute, darling?”

When Judy approached them, she wore a forced smile that both could see straight through, as they were two people in the world who knew her better than she knew herself.

“What are you doing here?”

Even though she spoke through a smile, her tad bit irritated tone took Gene by surprise and his own smile disappeared.

“Well, hello, to you, too, darling.”

“I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you until Friday,” she said giving him a kiss on the cheek but it didn’t lift his disappointed expression.

“Is it a problem?”

“No, of course not. I just, ah, I made plans.”

Gene’s eyes widened and he practically hissed at her pointing his direction, “With that cocksucker?”

Kay’s mouth formed into a tight ‘o’ before she took another sip of her vodka.

“Gene, will you be quiet?” Judy said whispering just as shocked by his behavior that he was of hers.

Gene ran a hand through his hair and sighed, “Forget it.”

Judy watched as he walked towards the exit and she looked at Kay with an appalled expression.

“Well, what do you expect, Judy? The man came here to surprise you and then finds you over there flirting with your old boyfriend,” Kay whispered.

“I was not – “

“You were,” Kay cut off and motioned for her friend to go after Gene.

Judy looked over towards Artie, and when he looked her way, she put her finger up as if to give her a minute and she walked out the exit.

Gene was standing at the coat check getting his coat and hat when she walked up and put her hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ll see you at the room.”

“Gene, I’m happy to see you, I am, I just made plans and I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Seems more like you were caught red handed,” he said as he plopped his fedora on top his head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You look guilty as hell and you’re acting like it’s such an inconvenience me being here.”

“Here in New York, no, here in this bar where I’m meeting up with an old friend, yes.”

“Friend?”

“Yes, friend,” she repeated putting her hand on her waist.

“You hate his guts.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?” Gene looked at her skeptically and took a step forward, “What exactly happened for you to change your mind about him?”

“Well, definitely not what you’re implying and I don’t appreciate you thinking that.”

Gene smiled, a wicked one, “Tell me what I’m thinking.”

It was Judy’s turn to laugh now, but with a ridiculous sing-song tone, “I’m not doing this with you here.”

“Then come back to the room with me.”

“That would be rude to just leave. I did make a date…” Off his look she quickly reiterated, “…made plans with him.”

“Mind if I join then?”

“Well, I don’t know, darling. You did just call him a very colorful name.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t have a cordial drink with him.”

Judy hesitated a moment before speaking, “Will you promise to be nice?”

“I just want to spend time with you, alright?”

Judy nodded. After he gave the coat check his coat and hat back, the two held hands as they walked back into the lounge. When they passed Kay, she winked at Gene, and she watched as they made their way to the booth.

Gene placed his hand on her tush as they approached Artie, who stood up to greet them. Judy nudged his hand off, “Artie, this is Gene Kelly. Gene, Artie Shaw. I don’t think you two have met before.”

“No, haven’t had the pleasure,” Artie said extending his hand which Gene shook, “I’m a fan of your work.”

“Likewise,” Gene said waiting for Judy to sit down before taking a seat himself. As she did so, she gave him the side eye. She knew he didn’t own one of Artie’s records.

“You don’t mind him joining us, do you darling?” she asked.

“More the merrier, right darling,” Gene said answering for the other man and slurring ‘darling’ for her benefit. She called everyone affectionate names but to Gene’s ears it sounded sour. He felt Judy tap his leg and he smiled.

“Yeah, sure,” Artie answered, “What are you having/”

“Scotch,” Gene looked at Judy’s near empty red wine glass, “Another for you, baby?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said as he reached for his wallet.

“I’ve got hers,” Artie chimed in and motioned for the waiter.

Judy saw Gene’s look and she put her finger up to her lips as to keep him hushed and calm. He clenched his jaw as he put his wallet back in his pocket.

After Artie ordered a fresh round of drinks, he leaned back and smiled large, “So, Gene, are you in town to see Judy’s show?”

Judy stifled a giggle and looked over at Gene who sat up straight, “Well, considering I’ve been to most of them, yes, I’ll be there again tonight. But that’s not why I’m back in town. I’m partially living here with Judy.”

“Oh? You two live together,” Artie said a bit surprised.

“We’re staying at the Ritz around the corner. Gene helped get my show up and running and he’s been traveling back and forth to LA since,” Judy said appreciatively.

“So, you’ve been together for a few months now, huh?”

Gene laughed but when he saw that Artie wasn’t joking, he quickly stopped and looked at Judy who looked a little uncomfortable, “He isn’t kidding.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You must not read the papers.”

“I don’t read.”

“I’m not surprised,” Gene mumbled but Judy heard it and gave him a dirty look.

“At least not that crap. I just stick to my music notes.”

Judy smiled, “If I could read music, that’s all I would read, too.”

“You can’t read music?” Artie said surprised.

“Nope.”

“Yeah, you can. You’re shitting me,” he said playfully pushing her arm.

Judy laughed and playfully pushed him back which made Gene frown at her flirtation.

“She’s not shitting you. She can’t read a note. But she can hear a melody once and play it by ear on the piano,” he cut in.

“I do remember that,” Artie said smiling ear to ear at her, “When we’d meet up at Ciro’s years back, she’d hear a brand new song of mine and be able to sing it like she’d been rehearsing it for months. Even as a teenager, she was very wise for her age.”

Judy smiled and looked down bashfully and Gene watched as Artie’s eyes quickly darted to her prominent cleavage before meeting her face again.

“Ol’ Tin Ear is what I called her ‘a few years back’ as well, you know when we first got together during our first picture,” Gene bluntly stated.

“Summer Stock wasn’t it? That was what, only a year and a half ago” Artie asked Judy more than Gene.

Judy opened her mouth to speak but Gene answered first, “That was actually our last picture. We were in three total but I’m referring to For Me and My Gal, 1942. That makes it, how long darling? Almost 10 years we’ve been together.”

“Gene,” Judy giggled nervously, but it was more of a warning to him.

Artie chuckled, “You’re joking.”

“Why would I joke about something like that?”

“You two were married to other people, weren’t you?”

Judy cleared her throat and took a large gulp of her wine.

“Yes. It was an on and off type of thing. But we just kept coming back to each other.”

“Are you still married?”

“No. My divorce and Judy’s from Vincent’s came finalized few months back.”

“I’m sorry to hear that for both of you. But everything happens for a reason, isn’t that what they say? Though from what I heard, you and Vincent had a good thing going.”

Judy looked over at Gene who looked at the man like he wanted to punch him, “Uh, I don’t really want to discuss that subject if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, no problem, kid. I just always heard Judy Garland and Vincent Minnelli were Hollywood’s ‘It’ couple.”

“That wasn’t Hollywood it was MGM,” Judy corrected.

Gene sat unfazed, his eyes glued to the other man, “How many times you been married, Shaw?”

“Can we change the subject?” Judy asked the two men but they ignored her.

“Oh, about a soccer team full, Gene.”

“See, I do read the papers. 6 isn’t it?”

“About to be 7. I’m getting married next year.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that. Congratulations,” Judy said gleefully.

“Thank you. Her name is Doris Dowling. She’s a great gal.”

“Do you know of her Judy?” Judy once again opened her mouth to reply but Gene turned back to Artie, “You’ve married quite a few of Judy’s friends, haven’t you? The first one being Lana Turner…”

Both men were a bit startled as Judy stood up a bit harshly making the table shake.

“I’d like to see you for a moment,” she said with venom before walking past him. Gene followed her out. The minute they were exactly at the same spot they were before hand, she hissed through her teeth, “What the fuck!”

“No, no,” he said taking a step to her so their chests were almost touching, “What the fuck are you doing meeting up with him?”

“I don’t feel I owe you any explanation after the shit you said in there.”

“Oh, you don’t owe me an explanation?”

Judy laughed, “Not after you were acting like you were in a cock fight in there.”

“Were you not at the same table as I was or were you too blind to see he was doing the same?”

“Cut it out.”

“And he stared at your tits. What’s with that dress, huh? How come I’ve never seen it?”

“Cut it out,” she repeated lifting her chin to him.

Gene took one more step so his nose was almost touching hers, “He wants to fuck you.”

A few couple passed the celebrity duo and did double takes as the two stood very close but had the most enraged looks on their faces.

“Go screw your self,” Judy said with a calm front as she stepped away.

Gene’s eyes followed her as she walked back in the restaurant. When she disappeared, his eyes landed on the hostess girl who stood there eyes wide and her mouth a gap.

“Shit,” he whispered to himself before he head out.

Gene was lounging on the couch with his feet up watching the twinkling of the small Christmas tree by the patio window that Judy most likely put up with Liza the day after Thanksgiving. He tapped his feet to the soft Christmas tune on the radio, and had just finished only his second cigarette, when he heard the door open behind him. Without looking, he just sat there knowing her eyes were burning into the back of his head. She came sooner than he expected.

When the door slammed shut forcefully, he did close his eyes a moment, but they opened again when he heard her spiked heels walk up behind him. He could feel her energy before he even saw her shadow.

Leaning her hands on the back of couch on each side of his head, she lowered her mouth towards his ear, “You have some hell of a nerve,” Judy said bitterly.

“The feelings mutual, doll,” he said as he sat up and picked up his half glass of scotch that was on the coffee table. He went to take a gulp when all of a sudden Judy grabbed it from his hand. She dumped its contents on the floor beside him before throwing the glass on the table. The heavy glass cracked but did not shatter.

Gene sighed and finally turned to look at her, “Isn’t that a bit dramatic? You don’t think I’m not going to just get up and pour another glass?”

“Dramatic?” She looked at him determined before turning on her heel.

Gene knew that look and it alerted him, “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll show you dramatic,” she said as she went to the mini bar and grabbed his bottle of Macallan scotch whiskey. It was an expensive bottle that Roger Edens had given him as a gift the night of Judy’s opening at the Palace as a thank you for helping them get the show together.

“What the hell are you doing?” Gene said with alarm. She looked at him with a raised eye brow as she walked across to the kitchenette. “Ju – “ Gene stopped short when she dumped the nearly full bottle down the drain and threw the glass into the sink which made that glass shatter.

“That’s dramatic,” she said proving a point.

Gene licked his lips trying to stay calm, “That was a $300 bottle of scotch.”

“Well, now it ain’t worth shit.”

Gene stood up angry, “What are you even doing here?” Off her inquisitive look he continued with exaggeration, “You told me to go screw myself. I was just about to do that and I’d like some privacy.”

Judy let out a chuckle rolling her eyes as she head back out of the kitchen area, “You’re disgusting.”

He walked to the other side of the couch, resting his hips on the back of it, as he crossed his arms watching her pour herself a glass of water, “You know what I’m baffled about…”

“Tell me,” Judy said sarcastically before taking a sip of water.

“…why you decided to see him in the first place. You still haven’t answered my question.”

“And I still don’t think you deserve an explanation after how you were acting.”

“It’s just a simple question, Judy.”

“It’s not simple, it’s complicated, and it’s something you wouldn’t understand so will you just lay off me?”

“No,” Gene replied quickly stubborn as hell.

“You’re such a child,” she spat with repulsion.

‘Don’t you dare start calling me names,” Gene pointed yelling.

“Oh, ‘child’ is nothing compared to what I could call you.”

“Bitch,” he mumbled softly, turning his back to her.

Judy banged her water glass on the counter top staring at him wide-eyed, “What did you say?”

Gene spun and walked straight up to the other side of the bar top, leaning over it to look her square in the face, “I said bitch.”

Judy quickly gave him the middle finger in his face but he just as quickly smacked her hand away from him, a little too hard, and it fueled the fire as she gasped and pushed his arm in retaliation.

He caught both her wrists and held them tight on the counter, now both leaning towards each other, “If you don’t answer why then at least tell me how you two met up?”

“Gene, let me go,” she said as she tried getting her hands out of his grasp.

“No.”

Just gave up and answered as if she were tired, “He showed up at the show last night and we talked a little bit and decided to catch up.”

“He saw how phenomenal you are, realized how much of a dick he was with you all those years ago, knew you were just divorced, and asked you out,” Gene said with assumption.

“I asked him out,” Judy said staring him in the eyes.

Her confession was enough for him to let go of her and his voice softened, “After what he did to you, why would you do that?”

“I told you, you wouldn’t understand.”

Gene saw it in her eyes, like she were a heartbroken teenager again, and he had sudden suspicions as to why and it hurt him and pissed him off that she wasn’t communicating with him.

“What did he say about the show?”

To Judy it seemed like a general question, but to him, it was manipulation to get to his assumptions.

“He loved it. He said I was electric and loved how I bantered with the audience and that my voice was stronger than ever. He said I glow under the spotlight…and that I’m more magnificent now than I’ve ever been.”

Gene had no doubt what she was saying was true, because it really was true, she was everything like that on stage, but the fact she said it with such spite in her voice, to purposely make him more jealous, just angered him further.

“I’ve said all those things to you before.”

“I know.”

“So why does it seem more important to you when he says it?”

“Gene, I’m tired, ok? I’m going to lay down for a little,” Judy said as she came out from behind the bar and crossed past him but he stopped her by taking her arm. Whenever he was right about something that she felt guilty about, she would try to change the subject.

“Why are you doing that to yourself, Judy?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you feel you have something to prove to him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said trying to free her elbow but he had none of it.

“You’re finally free of the chains of the studio and you’re more confident and you’re ready to show the world that you’re Judy Garland, and hell you should, because you’ve better then you’ve ever been. But, that doesn’t mean you need to prove anything to some asshole that yo-yo’d with your vulnerable emotions, lead you on, then tossed you out like yesterdays garbage. And for what? For a marriage to a blonde bimbo that lasted only 6 months.”

Judy grit her teeth, “Shut up, Gene.”

Gene looked at her incredulously,” You were fishing for his attention weren’t you? You were trying to show him what he what he missed out on, tried to make him feel guilty about it.”

She continued to try to free her elbow, “Stop it!”

“Just because he was giving you compliments on your stage performance, doesn’t mean he sees you the way I do, Judy. He doesn’t know the real you. He may have told you once upon a time you were going to be a star and built up your ego, but he never told you how beautiful you were, did he? He never told you that he loved Frances Gumm, that he loved you as a person, did he?”

“You son-of-a-bitch!” she shouted with tears in her eyes as he grabbed her arms as if trying to knock some sense into her. She was currently re-living the past but she needed to be smacked right back into the present.

“Baby, don’t waste your fucking energy on a 6-time divorced man who only sees tits instead of brains.”

He let her go and she stood there, breathing heavy, tears in her eyes and it hurt him to see he wasn’t still getting through to her.

“Face it, honey, to him you’ll always be a teenage girl with braids, a homey-looking kid with stars in her eyes for a man she can’t have.”

Judy smacked him hard across the face that made his head turn. When he looked back at her, with such rage in his eyes, she took a step backwards as if she were afraid. He took that step forward and tried to gather her in his arms but she immediately started pushing his chest in more of a fit of anger than for protection.

“Stop it!” Gene said as he pushed her shoulder to hold her at arms length.

“Get off of me!”

“Then stop fucking hitting me!”

Judy stopped and placed her hands on her hips breathing heavy through her nostrils but her pent up emotions were still very strong.

After a moment, she took a step to him, very calmly and stuck her nose up at him, “Remember who you’re speaking to, Eugene. This teenage homey looking girl in braids is the reason you became famous. Without me, you’d still be a New Jersey vagabond nobody, playing for minimum wage on Broadway.”

Gene ignored her inevitable, verbal retaliation. He knew she was hurting. Instead, he grabbed the back of her head and kissed her hard. Judy moaned in protest and pushed his chest away from her breaking contact.

“I think I’ll leave now so you can go screw yourself,” she turned to do just that but he grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly up against him that he knew she secretly liked. A little force was always a turn on. The pleasurable whimper she gave off as he did so, confirmed that.

When their lips met again, she tried fighting him off, but he was stronger and instead she found herself moving closer to the couch. Gene felt her tongue against his but then she would withdraw and struggle again. When Judy’s back hit the couch, and he was on top of her, she struggled even harder but his actions were creating a painful arousal between her legs and she didn’t want to stop.

The two got caught up in a wrestling fit on the couch and they still looked angry as ever. But the heavy breathing and little mews each gave off with the struggle, secretly turned each other on. Gene finally got close enough to her face to kiss her, but when he did, she pulled on his hair and bit his lip. He moaned in pain and quickly grabbed her wrists and held them above her head as he roughly maneuvered his body between her legs as she tried kicking.

Gene feverishly kissed her neck as he pushed his lower section into her. Her wiggling only excited him more. Judy closed her eyes and tilted her head back in ecstasy as he sucked a spot on her neck he knew she loved.

“Get . off . of . me.”

“You really want me to stop,” he mumbled against her neck, “I bet you’re wet already.”

Judy gasped and was able to get a hand free and smacked him again, though this time not as hard. Gene groaned in distaste and quickly pinned that wrist again. Face-to-face again the two stared at each other, their hot, heavy breath against each others lips. He saw her chest heave more as her eyes became clouded and suddenly she slightly whimpered with anticipation and lifted her hands. He let them go and groaned with satisfaction as her fingers started undoing his belt in a hurry, as if her life depended on it.

When she got his zipper undone, Gene tossed her hands away and reached under her poofy, black skirt to pull off her panties. He threw them to the side and climbed back between her legs as she scrunched up her black skirt in her hands so he could reach her. Gene pulled himself out of his pants and became level with her again so he could stare into her eyes as he slid inside of her once again. When he did, it was a bit rough, but he went in smoothly and quickly with no resistance on her part. The action made a groan rumble from his chest and she let out that little sound of hers.

Judy pulled his head back to hers and they kissed hard and deep, like this thrusts. There on the couch, fully clothed, the couple put all their frustrations into their lovemaking and it didn’t take long before each were moaning and groaning with relief of being with each other again.

Gene felt her black stiletto’s digging into the back of his thighs for a moment, but the feeling of himself being tugged at by her warm body numbed that slight sting.

“It’s been so long. You feel so fucking good,” he spat out with each thrust. Judy placed her hands on his lower back urging him for more.

“I missed you,” she breathed as her hips tried meeting up with his. A beginning orgasmic rush burst from her tummy and shot up to her breasts and down between her legs and she cried out softly, “Oh gosh.”

Gene felt her climax rising and he slowed down his pace, and brought his body closer to hers, his pubic bone rubbing against bud with each slow thrust. Judy gasped and held her hand on the back of his neck for support, “Honey,” she could barely cry out. Gene groaned deep again as her body tightened and her face scrunched as a strong orgasm rolled like waves throughout her core before bursting against him.

When her grasp on him loosened, he leaned back and picked up his pace again until he himself experienced a strong climax and seemed never ending.

“Now, ladies and gentleman, before we go any further, I’d like to bring out a man that all of you know. He’s my favorite leading man and he’s been a great help with putting this show together for you all. Gene Kelly. Let’s make him take a bow for a change, come on.”

Gene stood in the wings as Judy stood center stage and urged him to come out and say hi to his also adoring fans. As the audience clapped and cheered with excitement, he shook his head ‘no’ to her shyly. It was her time to shine. But she had none of it.

“Come on,” when he still didn’t come, she whined, “Come onnnn.” Judy walked over and grabbed his hand bringing him into view, “Come on, come on,” she giggled.

Gene waved and smiled as everyone cheered even louder. “Lights, lights!” she shouted to the stage hand controlling the spotlight to have it on him. When it did, he did one last wave before walking back off.

“Aw, awww,” she said giggling at his embarrassment, “They want to see you, too, you know,” she said in a darling voice.

Gene blew her a kiss and motioned for her to go on with the show.

“Alright. Let’s have some more fun tonight because this is a particularly wonderful night for me. Now then, what are we going to do? Palace?” she asked her friend and orchestra leader Hugh Martin.

“You want to do Palace?”

“Yeah, let’s do that. Here we go.”

As Judy went into one of her most prominent songs of her engagement, ‘At The Palace Medley’ Gene watched her with admiration. When she started hitting certain notes, Gene tapped along with the notes as if he were apart of it.

“..so I hope you’ll understand my wonderrousss thriiiiiiillll,” she belted out loudly, “ ‘Cause Vaudeville’s back at the Palace..” she giggled as she caught Gene intently involved from the wings, “And I’m ---- On ---- The Billllll!”

As the audience clapped with her incredible long finish, she looked over at Gene and smiled.

The End.

*ps: if you haven’t listened to Judy’s At The Palace soundtrack from 1951-1952 I would suggest it. She talks a lot in it with the audience, very goofy, laughs a lot and I did take a few sequences for this ending from those tracks*

#JUGENEA #JUDY GARLAND #GENE KELLY #JGFANS #FANFICTION

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thecardssayfuckoff · 5 years

Text

Meet My Apprentices.

It’s the time, finally, and theirs. Let me just say to things, quickly:

First one, these aren’t finished, but I know that I won’t end them in the near future for school and so, and I’m impatient and want to talk about them already, so I’m throwing them here. They look… decent. Not good, just, decent. (Side note: If some colours look a bit weird, like their eyes, it’s because my pc got kind of fucked up so it doesn’t show the colours exactly as they should look).

Second, this is going to be lengthy. I’m gonna talk about them in their lore (?), and then about them individually. I also don’t know if there’s like, a format for when you publish your apprentices, so I’m going by heart. Fight me or teach me.

I really hope the damn “read more” works. Gonna post the drawing here to get some attention, and then the read more. Please work.

Now, the girl to the left is Crystel, and the girl to the right is Vitali. Let me give you some context: My best friend and I can’t work separated apparently, so after getting her to play the game, we (I) totally started to work in the story. Crystel is technically her apprentice, and Vitali is mine, but they share the story. What I mean is that one takes the place of the MC and the other would be kind of a side character, but not really. Just listen:

Crystel is the apprentice. She’s the one that dies and then revives, and gets involved in all the stuff. Vitali is her sister, who also gets involved in everything. I’m planning on writing a formal fic about this, but I’m lazy, so I’m just gonna be throwing things and facts and surely a lot of spoilers for said still-not-written fic.

The thing is, they’ll follow kind of Julian’s route, until they separate to Muriel’s (for Crystel) and Lucio’s (for Vitali). Crystel will end up with Muriel, that’s for sure, but to be honest I’m not entirely sure about Vitali. Neither of us is.

I screech Julian, she screeches Lucio, and I agree to this, but then she likes Julian more, and then Valdemar comes into play (we don’t give a fuck they’re aro/ace, it’s our story and we want them to shag), and so on and so forth.

Back to what I was saying… I tried to do kind of a, summary I guess, but I’m really bad at it so I didn’t feel like it was good enough to add. We’ll have to let things there for their story. I’ll proceed now to talk about them individually now. We starting with Crystel.

♡

Full name: Crystel Rhodes.

Nickname: Crys.

Gender and pronouns: Cisgender female, she/her.

Height: 1.72cm.

Body complexion: Normal really, but rather strong.

Familiar: Not designed yet.

Love Interest: Muriel.

Talent/type of magic: The same as the canon apprentice of course, although she has a thing for fire magic.

Arcana: Not sure, probably The Magician. We know nothing about this.

Personality: She’s a ray of sunshine. Easygoing, kind, has a good heart and a strong sense of ethic, justice, and morals. Extremely protective and caring. However, she’s kind of quick to lose her temper, mostly with people she dislikes. Very in contact with her emotions and feelings. Intelligent, although sometimes distracted.

Description (which I’m adding since I surely couldn’t capture it in the drawings because I’m bad at drawing): Has shoulder-lenght purple/reddish hair, bright blue eyes with long, curly lashes. Almost always wears a smile. Has little pigmentation on her lips, but her cheeks are naturally flushed, giving a more appealing look.

What would other characters describe her as: A beauty. Not only physically, but mentally.

Clothing: Not designed yet, probably something similar to Asra.

A curiosity: Her hair gets fuzzy when she’s angry.

Now let’s talk about her story, in a more freeform manner:

Crystel, as the apprentice, has experienced all the things the original apprentice has. She knew Julian and Asra, Julian failed to save her, she died, revived without memories, and all that jazz. When it comes to her backstory, however, things get better.

She’s older than Vitali for a couple years, but the other one is who took care of both of them since their parents had fallen ill because of poverty, which meant feeding badly and having poor living conditions; and latter on, they died because of this. It was hard for Crystel, who wouldn’t ever be really able to get over their death. She had no more option than to obey Vitali’s orders, who managed to find a place to live and a work for both. This all happened when she was around eight or ten.

They grew near the docks, and after some years, for reasons I’ll talk about in Vitali’s description, she separated from her, but maintained contact. She moved to a new place, and throughout more years, established a friendship with Julian. Her fascination for magic, though, lead her to also met Asra, and because of Vitali’s work, she met Nadia and Lucio. She became friends with all of them, excepting Lucio, holding a deep disdain for him.

Then she died, end of story.

♤

Full name: Vitali Worth.

Nickname: Vits.

Gender and pronouns: Genderfluid, and doesn’t give a fuck what you use to address her (although I mostly write about her using she/her).

Height: 1.80cm.

Body complexion: Thin, but has a slightly worked abdomen.

Familiar: Astaroth, a black fox.

Love Interest: Not sure, but has had encounters with Julian and Valdemar.

Talent/type of magic: Blood magic.

Arcana: Not sure, maybe Death.

Personality: Cold, methodical, stoic, and a tad of melancholic. She always chooses head over heart. Doesn’t really have morals, or ethic, but she’ll peruse truth to the end of the world. Easy to annoy her, but really hard, almost impossible, to get an expression out of her face. Mostly quiet and lost in thoughts. Extremely intelligent, observant, and sly. A bit malicious, too.

Description: Short, curly and puffy blonde hair, with pink ends. Deep green eyes, and death-pale skin. She uses makeup to make her lower lashes stand out more. Has a lot of pigmentation in her lips, making them catch one’s attention. Also, freckles!

What would other characters describe her as: An ice cube.

Clothing: Not designed yet, but mostly formal, yet not fancy.

A curiosity: If you learn to read her eyes, she’s kind of an open book.

Story time (warning for some strong things, kind of):

Her story begins the same as Crystel, but from her point of view, there was nothing to be sad for when her parents became ill and the died. The fuckers weren’t even good parents, not even before becoming so poor. On the contrary, they were abusive. Her father would beat them often and on one memorable ocassion, he almost raped Vitali; her mother, on the other hand, would punish them in horrible ways, like starving Vitaly for days or locking Crystel in the small trap door under their hose all night long, knowing that she was scared of darkness. So when they died, Vitali was happy. Crystel could’ve forgiven and forgotten, but she wouldn’t.

Hate would only lead her to nothing though, so she pushed herself to find a way of surviving.

At around fourteen, owning already a little house for her and Crystel, Vitaly began to learn about and practice magic. Forbbiden magic. The Red Magic, to be more specific. Magic fueled by blood. Vitali loved it. She didn’t care how much blood had to be spilled, either hers or some else’s.

But Crystel didn’t like this, and after a heated argument, she parted. Vitali didn’t stop her. She wouldn’t force her to like her things, but also wouldn’t change for her, so she waved goodbye and from time to time, they’d write letters to each other.

Sometime after that, having mastered the Red Magic, Vitali’s endless curiosity was pinched by science. The Red Plague was becoming more and more dangerous, and she wanted to know everything about it. So she became kind of an apprentice, learning from Street doctors until she moved on to doctors with license. At some point she was known by most doctors on Vesuvia, and after a little while,the Palace asked for her.

Working in the dungeons, she met Julian. They became fast friends, and she was a bit surprised when she found out he’d been freinds with Crystel for quite a while back.

And in there, she also met Valdemar. They established a solid and strong work relationship, since Valdemar took her under their wing, fascinated by her attitudes and fast learning brain. This evolved to a strange friendship, and then culminated in a stranger romantic relationship. However, this turned out to be a bad thing. Not beacuse they didn’t work as a couple, but because Vitale became an even worse workaholic. Trapped between her work, her thirst for knowledge, and her lover, Vitali was oblivious to Crystel’s illness.

And the Crystel died.

At the exact momento she did, at her house after a long night of work, Vitali suddenly fell asleep, and didn’t wake up until a couple of months later, barely remembering who she was. She did remeber clearly two things, though: One, her parents; and two, her Red Magic.

But deep down, below the headaches and fevers, her mind, or perhaps her heart, tried desperately to reach a forgotten memory, until it finally pushed hard enough: her sister.

♤

And there you have it. I hope I didn’t let any important info out, but I surely did lol. Not the end of the world though as I’ll be posting more about these two soon. Feel free to drop and ask about them if you’d like to know more. Also, reblogging would help a lot. I want them to be popular and cool, unlike me, lmao.

And be prepared for even more terrible art.

#meet my apprentice #my apprentice #about my apprentice #and her cool sister lol #the arcana mc #the arcana #the arcana game #digital art #kind of #vits' hair is a bitch to draw #Vitali the bloody #crystel the bunny

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thebifrostgiant · 5 years

Text

If You Know Where to Look - Part 8 (2/2)

Summary: in which Loki hunts, and you listen. Thunder rumbles from a distance

Part 1 / Previous

Read on Ao3

Word Count: 2,888

Rating: T (for now)

Pairing: Loki/Reader

Chapter 8: A Crown’s No Cure (cont.)

Strangely, you haven’t seen Loki at all in the time you’ve spent around his intended. It’s not a fact that you resent in the slightest, but you’d prepared yourself mentally for having to spend time uncomfortably in his presence when Ülle wished to be with her groom, and yet you’ve seen no trace of the man since he’d left you in Eir’s halls without so much as a backward glance. It’s somewhat conspicuous, the lack of the young prince, at least to you, although Ülle seems to pay it no mind, for if she’s even noticed his absence, she’s unbothered by it. Which in and of itself is weird, since Ülle is an inherently bothered person, best you can tell.

What’s even more interesting is this one such excursion you’re on, scurrying after the tails of Ülle’s dress, when the prospective princess stops in some quiet corridor to talk to a man you don’t recognize, but must be some sort of guard or warrior judging by his substantial size and metal-plated armor. She smiles at him when she greets him, and you stare, momentarily struck by how delighted she seems, and how much different she looks because of it.

The man grins back, looking a tad confused but no less polite as he raises her hand to deliver a kiss to her knuckles.

“My Lady.” His voice is a soft, deep rumble, and he dips his head to her, red-golden hair swaying aside his bearded face.

She giggles — actually giggles! — looking quite charmed as his whiskered lips brush against her fingers, and tips her head back to blink demurely up at the man, who you won’t deny is quite handsome in a rugged sort of way. But still, you’re not sure which is more shocking, Ülle blushing, or the fact that she’s flirting with someone who isn’t the man she’s promised to.

“You know,” she says, sounding thoughtful and a bit too pleased, as she pointedly looks the man up and down, eyes lingering a beat too long on his muscular chest and exposed, sinewy arms, “You look nothing like your brother.”

And you stiffen where you stand as the words click into place, and you realize abruptly who your mistress is talking too. Then you make yourself scarce, slipping away unnoticed to wait behind a pillar.

In hindsight, it should have been obvious, because he does indeed look very much the way the rumors describe him, from the generous span of his shoulders to his lopsided smile, which looks far too endearing on someone so imposing in stature.

Prince Thor, for his part, begins to look slightly awkward, like he isn’t entirely sure what to do, and he laughs in a way that sounds kind of forced to your ears, but seems not to affect Ülle in the slightest, other than causing her face to light up, if possible, even more.

“We get that a lot,” he says, rocking back on his heels and fidgeting with a leather strap on his arm.

Ülle continues coquetting the crown prince for several long minutes, making his strained small talk seem tremendously funny and engaging, occasionally touching his arm or his hair, despite his increasingly clear discomfort.

You’re not really sure what to do. You could find some way to interrupt, to put an end to what is sure to be the biggest scandal Asgard’s had since Bor married a Jotun, but you’re acutely aware that it’s not exactly your place to do so, both because you’re little more than a glorified errand girl, and because Prince Thor is certainly capable of excusing himself, and yet has chosen to stay his feet. But do you... do you tell someone? You’re not just meant to ignore it, are you?

Caught up in your fretting, you don’t notice when Ülle leaves, but you jerk your head up at the sound of approaching footfalls and realize she is gone just as Prince Loki strides into view.

He doesn’t seem to see you, fixated as he is on Thor, and you duck further behind the marble column, hoping the loud thudding of your steadily climbing heart rate doesn’t give you away.

“Loki! There you are! Where have you been these past days?” Prince Thor all but yells as he catches sight of his brother, moving forward to intercept him and blocking your sight somewhat. You have to lean out to peer around his shoulders to see Loki’s face, and you hold your breath and mentally ask the Norns for both forgiveness and their blessing.

Loki halts, and frowns for a second, like he’d been cut off from what he was about to say, but he humors Prince Thor anyway.

“I was overseeing a personal matter,” he says smoothly, a note of finality in his voice as he opens his mouth to no doubt change the subject. But Prince Thor, sounding unimpressed, cuts him off again.

“And what matter would this be?”

Prince Loki actually rolls his eyes in a decidedly unprincely manner, irritation coming off of him in waves.

“Did I not just say it was personal?” He huffs. “If you must know, Thor, I was busy finding new homes for some rather unsavory people I’ve recently made the acquaintance of. I do hope they find the dungeons suitably hospitable.”

Prince Thor takes a step backwards, turns slightly and you can see the surprise and worry clear on his face.

“You were dealing with criminals? By yourself? Are you alright? Have they hurt you?” he asks all at once, comically looking his brother over, grabbing his shoulder then removing his hand just as fast as if he might have accidentally jarred a wound and letting it hang uselessly by his side.

Prince Loki puts up with it with a look of long-suffering.

“I’m here aren’t I?” he asks facetiously, “Alive? In one piece?” He cocks his head to the side. “I certainly feel alright, but perhaps I should double check.”

Prince Thor shifts again, and you can’t see his reaction, but you can perfectly well imagine the look of mingled fondness and exasperation.

“And what of you?” Loki asks suddenly, his posture straightening and his tone bleeding into cool amusement. “What business did you have here in this secluded corridor with my lovely future wife?”

“Loki,” Prince Thor begins warily, taking another step back and running his fingers once more along the band of leather on his wrist. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

And yeah, that is the truth, and you know Prince Thor did nothing untoward moreso than letting himself be pawed at, but he’s not exactly helping himself out by projecting an air of guilt so loudly.

Prince Loki frowns in an exaggeratedly confused way.

“And what did it look like, exactly? I didn’t see. But I did hear a few things that one would be hard-pressed to interpret as anything other than dallying. Are you next going to tell me it wasn’t what it sounded like either?”

“Brother,” Prince Thor tries again, putting his hands up to show his innocence, or perhaps to hold Loki back if necessary. “If you’re worried that I’ll sleep with her- “

“Of course I’m not,” Loki interjects smoothly, a sharpness underneath. “Sif would never forgive you if she found out.”

Surprisingly, Prince Thor snorts, inelegantly, at this, not at all as if reacting to the threat those words sure sounded like. Instead, he shakes his head like they’re sharing a joke. When he speaks, though, he is unquestionably sincere.

“I wouldn’t do that regardless of my devotion to her.”

Loki meets his eyes.

“I don’t doubt that,” he murmurs.

“Good,” says Prince Thor, just as quietly.

“Not that I’d particularly care either way, but I’d prefer to save myself the trouble of that inevitable fallout.”

Wait. He can’t mean-

“What do you mean, Loki?” Prince Thor asks, sounding far more keen than he’d been as of yet.

“You don’t think I’d willing bind myself to that woman if I had a choice, do you?”

Oh. That is what he means.

Prince Thor tugs at one of his braids.

“I’m sure Father- “

“Oh, I’m sure, too,” Loki cuts in tonelessly, a strangely burning look in his eyes. “You’re lucky, Thor.”

And he walks away, leaving Prince Thor staring after his retreating back and the sound of his boots filling the space he left behind.

Then Prince Thor is turning, and your eyes go wide as you scramble back behind the pillar, but you know it’s too late. He stalks over to your erstwhile hiding place and crosses his arms as he glares down at you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demands, and you falter under his looming presence and loud voice, unable to meet his eyes as shame sinks in.

“I- I- I- “ you stutter, failing to come up with anything to say in your defense. “I’m sorry, my prince, so sorry! It won’t happen again, I swear it!”

You fold your fingers around your sleeve ends to stop them trembling, and then wrap your arms around yourself when that doesn’t work.

Prince Thor is silent for so long, you look up anxiously, hoping doing so isn’t the wrong decision, but needing to have some idea what he’s thinking.

And he does appear to be thinking, if the bemused crease in his brow is anything to go by. Then his startlingly blue eyes land on your scar and something like recognition passes through them, and he relaxes his stance a bit.

“See to it that it doesn’t,” he says, more curt than angry now, and he too leaves, taking the hallway opposite the one Loki had gone down.

And then you’re alone, completely alone, in an unfamiliar corridor of the palace, with no idea which way to go, every fear you had of being lost here rushing back with a vengeance, and additionally, you’re in for a thorough dressing down from Ülle, one you’ve actually earned, on top of the scolding you’d already received from Prince Thor. And you’re still reeling from all that you’ve heard.

But, at least, you don’t have to make any decisions just yet, since it seems Prince Loki knows about his betrothed’s would-be infidelity.

And as you take the hallway to the right, that’s another decision taken care of.

***

You’ve been wandering the halls long enough for true alarm to set in, still without the faintest idea where you are in the palace to even have a frame of reference as to which direction to go in next. The only clue that you might be on the right track that you’ve found so far is the statue of the eight-legged horse, only you’re pretty sure it had been facing the window and down on all fours (eights?) when you’d seen it before, and now it’s the other way around and rearing, and you’re not certain if it’s a different statue altogether or if it somehow moved, because it looks like the same recess as before and-

You breathe, forcing away the panic. You turn around and continue your thus far fruitless search.

You pass several doors that are starting to look a bit familiar, and then one opens and someone lurches out and grabs you.

“There you are!” Ülle hisses out before you can scream, and well, it’s not exactly a relief to see her, but at least things can stop getting worse now. Her nails dig into your shoulder as she hauls you into the room with her and all but throws you forward as she hastily pulls the door shut.

You freeze, seeing unfamiliar faces staring at you from inside this unfamiliar room. You stare back. Your brain has not yet caught up enough to process what exactly is happening, but it appears these people are discussing something severely important, looking as they do as if they’ve been interrupted and eyeing you with clear mistrust. You don’t have long to ponder it before Ülle is shoving you again toward a cart with a jug of some sweet smelling wine and ordering you to serve everyone.

You comply wordlessly, and uneasy conversation trickles back up, sotto voce, as you fill each of the strangers’ goblets with the scarlet liquid. When you finish, you move to stand behind Ülle, hands folded and awaiting further instructions.

“What have you found out about the elder prince, Ülle?” asks a man with hair an almost preternaturally pale grey despite his semblant youth as he leans forward in his seat toward the woman in question.

Another woman, old enough for wrinkles to touch the corners of her eyes, holds up a veiny hand to stave off an answer.

“What of the girl?”

She turns suspicious eyes upon you, and you keep your head down, trying to be inconspicuous.

Ülle laughs and waves a hand.

“Her? She is mute, she does not speak. She will not be a problem,” she says dismissively, and you can’t believe it.

It’s fortunate that your face is downcast, because surely the raw shock on it would have given you away. Mute! As often as your tongue has gotten you into trouble, the idea would be almost laughable if you didn’t astutely know that you were about to hear something critical.

The old woman scrutinizes you for a long moment. You can feel her gaze burning into you, and you let your thoughts and hidden face go blank, just in case.

“Very well. Ülle?”

“Thor is easy,” she says confidently, leaning back and taking a sip of her drink. “He does not feel attracted to me, but he is honor-bound and dutiful to a fault. He will marry me if his father tells him to.”

“And a child?” the man who had spoken before questions.

Ülle grins, all teeth and no real humor.

“Like I said: easy. And what about you, Bǫlverkr? Have you procured a befitting gift for my dear husband?” The poison that drips from those last words indicates that there is no love lost between her and the prince. You wonder what this suddenly terrifying woman would consider befitting. The way she says it makes you fear it could be actual poison.

A different man tosses her a small pouch in reply, and her smile sharpens even more.

“You can deliver it to him without drawing attention or his notice?” the old woman asks Bǫlverkr.

Bǫlverkr nods, looking coolly unconcerned as he twists the stem of his chalice between his fingers, churning the wine within.

“Yep,” he drawls. “The idiot has been searching the forest for something these last few days. Alone. It is no trouble to overpower him and bestow it upon him.”

The first man who had spoken, the one with the ashen hair, raises his eyebrows, disquieted by his fellow caballer’s apparent carelessness.

“Loki is crafty in manner and speech,” he warns. “You would do well not to underestimate him.”

Ülle laughs again at this, a harsh and wholly unpleasant sound.

“The snake only hisses!” she cries, mockingly shrill. “I saw it in his eyes when I first arrived. A fool’s hope, the yearning of a child. His naivety blinds him. He believes himself the only one capable of laying a trap; he will not suspect a trick from without.”

They seem to mull this over, taking sips of their wine and measuring the weight of Ülle’s assurances. Acceptance wins out over doubt, and the old woman turns to Bǫlverkr once more.

“And when the time comes, you will be prepared to make the loss of the golden prince seem like a tragedy?”

“You know me, Siánialik.”

You blanch, and search desperately for something to do with your hands, something to make you look busy and uninterested and not at all scared. You begin clearing up the used goblets and piling them on the cart, biting at the inside of your lip to distract you and help you focus on not giving yourself away.

But you’re lightheaded in the wake of this conspiracy, this treason. Oh, fuck. That’s exactly what this is. You’re now an accomplice to proposed treason. You, now more than ever, don’t know what to do, and you think you’re entitled to be freaking out about it but you can’t right this second since you’re pretending to be an unimportant little umb servant.

“Very good,” the old woman, Siánialik, pronounces. “Vanaheim will have the throne.”

And that seems to be everyone’s cue to rise and make their way from the room, and you begin wiping the table with a rag, trying to move at a normal, unperturbed pace, and Ülle approaches you.

“When you’re finished with that, bring the cart back to the kitchen. I trust you know the way? You won’t get lost again?” she says distractedly, and you shake your head even though you’re not sure she’ll even see it, but you can’t slip up and give a verbal answer now.

As soon as she’s out the door, you let your head sink into your hands, gasping in deep breaths. You give it ten seconds. Fifteen. Twenty. And then you bolt from the room and fly in the direction you’d been lost before, hoping that you’ll run into Prince Thor or Loki or anyone at all who can deliver a warning.

Part 9

#loki fic #loki fanfic #loki/reader #loki/you #loki x reader #loki x you #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki imagine #loki fandom #if you know where to look #bifrostgiant writes

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ruin19-approfonde · 6 years

Text

The Warrior

I pulled up a chair next to the fellow, the rickety, heavy thing sending a shriek across the otherwise quiet tavern. The barkeep kept his steady gaze out the open window, my seat only catching the attention of the man I decided to speak with. His short stature easily gave away that he was of northern decent. I’d go as far as saying he came from the capital up there, the Grand Palace Neich, what with his aura of a warrior-like pride. Despite him sharpening away at his hefty blade, I could tell he appreciated some attention. “‘Scuse my curiosity,” I spoke, “But those don’t look like any typical northern garb. I don’t quite know how to ask this without sounding blunt, but what is it you do?”

His baggy, shoddy clothes rustled roughly as he turned, a subtle chain clinking beneath. Now with a better view, I could see a small emblem on his open tunic, one of a striking cloud partially captured within a metal square. He shot me a grin, a set of rather mangled teeth revealing themselves. The young man responded, “Why, I’m a student of combat. More specifically, The Strike itself.”

I knew it, he was the warrior type all along. My friends and I quite like meeting those types of strangers. They had a certain cloying passion that was both inspiring and great joke material for nights of drinking. I do stay careful to not let them know of course. Naturally, I had to pry a little deeper to get to the true gold. I raised my eyebrows as if I were interested, saying, “The Strike? Go on then, tell me more. I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with it.”

The barkeep’s eyes cut towards me as he noticed my intentions. Instead of interrupting, he quietly exhaled an annoyed breath through his nose, looking back towards the night sky. The stranger hadn’t a clue, however. It’s not like it would change his words if he did though. He continued on, saying, “It’s just that, the single most important hit, the magnum opus of our careers. We train day in and day out, yet never throw a single blow. Never a mere slash. Never a crumbling of bones beneath our hammers.”

He began to trail on for quite some time about his little training exercises and philosophies, mentioning vague terms and places I wouldn’t even know of if I were partially listening. I know it was rude, reaping the petty benefits of this conversation without sewing the fundamental seeds, but I had grown quite numb to the guilt. I’m sure the warrior felt nice to have got that off his chest, even to an unresponsive partner, right? Weaseling my way into the conversation once more, I had to be careful of what I chose to speak of. The more sentimental potential, the more amusing it’ll be in hindsight, I told myself. “But why’d you start doing this? It seems like an awful lot of work just for a single thing.”

“It is, trust me,” he says, “But I’d say it was worth it in the long run. I was a boy when I learned of The Strike. I had been juggled between the lines of typical, clientless craftsman and bandit far too many times. I knew that I would one day I’d pay for my devilish acts, but I had no clue it would come so soon. With the click of seven bizarre, royal blades, guards had me within arm’s length. They stared me down with their shadowed eyes, speaking their script of law as they prepared my arrest. I was trembling, the jewels I had stolen shimmering to the ground one by one. Then, in a moment of serendipity, an odd-looking woman stepped into view. She saw me, her blade by her side, and she claimed she recognized me. Two of the guards turned, one asking if I was of The Strike. She lied through her teeth, stating that I was and that The Strike would manage my punishment for them.”

I spewed out a mixture of a scoff and a chuckle, interrupting on instinct rather than strategy, “How is a punishment from an obscure faction ‘better in the long run,’ as you put it?”

He responded well to this. He might have noted that it seemed like a more genuine question, not just one to keep things moving, and he responded, “Because I haven’t got into a single fight since. My mind and soul are bonded to my future like a strange marriage. I know that no matter what, I could likely strike with more importance tomorrow. Even if the opportunity seems unforgettable, I know I’d regret it. I’d like to live on without the guilt of self-disappointment, as I’m sure most would.”

Like a beast in the bushes, his words could have be some sort of ravenous beast or a just plucky little bird. It didn’t help that in my little mental campsite that the barkeep’s smug smile wove a bit more tension in the scene. A bit flustered, I continue, instinctively throwing sticks and pebbles at the spoken creature, “So you’re a warrior that never strikes, is that right? Sounds a little confused if you ask me.”

I had immediately recoiled at my own words, wishing I had chosen something a bit more polite to say. Even if my intentions were not so, I would like to keep a positive face. I knew the damned boy would throw my words back at my face with a howling laughter, and I reddened by the moment with anger and dread. However, he paused.

The room went mostly silent. My nervous tapping of my foot lightly echoed across those paneled walls, and the wiping of glass brought me back to the quiet start of this whole conversation. Beetles clicked and flittered in the air, tapping against branches clumsily. Moths too flew about, but gathered near the flickering flames. Despite their tiny frame, their graceful, dusty movements cast far more shadow than the other insects, stumbling around in the dark. One such beetle flew into the room, slamming into the table with a light click. After a brief lapse in concentration and tension, I brought my eyes back to the slowly-rising brow of the warrior. He appeared more and more amused, a quiet smile creeping across his face. He opened his mouth, and I braced myself to control my anger. He tilted his head ever-so-slightly, saying with a subtle shrug, “You know, maybe I am confused.”

Damn him and his devilish grin, the barkeep’s too while I’m at it. Of course the witness made sure to bring up my failings that night to my colleagues. They managed to milk the moment of as much teasing as they could. Good riddance to the warrior, wherever he trailed off to.

I’ve got another post in the back, but I’m still back and forth on it. I’m satisfied with how it turned out, but it doesn’t lend itself to the more light-hearted parts I’m still trying to develop. It’s a tad too dramatic, as over-dramatizing and romanticizing is fun sometimes. I’m still considering posting it, so it’s still a possibility. Thanks for reading.

#writing #lore #creative writing #fantasy #ruin19

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satbiym · 6 years

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Or Read it on AO3 Here

Chapter 3

They reached the stable in silence, the other man looking around wondrously, as if he had never seen the Palace he claimed to be the heir of.

Victor cleared his throat and attempted to do the same for his conscience.

“I believe the garments we can change into are there,” Victor said, pointing to the bags hidden behind the neighing line of horses.

At Victor voice the horses whinnied louder, peeping further out of their stalls to try and get a glimpse of Victor. Victor smiled, this time out of fondness.

“They know you.” The man said, a wondering tone, somehow his tone implied a query that didn’t ask for an answer; wanting them, but wanting to find them independent of outside influence.

Victor stalled. He could pretend he didn’t know them, forestalling the inevitable realization….

Victor’s mental machinations were cut off by a slobbery warmness that butted against his hand.

Victor sighed, but nonetheless patted his faithful steed who had given away his master’s strategy before it had even begun.

“Greetings my beautiful boy.” Victor crooned, patting the black head adorned with a white star.

A gasp filled the air.

Victor turned to look at the other man, who was staring wide-eyed at the horse currently nudging Victor’s pockets, probably looking for hidden apples.

“That - The star on his head, the blue eye, and the ox-head brand on his haunch… that’s Bucephalus.”

Victor laughed uncomfortably at the tone wrapped in shock and awe, wondering how he was going to talk himself out of this one; he decided to assess the information on the other side first, “Heard of him, have you?”

The way the man’s head shook incredulously would have been comical if his act wasn’t at the danger of being found out, as he stumbled out “Heard of - That’s the Megas Basileus’s horse! Even a fool living solely in the company of ants has heard of the most famous horse in history. ”

“You’re very, um, creative with your words.” Victor said weakly, mind still racing.

The man stepped forward in his eagerness, only to step back hurriedly when the previously docile horse snorted threateningly in his direction.

And damn if those brown eyes didn’t look so damn injured.

Victor bit back a sigh.

Mila was going to have his head for this.

Victor beckoned the man to stay where he was with his hands, saying, “It’s alright, Bucephalus is just… a tad testy around night time. It’s nothing against you, personally.”

The man settled back on the soles of his feet, now looking more enthused than hurt - thank Zeus for that - and rambled, “Of course! I should have known, silly me. Everyone knows the tale of how the Basileus tamed him. I was just being careless in my excitement, for you see, I have never seen a horse before him.”

Victor blinked, his keen instincts giving up in the face of such absurdity, never seen a horse before? Where had this man grown up, in a dungeon?

But, on seeing the earnest look in the other’s eyes, Victor decided to play along with the farce, saying, “Oh, then it’s your lucky day to have your first be someone as fine as Bucephalus here. His breeding is from the best Thessalian strain.”

The other man nodded eagerly, and said, “I am lucky. Both to have had the opportunity to meet Bucephalus, as well as a stable master as accomplished as yourself.”

Victor’s brain stalled.

“Pardon?” Victor said politely, despite his brain having decided to not participate in the conversation any longer. It wasn’t the other man’s fault Victor’s brain had misheard, phony or no, he deserved at the bare minimum, some politeness.

Only… the other man’s face was alight with sincerity, “That’s who you are, correct? For it is known that no one other than the Megas Basileus could seat Bucephalus. It would make sense for the only other person to be the Basileus’s stable master, and given how much he likes you… Have I offended you in some way?”

Victor smiled brightly, forcibly wiping away the incredulous face he must have been making. Gods, the lengths mortals will go to deceive themselves about something that is right in front of their very eyes.

But unknowing or not, the other man had just provided Victor’s cover for him.

The gods take, but the gods also give a way.

“No, none! I was merely impressed at your deduction skills.” Victor said brightly.

“Oh! That’s a relief, because for a moment you looked… no matter. I was right though, you are special! For no one else who works as closely with such magnificent animals could be anything but!” The man said happily, shooting longing looks at Bucephalus.

Victor clenched his fist in protest.

Oh, what does it matter now.

Victor said, gentler than before, “You said you know how the Basileus tamed Bucephalus, can you perchance recount it for me?”

The man - if it was possible - brightened even further, and with a tone of someone delivering a bedtime tale to a babe, said, “The Basileus noticed that Bucephalus was scared of shadows, and that was why he was so distressed. He first spoke soothingly to the horse, all the while turning him towards the sun until he could no longer see his own shadow, and divesting himself of his own cloak. Thus, Bucephalus, no longer afraid, was tamed by the Basileus, a feat no man had achieved before, which the Basileus succeeded at at the age of twelve.”

Victor fought the urge to redden at the admiring tone, and continued, just as gently, “Precisely. Move away from the light, your shadow is scaring Bucephalus. That’s why he snorted at you. Go towards the wall, where the light won’t hit you, and walk towards me.”

The air seemed to shimmer with the other man’s hope, as he quietly did as Victor instructed, flattening himself against the wall and walking towards Bucephalus and Victor, Bucephalus paying him no mind.

A hush fell as the man finally stood before a disinterested Bucephalus.

The man didn’t move, choosing to stare wide-eyed at the horse. Clearly unclear of his next move.

At the sight of the confusion, Victor carefully took the other man’s hands, repressing his initial surprise at their softness - like they had never held a sword - and placed it lightly upon Bucephalus’s head, right over the white star pattern.

Bucephalus snorted, this time with less hostility than before, and abandoned Victor to sniff at the other man’s pockets, drawing a (adorable) squeak from the man at the movement.

Victor felt warmth curl up in his heart as he watched the other man pet his favourite horse and childhood friend with non-covetous awe, watching the horse like someone laying eyes on the sunset for the first time.

“You know, in my head, I had always imagined horses to be huge, lumbering beasts of war. But he is quite remarkable, and beautiful, isn’t he? The Basileus must be gifted with extraordinary empathy to be able to recognize a creature in pain, when the rest of the world only saw danger.” The man whispered, still cradling Bucephalus’s head.

Aw, damnation.

Victor The Great, Megas Basileus, Warrior, Macedonian, and now apparently, Stable Master.

Oh, how Yakov would laugh when he heard of this absurd tale.

“You should really be getting out of those clothes, lest you catch a fever tomorrow.” Victor said stiltedly, unable to understand the emotions toiling within him.

The man laughed, a soft, marvelous thing, saying, “I will, in a moment. Just a moment more, if you please.”

Victor resisted the urge to tell him that he would be happy to stand here all night with him, if he wanted, and he stood with him in the quiet bubble they had found themselves in. Until, finally the man broke away with a musical laugh, stepping back.

“I’m ready now.”

Victor mentally shook himself, dispelling the fog that had sunk into his mind, and reached for the bag near Bucephalus, saying, “Fortunately for us, the Macedonians left their luggage here after the battle. This means we have garments to change into. Here. Take this one.”

The other man stepped back, looking alarmed, “But won’t they be upset at us stealing their clothes?”

“I imagine we need them more than they do at this point. The moral high ground is on our side, I assure you. Here.”

The man took the clothes, eyeing the ornate work on it. Victor stayed silent and firmly didn’t tell him that he was currently changing into the Basileus’s own clothes.

He instead pulled out another pair for himself.

Unashamed of their nudity, in true Greek fashion, they started undressing in front of the other.

Victor sighed as he was met with great difficulties trying to unclasp his robes, the water making the expensive garment heavier and cumbersome.

“Would you like some assistance?”

“How should a man be capable of grooming his own horse, or of furbishing his own spear and helmet, if he allows himself to become unaccustomed to tending even his own person, which is his most treasured belonging?” Victor said wryly.

The other man laughed, turning away, back to Victor, kindly looking away as Victor struggled to escape his threaded prison, and said, “If you say so, but help is near, if you find yourself undone by your clothes.”

Victor smiled at the imagery, shaking his head.

The man started pulling off his top.

Victor emerged victorious, and not to be undone in any battle, be it by sword or by tongue, quipped “Yes well, you will find that - ”

Victor stopped short, eyes catching on the birthmark of a wreath on the other man’s exposed right shoulder.

The man turned back askance, at the sudden silence, catching Victor’s wide eyes with his own.

Victor was very aware of his breathing.

“What? No answering quip. Have the cloths finally defeated you?”

Victor fought to keep his emotions out of his face, internally reeling, half-hearing what Yuuri - for this was Yuuri Katsuki, Heir to Hasetsu, of that he was now sure - had just said. He wondered what he should do next: kill Yuuri as he stood, vulnerable and alone, to strengthen his claim to Hasetsu, or…

The Basileus must be gifted with extraordinary empathy to be able to recognize a creature in pain, when the rest of the world only saw danger.

Victor smiled back.

“There are so many worlds and I have not yet conquered even one. Not even the one in the realm of silk and cotton.” Victor said.

Yuuri laughed, throwing his head back, exposing his throat, “I’m think a man like you could conquer anything he wished to conquer.” He said, amusement lacing his tone.

Victor raised an eyebrow, “You think?”

Those eyes warmed, leaving Victor feeling like he was being watched after by a benevolent sun, and Yuuri said, fondness and certainty mixed with emotions it was surely too soon to be feeling, “No, I know.”

They looked at each other, Victor content to not move and return to a place where they would no longer be able to exist unquestioned. Victor had always considered a world with questions to be the only one he wanted to live in, but now...

Bucephalus whinnied, the sound gently knocking at the door to the new world Victor had just been introduced to.

He emerged, different from who he had been before he had entered it.

“I hope I can borrow some of your courage, for I am to attempt some conquering myself.” Yuuri said softly, determinedly.

Victor, knowing just who Yuuri intended to conquer, just said, softly, truthfully, “I’m sure no one has the gall to refuse you anything, Beloved. If they do, come and find me, you’ll find that I’m a worthy ally to keep. Now, Let us conduct ourselves so that all men wish to be our friends and all fear to be our enemies.”

Yuuri smiled shyly, and ducking his head, said “Thank you for your support. I will carry it with me as I charge onto my personal battlefield.”

Victor smiled, knowing the moment of truth was very near, and said lightly, “You sound like you’re saying your farewells, Beloved.”

Yuuri looked back with determination and nodded, bowing, “I must take my leave, reluctant as it may be. I hope that you… I wish you the best of health. Be well.”

Victor echoed the farewell, softly, eyes trailing the boy as he walked away, towards the palace.

Victor wondered what Yuuri had been about to say before he changed his mind. He wondered if it meant Yuuri had, just for a moment, wanted to stay in an unquestioning world as well.

#victuuri #viktuuri #yoi #yuri on ice #alexander au #mypost #myfic

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otak-me · 7 years

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CONSTELLATIONS CHAPTER 6: ARA

CONSTELLATIONS INDEX

CHAPTER 5: AQUILA

LOKI'S FACE SCRUNCHED UP IN DISGUST, “I am a God, you said so yourself, and my body is not as fragile as your tiny mortal body is. You wouldn’t even be able to handle my weigh-”

His thought was cut off by the pale woman bending over and scooping him up into her arms ‘bridal style’ in a smooth, swift motion.

His eyes widened in shock, and the silver eyes of Valentina rolled in their sockets, her be parallel with the stairs, as to not smack his head or long limbs into the walls.

Loki's jaw clenched to hold back his shock, not willing to withdraw his statement to readily, in fear of seeming inferior to the woman carrying him up the winding stairs.

Her footing was light as she ascended the staircase, and the silence that laced the air around the two was thick with tension.

Loki's eyes scanned the bookshelves that lined the walls of the staircase, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion as to why she would own so many- mind you, he would not question owning this many books himself, perse, but it seemed that he wasn't of the norm when it came to studious tendencies.

Was she also perhaps an intellect?

Although, there was no way she could be on any level as his in terms of intellect, as her feeble mortal brain would only uphold a certain amount of elasticity for a pinprick amount of time in comparison to his hundreds of thousands of years.

His mind grew smug for a moment of the thought of him being of a higher intellectual and physical stature than her tiny, mortal self, but the feeling was sharply cut off by the woman shifting him in her arms to pull down the handle of the door to the spare bedroom.

He once again realised that he was, in fact, being carried by the 'feeble mortal', and that she had the upperhand in this situation, so he should hold his tongue in terms of snide comments for now.

The door to the spare bedroom's door opened silently, the hinges obviously upkept and oiled regularly, and Valentina walked towards the bed, slipping the large man from her petite arms in a smooth motion that almost seemed unnatural.

His body landed softly on the bed, but even such a feather-light landing caused his body to scream at him in pain.

He winced subconsciously, instantaneously scolding himself for giving her the upperhand that he was still in pain.

Valentina's eyes softened considerably once she observed his reaction, but he was not in the position to observe her reaction back, as his pain had clouded his mind a tad, and he was absentmindedly observing the room. He hummed appreciatively in his mind at the sight of a bookshelf lined with aplenty of literature at the far wall of the room.

The silver-haired woman's voice wound his mind up into a defensive coil, like a cat with it's hackles raised and tail stiffly flexed, he darted his eyes over to her, "I'll prepare some bandages for you, but you'll need to take off your shirt first."

She furrowed her brows slightly in concern, her dark hairs contrasting with her almost pearlescent skin and emphasizing her features more, "Or should I take it off for you?"

Loki's eyes narrowed in irritation at her behaviour, and his subconscious hissed in contempt at the thought of her pink fingertips running across his flesh, and despite the fact that he knew it would be absolute Hel to take off his shirt himself, he grit his teeth, "I am fine in assisting myself."

The woman pursed her lips slightly, then nodded, relaxing her face and turning towards the door, walking to the frame and going to close it.

Before she did so she spoke, "Well, once you're done, call out. I'll be ready with the bandages in a minute,"

She then allowed the door to click shut quietly, shrouding the room in silence, the soft patter of rain filling the air with a serene atmosphere, the creak of the floorboards beneath Valentina's weight being the only other sign that he was not alone in the house.

Loki closed his eyes softly, his head starting to throb slightly as a sign of an impending headache, and his lungs trembled slightly as he breathed, twitching unpleasantly every so often, giving him the sensation of the muscles popping around his ribcage.

Why had his so called 'family' bestowed this punishment upon him?

He would have preferred to just rot in the corner of an Asgardian cell for the rest of his days, with the other criminals that the dungeons hid so well.

Of course they wouldn't allow him that.

He was a monster, they made sure that that much was obvious to him.

They placed him within the realm that he had attempted to conquer, where he was treated as much less than a murderer, monster and psychopath.

He would be treated as less than dirt in the eyes of the ones that he saw as so inferior, and would never be able to lay his gaze upon the breathtaking moons of Asgarðr, or spend hours upon hours simply getting lost in the palace library that he named more of a bedroom than the room assigned as his quarters.

He was going to be stepped on like an ant, and the entirety of the human race was the boot.

A quiet knock sounded through the room, the velvety voice of Valentina muffled through the door, "Loki? Are you done with removing your shirt?"

Loki's conscious mind did not process her voice, although it seemed to pick up on her presence, which drew him to the thought of the woman not ten metres away.

Although, that woman is not exactly playing to the role of boot as of yet.

She knows that Loki had murdered many in her realm, yet she seems to be completely unperturbed by the thought.

No, she was most definitely going to use Loki's emotions to give him the most painful experience possible. After all, isn't that what everyone else had done?

During Loki's small daydream, Valentina had been leaning against the door, and after hearing no reply but silence from inside the room, she became concerned for him, "Well, I'm coming in now. Please don't be dead."

She opened the door quietly to find Loki to be in exactly the same position as she had left him; on his back, and staring into space.

Her eyebrows furrowed slightly in annoyance, and she paced over to him, standing over his form and startling him from his dreamlike stupor, "Loki! It has been over an hour! Why haven't you removed your shirt yet?"

The man's emerald green eyes snapped open wide, and he sat up in shock, instant regret clouding his mind as pain streaked through his core.

He winced visibly, and Valentina's eyes softened, her lips pursing in pity.

Loki caught her pitying look and he growled, "Do not pity me, mortal. I am a god! I am-" The woman cut him off, "Can you take off your shirt?"

He stopped, and narrowed his eyes, hissing out, "Yes, I can take off my shirt." The silver haired woman nodded, "Then please do. We need to treat your wounds before they become even worse in state."

The male's jaw clenched, the muscle protruding slightly, and his arms found their way to the green shirt, his fingers wrapping lightly around the hem of the shirt.

He tugged up, his shoulders groaning in strain, but he bit his tongue in silence, exhaling through his nose, before continuing, the higher up he brought his arms the more they fought back with pain.

Finally, after a gruelling five minutes, he managed to pull the cloth from his body. Slightly out of breath, a thin sheen of sweat creating a shine on his forehead, he lay back down, whining out in pain as his body shook in rejection to seemingly just existing as a whole.

Valentina sighed as he slid his eyes closed in exhaustion, unhappy that her house guest was experiencing such a thing.

Shaking her head she leaned over him, "I am quickly going to assess your wounds, then I'll bandage and clean them accordingly."

Loki didn't seem to even have enough strength to nod his head, so he just grunted in acknowledgment.

She took this as the sign to go ahead, and so raised her hands over his stomach, the softly lowered them to make contact with his alabaster flesh.

It prickled uncomfortably under her touch, and Loki restrained himself from pulling away, knowing it would do more damage than good for now.

Valentina's eyes slid closed as her warm hands laid on the skin of his stomach, and her body seemed to tighten more the longer she held her hands in contact with him.

Valentina's body thrummed awake, something akin to a bear awakening from hibernation; slow and fatigued, as if she hadn't used it in years.

The first sensation she felt from her reaction to the flesh of Loki was the familiar tug of energy, although colder and lighter than usual energy, it was still humming around him like bees to a beehive.

It was a moderate amount, which was expected of an Asgardian prince well versed in magic, but something still felt off about it.

There seemed to be a cold sheen to it, as if it were being disconnected from Loki's body, drawn out almost.

It was a strange and very new sensation for Valentina, that's for sure.

What followed after the energy was pain.

Whole-body pain.

It burned flames into her bloodstream and cut into her skin, leaving her pores excreting sweat to alleviate the pain.

She sighed through her nose and closed her eyes tighter, mentally bracing herself for what was to come, then drew from him. She latched onto his aches, and pulled hard and fast.

It burned her mind, searing holes into her subconscious, but she pushed it away with the grit of her teeth, allowing her mind to calm, like a smoothing of a ripple on a still lake.

She continued to pull, suck, and draw from him, until she had felt the pain screech up her back, burrowing deep in to her bones, rocking her frame like a hammer on a cowbell.

It sent spirals of pain vibrating through her limbs, to the tips of her hair follicles, all the way back to her core.

This moment seemed to last forever, the agony of taking from Loki his suffering, but it ended within a minute to the observing eye.

She threw her hands away from Loki's torso, falling back onto her elbows, her body now trembling with aches akin to muscle use. She panted for a moment, a bead of sweat cascading down her forehead, then she collected herself.

Sitting up and pulling the first aid kid from her side, she prepared the necessary items to treat his wounds, now that she had a more intimate understanding of exactly how deep they went.

Loki's breathing became less rugged, and more even.

He had fallen asleep.

Good.

That makes it a whole lot easier to treat him.

And so the silver-eyed woman got to work, dabbing, soaking, wiping, pressing, wrapping.

It was all finished within an hour, and in the end, she fell back onto her elbows again, letting out a content and exhausted breath.

She gathered the medical supplies as quietly as she could, and crept out of the room, scared to wake the man, despite the fact she had not woken him up, even when dousing his wounds in alcohol.

The door softly clicked shut behind her, and she sighed in content.

CHAPTER 7: ARIES

Word count: 1966

#loki x oc #loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki #loki (marvel)#loki laufeyson #loki x ofc #loki x strong female lead #strong ofc #non canonical magic #magic ofc #loki fanfiction #constellations

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texanredrose · 7 years

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RWBY + Frozen + no self control = this. I know I’m late for Monochrome Monday but I honestly don’t know what day it even is anymore my schedule’s so fucked. Have a cookie and forgive me, please. Based on @dashingicecream‘s Frozen!AU

Blake sighed heavily, scrubbing at her face with one mitten and flicking her ears to dislodge the flakes of snow clinging to her ears. They were replaced the next moment by new snowflakes from overhead. She wasn’t surprised of course; the closer they’d gotten to the mountain’s summit, the heavier the storm had become, but it was nothing compared to the blizzard that had swept over the land and buried them all in several feet of fresh powder in the middle of spring; no, this seemed almost light and playful by comparison, and if it weren’t for the fact that her very livelihood was at stake, she had half a mind to actually play in it.

Well, her livelihood, and the life of a very stubborn Princess.

“What are you doing?” Her ears cocked back in slight exasperation as she watched the woman attempting to scale the sheer cliff face do so with marginal success.

“For the last time, I’m going to find my- urgh- sister!” Princess Weiss Schnee snapped back, turning to look over her shoulder for only a second before her grip threatened to slip, forcing her to refocus all her attention on finding the next handhold. “I’m going to find her, explain that this whole thing’s a- hmph- misunderstanding, ask her very politely to end the snowstorm, and then- whoa- and then we’re all going to go back to the castle and pretend none of this ever happened.”

“Is that before or after you tell her you’re intent on marrying some Prince you hardly know?” Where before the point had curled her lips into a slight smile- because, really, it was more than a little amusing that this whole mess started over some flight of fancy from the younger of the royal sisters- now the Faunus was a tad more serious, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched the Princess’ slow ascent. “Because I have the feeling she might not really be okay with that, still.”

“I’ll have you know- ack, that hurt- that Neptune is a perfectly fine...” She paused, either to catch her breath or find the right descriptor, it was difficult to tell, but Blake was willing to bet ‘both’ was the correct answer. “Perfectly fine gentleman!”

“Right. Sure. Perfectly fine.” Rolling her amber eyes, she turned her head away to look out over Atlas, how the whole kingdom was blanketed in such a way that she rarely saw even in the coldest depths of winter. Living outside the capitol’s walls meant she was more accustomed to nature in all its forms, but this didn’t even look natural. But it was pretty, she’d admit that much.

As Weiss continued to struggle, a strong gust of wind blew, at once prompting the woman to cling tighter to the cliff face and drawing the Faunus’ attention to the strange sound the wind was making, as if it were passing through a narrow opening. A quick look around confirmed there was a small passage hewn from the rock by millennia of strong winds and, curious, Blake took a few steps away to investigate. Quite frankly, if there was an easier way up the mountain, she was all for it; without her sled and a reindeer to pull it, getting this far was taxing enough.

She swore, once she found Gambol after all this was said and done, she was going to chew him out for a while; she still couldn’t believe he had the gall to abandon her with the task after one measly wolf attack and a near avalanche.

The snow crunching underfoot was much easier to hear after the wind died down, allowing her to peek around the corner without fighting the sting, and what she found was a blessed relief. There, standing tall and proud and looking magnificent was a palace made of pure ice, catching the weak rays of sun trying to break through heavy clouds overhead. Although she’d never met Queen Winter, Blake had to admit the woman had quite the eye for architecture; ice sculptures weren’t half as impressive, and she’d seen quite a few over the years.

Tearing her gaze away, the Faunus started walking back. “Princess, I think I found your sister.”

Blue eyes snapped to her from Weiss’ impressive height- a whole six feet off the ground, and she wasn’t even being facetious with that thought considering the woman had no experience to speak of- and hope lit up expression. “Really?”

“Right around the corner,” Blake said, her expression morphing from amusement to panic as the Princess’ hand slipped. “Careful!”

She only had time to let out a short squeak of surprise and alarm before her hands, nearly numb inside her gloves, lost their precious grip and she fell back. Weiss closed her eyes and braced for the cold impact awaiting her but the Faunus rushed forward, nearly tripping herself in the thick snow and barely catching the woman in time. She was off balance, forcing her to her knees, but she curled both arms to secure her companion and ensure she didn’t end up sprawled in the snow, cringing slightly as she awaited the reprimand that was undoubtedly heading her way.

“Princess, are you okay?” She ventured after a moment, shifting both ears forward as she looked down, meeting the woman’s gaze.

“I- I’m fine.” Weiss cleared her throat, looking away for a moment. “Thank you.”

“Yeah. Um. N-no problem.” Thankfully, the cold and the wind had granted her a nigh permanent rosy tint to her cheeks because she otherwise wouldn’t be able to hide the rising blush. Not wanting to open herself up to questions, Blake pushed herself to her feet, mentally congratulating herself for not staggering as she turned and started walking towards the natural opening in the cliff face.

“Blake? You can put me down, you know.” There was no harsh edge to the woman’s voice, and it sounded more like a suggestion than an order, but really the Faunus was a bit too distracted to really notice that immediately. “I can walk.”

“O-of course.” Honestly, she hadn’t thought about it; Weiss was smaller and near freezing when they first met, stubbornly trying to make her way past Tukson’s Trading Post and Spa without so much as a thought to proper protective gear, and she still worried that the Princess would ignore her own well being as she tried to find her sister. At least this way they could share warmth but Blake hurriedly set the woman on her feet, brushing off imaginary snow from Weiss’ shoulders and then from herself- anything to avoid eye contact.

She was a Princess, and dead set on marrying some Prince besides. They had nothing in common- she was a Princess- and this was just her performing a service in expectation of payment. That’s it. That’s all.

“Anyway...” Weiss seemed to lose track of what they were doing, readjusting the snowflake broach holding her cloak in place. “We should- talk to my sister. I’m sure Winter will be able to set everything right again and we’re almost there.”

“Right.” Blake nodded, pulling her hat a bit further down and shaking her head. “This way.”

They both walked through the thick snow towards the opening, ducking through one at a time until they stood side-by-side a few feet from the bottom of a beautifully intricate staircase leading up to the castle proper. Once again, the Faunus found herself entranced by the sight but she snapped out of it quicker, looking towards her companion and surprised to see the expression of pure wonder on the Princess’ face.

“It’s beautiful. Absolutely stunning.” She let out a half laugh, leaning towards Blake as if she were imparting a secret. “Ever since we were small, I always knew she had a gift. I didn’t- well, I didn’t expect this of course, but... somehow, I always knew anything she touched would be perfect.”

The Faunus shrugged, shunting her urge to agree aside for a moment. “It’s alright, I guess.” Carefully, she leaned over slightly and nudged the woman’s shoulder with her own. “I’m sure you’re just as talented in something else.”

Weiss let out a brief laugh, though this one didn’t seem as happy, and shook her head. “No. I’ve always been the spare. Winter’s never treated me as such, though, but Father made it very clear. My sister was destined to rule and I... well, I was the back-up plan.”

The Princess started forward, mentally working out how she’d make it up the stairs, when she was stopped short.

“No, I don’t believe it.” Blake waited until those curious blue eyes were upon her before continuing, setting her hands on her hips and cocking her head to the side. “You’re trying to tell me that there’s not one thing you can do better than your sister? I find that impossible to believe.”

“Excuse you-”

“Believe me, I’m excuse,” she replied, the corners of her lips tugging into a small smile. “I highly doubt the Queen’s better at climbing rocks than you, for instance. Or being as stubborn- she did run away after your argument, after all.”

“Do not insult my sister like that.” Weiss paused, reaching up to push a lock of pure white hair back under her cap before relenting. “And... if you must know, I suppose I’m better at singing. Winter seems to think so, at any rate.”

Ears perking at her impending victory, Blake took a step forward. “Well, then, I’m changing my price. You have to sing a song for me.”

“What?”

She held up her hands with a smile. “You can’t say you’re a better singer and then not prove it, Princess. Besides, I reserved the right to change the fee for my services at any time, and I did save you from unnecessarily climbing a cliff.”

“You are impossible, Blake Belladonna.” The woman huffed, glaring at her guide. “If I’d known you’d change your mind at every turn, I’d have hired someone else to bring me up the mountain!”

She raised a brow, offering in a flat tone. “Like the wolves?”

Weiss made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat before throwing her hands in the air as a sign of surrender. “Fine. One song of my choosing. Now, can we go retrieve my sister or do you have more demands to make?”

“After you, Princess.” Blake even made a slightly mocking bow, smirking at the muttered ‘ridiculous’ she heard before falling into step beside the woman.

“And I’d better hear nothing about a refund if you don’t like the song.”

“You won’t; I can already tell you’ll be perfect.” The Faunus fought the urge to smile. Despite the woman’s naturally pale complexion, Weiss’ cheeks were undeniably tinted pink by the wind and cold, the same as hers, but she liked to think they’d turned a bit darker just then and a result of her words. Maybe she wouldn’t have a chance to see the Princess once this mess was all said and done but she wouldn’t trade these few precious moments seeing the woman beyond the picture of royalty for anything.

#Monochrome #Monochrome Monday #It's still technically Monday for me #My lack of self control will be the death of me jfc and I'ma go willingly #Hope y'all enjoyed the ridiculousness #TRR writes

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lesliepump · 7 years

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How Lawyers Work: Jordan L. Couch, Plaintiff’s Trial Lawyer & Legal Futurist

In this week’s edition of How Lawyers Work, we hear from Jordan L. Couch, a compensation attorney at Palace Law in University Place, Washington. Jordan has a variety of experiences in the legal field but now focuses primarily on helping injured workers obtain the full compensation they deserve. Outside of work, Jordan spends time teaching advocacy to future generations of lawyers at the University of Washington School of Law and the Seattle University School of Law.

You can follow Jordan on both Twitter and LinkedIn.

What apps or tools are essential to your daily workflow?

I’ve designed my workflow around three goals: (1) nothing is ever forgotten; (2) efficient use of mental space; and (3) strict priorities. This keeps me from going insane or missing deadlines, but it has also made me entirely dependent on a few apps. Most importantly Clio, Trello, and Slack. Everything I do and every event or appointment is recorded in Clio. All of my tasks are put in Trello and given due dates. Slack (in addition to being how I communicate with the office) in essence picks up the slack. If I’m away from Trello or have a short note, I record it in slack and set reminders to make sure I come back to that and get it properly recorded.

All of this has made me highly attached to my phone. I’m obsessive about recording everything and I tell people who ask me questions or come to me with tasks to record them in the same way. As a litigator, I have to keep a lot of information in my mind so for the day to day workflow, I always tell people that if it’s not in Clio, Trello, or Slack it doesn’t exist and it won’t get done.

What does your workspace look like?

It’s a half fishing lodge, half tech startup, with just a touch of wine bar. At least the physical office. These days I can and do work from anywhere. I’m currently on a beach in San Diego drinking tea and enjoying the beautiful sun. When I work from home I prefer to sit in the window seat looking out over Freeway Park and the city of Seattle. But when I’m in the office it’s a tad more orderly. The whole building is decorated with antique fishing equipment, leather furniture, and a fireplace at the entrance. Some of that fishing vibe makes its way into my office.

Click to view slideshow.

I’ve never been one to take life too seriously and dealing with clients requires a lot of seriousness and stress so I have tried to make my office a bit more relaxed. I have your typical stress balls, but also a hackysack and a deck of cards I’ve been known to throw at targets about the office. In one corner I have a large red bean bag chair I like to work from. In another, I have a bookshelf with case files and another with books and articles I have enjoyed (mostly but not exclusively legal). Perhaps the most surprising thing is a large wine rack filled with empty wine and artisan cider bottles. In addition to being a fun decoration, my boss and I use it as a catalogue of things we like.

How do you keep track of your calendars and deadlines?

Clio and Trello. With a few extra tools on the back end, some of which we have built ourselves and some of which can be synced to Clio and Trello. Because of the high case load everything with a deadline gets run through a system we built that creates multiple reminders and triple checks everything, including putting notices on calendars and Trello boards.

What is your coffee service setup?

Despite my years in Seattle I am not and have never been a coffee drinker. We serve a variety of coffee from two Keurig machines and a large drip coffee machine but I have yet to touch any of it. My boss has also been known to come through with little espressos he makes in his office. While I love this smell I always let it pass by and stick to tea. We have a lot of that in the office as well and a hot water purifier/dispenser. I usually go high caffeine in the morning (English Breakfast or Earl Grey) and taper off in the afternoon (white or green tea) and into a caffeine-free night (chamomile or orange peel).

What is one thing that you listen to, read, or watch that everyone should?

Anything by Maria Konnikova. She has two books now; Mastermind: How to Think Like Sherlock Holmes; and The Confidence Game. She also has a podcast called The Grift.

What is your favorite local place to network or work solo?

There’s a great brewery in Seattle called Optimism. I have done a lot of networking there, even more board game playing, and occasionally some weekend work. It’s a small brewery with about 12 beers on tap at a time. I’ve never had one that wasn’t phenomenal. They allow dogs in and have a patio out back where food trucks park and outdoor games can be played.

What are three things you do without fail every day?

Read something for fun, play with an animal (usually a dog or a cat, but I’ve been known to play with snakes, lizards, and the occasional wallaby), and spend time outside (running, hiking, fishing, camping, or even just sitting and enjoying the views from a park).

Who else would you like to see answer these questions?

Shreya Ley, John Hardie, Munish Bharti, Forrest Carlson

How Lawyers Work: Jordan L. Couch, Plaintiff’s Trial Lawyer & Legal Futurist was originally published on Lawyerist.com.

from Law and Politics https://lawyerist.com/how-lawyers-work-jordan-l-couch/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

#Legal #law

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occasionalfics · 7 years

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Vuelie, part iii

I didn’t know how to rate fanfics in 2014 and I still don’t. Enjoy anyway!

Summary: Elsa meets a mysterious dignitary at a swanky reception.

~~~

The courtyard behind the main gates of the palace was decorated with light and frilly hangings and tables full of the most delicious food Anna and Elsa could think to ask for. Townspeople gathered there, though some did find their way into the palace and down the ballroom. After all, an open invitation to the kingdom is an open invitation; Elsa made sure that she and the staff would be able to handle such a large number of people.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly about an hour into the party. Dinner was served at the start of the reception, and when the round dinner tables had been removed from the ballroom, the orchestra sounded and everyone began to dance and, once again, enjoy themselves. Even Elsa found it hard to worry about the mysterious man that had stared at her at the ceremony, as she was busy watching the festivities and even taking part from time to time.

She found that she was not the only one that had changed her dress for the reception. While her earlier blue and black ensemble had been traded out for a dress made entirely of ice, with small, thin straps and long gloves, she noticed that some of the royal women from out of the country had brought along their formal ball gowns. The wife of the prince from some remote location in France that Elsa had hardly heard of walked into the ballroom in a large golden dress with golden gloves and off-the-shoulder straps. Even Rapunzel, a woman that Elsa knew to be quite the minimalist, had changed into a light pink gown with matching shoes and a pattern all along both that was surely one of her own.

Throughout the night, Elsa was approached by the dignitaries (the ones that never seemed to really recognize how truly happy she was for her sister, as they always commented how almost inappropriate it was for Anna to be married before her), the townspeople, and of course, the Royals. A couple from across the North Sea, a vibrant woman with equally vibrant red hair and her husband, a tall, quiet man with hair as dark as Snow White’s made small talk about weather conditions and sailing. Eric, as the man insisted he be called, consistently looked out of the large stain-glass windows to get a look at the fjord, though Elsa found that to be a nearly impossible task considering the sun had gone down.

She finally got the chance to meet the prince from France and his wife, Belle. Elsa watched as the held one another, always at the arms, and how they would look at one another in sync every few minutes, just gazing and making sure the other was real and there. She’d never seen anything like it, and she couldn’t tell if she was jealous or confused by what would cause them to do that.

“You really should come visit us,” Belle said eventually, her voice soft and warm, and it reminded Elsa of sweet milk chocolate. Or perhaps that was the smell that was wafting into the room from the kitchen. “We have the most beautiful winters, and in the summer, our gardens are the best in all of France. And…we have an enormous library with more books than anyone could read in an entire lifetime!” Elsa watched as Belle’s eyes lit up at the mention of books and libraries, then as her husband’s face softened. He smiled so genuinely at Belle, his blue eyes almost closed, that Elsa felt a real twinge of jealousy for just the tiniest second. She didn’t need someone checking to see if she still existed every few minutes, but she wanted that look – a look of unyielding, unconditional love.

“Of course, of course,” she said, if not to get her mind off of that look, then to appease Belle with the promise of a visitor.

“Oh, and I must say,” the woman in gold continued, “the gentleman from Ireland, he’s been asking about you all day. Specifically you. By name.”

That was the first mention of the redheaded man Elsa had heard all night. No one else had said anything to her about him, and she hoped it would’ve stayed that way – apparently though, she was wrong.

“Me?” she asked simply. “Did he say why, by any chance?”

Belle looked at her husband and shrugged. When she looked back at Elsa, she had an expression on her face that Elsa wasn’t sure she liked.

“I’m afraid he didn’t. He wanted to know what you were like and how to approach you, but since we hadn’t yet met, I’m afraid we weren’t of much help to him.”

Good Elsa thought. She hardly wanted that man to know anything about her, after the way he nearly crippled her earlier. Then again, it wasn’t as if he’d known what she’d felt after the ceremony. She had to be at least a tad reasonable – he wasn’t exactly at fault for something he wasn’t even aware of.

“Please excuse my brashness, milady, but you may be able to put his mind at ease of you speak with him,” the Prince said. Belle glanced at her husband wearily, and Elsa stared blankly at him. She didn’t want to speak to the Irish man, and she didn’t have to because she was the Queen – but that kind of mentality was childish and rude, and if it meant getting the man off of her mind and getting herself off of his, she would bear a few minutes of idle chatter.

“There’s nothing to excuse, Your Royal Higness. Perhaps I just might….have a word with this gentleman. Have you seen him recently?” she asked.

“The last glimpse of him I got was him leaving the ballroom. I’m not sure where he was going, though,” Belle answered. Elsa tried to smile as warmly as she could before giving a slight curtsey.

“Thank you, and thank you for being here today. It means so much to Anna and me.”

Belle and the Prince both gave small responses before bowing as well and turning to dance. Looking around, Elsa tried to find the quickest route out of the ballroom. She feared being pulled aside and distracted because she wanted to get this man out of her head once and for all. She turned and made her way around the dancing guests as fast as she could, and surprisingly, she made it out of the room without much of a struggle.

The music from the orchestra died down the further she got from the ballroom. Elsa didn’t know where to begin looking for the Irish man, knowing how immensely large the palace was. She kept her cool and tried to look as if she were wandering the halls as well, though it did occur to her that that might look suspicious, considering she lived in the palace. She knew where everything was, but that was half of the problem.

Eventually, she ran into Vidar. The tall man bowed slightly, as he always did, then took a step towards the ballroom before Elsa stopped him.

“Vidar,” she called softly. He turned and asked, “Yes, Your Majesty?”

She almost told him that that was too much, that “milady” would do just fine, but she remembered why she was even standing outside of the ballroom in the first place.

“You haven’t seen a redheaded man around the palace, have you?” she asked. Vidar perked up quite a bit, though Elsa wasn’t quite sure why.

“Last I saw he was admiring the very portrait you had been earlier, Your Majesty,” Vidar replied. Elsa’s widened a bit and she gave a hurried, “Thank you,” before turning abruptly and scurrying to the portrait of her parents.

When she came around the corner to the correct hallway, she saw him in full for the first time. He was tall, and his hair was even redder than Anna’s was. His skin was pale, even by Elsa’s standards, and dotted with orange freckles – at least, he had them in a line across his cheeks and nose. He wore a suit that somewhat resembled that of that of the guards that kept Arendelle safe, except that his was a deep blue, with a long green sash across him. There were small pins of honor adorning the upper left breast, and his pants were black with a long blue stripe down the sides.

He stood facing the painting with his hands clasped behind his back and a smile on his face. In a smooth, calm voice he said, “This is lovely, really.”

Elsa moved closer apprehensively and realized that his accent was not Irish at all. In fact, it sounded more like the Duke of Weasleton’s had, without the nasal, rather crotchety undertone. This man’s was regal and certainly English, but without the Irish accents.

“Now that I see her, I can see that you have your mother’s face.” He turned to Elsa and bowed. She stayed straight and rigid and silently prayed that she would stay calm and not freeze the entire palace – or even better, the entire kingdom again. “If you don’t mind me saying so, Your Majesty.”

Elsa thought better than to tell him that she did mind. After all, he had technically done nothing wrong. She wasn’t angry with him, either, so there should have been no ill will between them – and there really wasn’t, but Elsa remembered how uneasy she had become in her study over his staring at her. She might never forget that feeling.

“I do not mind your observations, sir, but I would really like to know what you’re doing so far from the celebration.” She folded her hands in front of her and stood as tall as she could make herself.

“I thought it was obvious,” he said, his smile becoming more of a smirk. “I had to get your attention somehow.”

She refused to tell him that he’d held her attention most of the day, since she’d first glanced at him in the pew. Disregarding what day it was, she wasn’t yet ready to admit that one person had occupied her thoughts so much and had caused a near panic attack.

“Why?” she wondered. He took a step closer to her, still smirking, but playfully.

“There’s something I must show you.” Without further ado, he brought one of his hands around him and held it palm-up towards Elsa. She stared at his skin, as pale and freckly there as his face was, but saw nothing. She nearly asked him what it was she was supposed to be seeing, but was stopped when she saw something begin to move – no, grow out of his palm.

It started out as a little green speck and elongated into a healthy stem, then sprouted a tiny leaf and continued to grow without stopping. Within seconds, a beautiful red rose was sitting in the man’s hand. He turned it so that he held it by its stem and handed it to Elsa, who stood awestruck and wide-eyed.

“You can- like I can- but….” She couldn’t form actual sentences any longer. Her breath had caught for the second time today over this man, and she still didn’t even know his name.

“I can like you can, and like you, I was born with the ability.”

“But how- and…” Still, words failed her. This might have been the first time in Elsa’s life that words were not enough, that something had surprised her so much that she was at a loss. But it was so hard to believe that anyone on Earth had a gift as magical as – no more magical than hers. It seemed impossible that anyone would even have a gift like hers, and suddenly she didn’t feel so alone anymore. Not that she had since Anna had saved her life; the difference now was that she had someone that knew what it was like to possess this ability.

“How do you control it?” she asked. Elsa had to know. She couldn’t go through life guessing, because as much as she knew that love would thaw her ice, she still had issues keeping the ability under lock and key.

“I don’t fear it.”

There it was, right in her face. It couldn’t possibly have been that easy, but she supposed trying to keep the magic under lock and key was the first problem on her list. Even so, she had other things on her mind, like who he was, since she still didn’t know his name. Elsa continued to stare at the rose, barely noticing that this man was looking directly at her, waiting for her to say something. Her features softened as she turned the rose between her fingers.

“Who are you?” she asked half-absently. She’d certainly forgotten her manners, but her attention was focused on the rose that he’d conjured out of thin air. For just a moment, she wondered how fair this was, that she was stuck with ice powers and he could create flowers and probably anything in the natural world, things that would die if she touched them the wrong way.

She heard him chuckle, but only slightly.

“Andrew Davies, Your Majesty.”

She looked up from the rose finally and saw how close he had gotten. Elsa took a polite step back, or as polite as she could manage, her mouth held open in a rather disgraceful manner.

“You- You’re not Irish at all, are you?” she asked. He chuckled once more, and Elsa couldn’t tell if it was because he thought she was comical or just because he liked to laugh.

“Not myself, no. My family is, though. I was born and raised in England, and I serve in the British National Guard under His Royal Majesty, King George III. By the way, King George sends his best regards and hopes that you’ll understand that he’d rather a guard come to this wedding than he in case another flash-blizzard were to occur. I can assure you, though, he does so with the highest respect for your rule of the beautiful kingdom of Arendelle, Your Majesty.”

Andrew bowed once more, and when he stood up, Elsa was staring at him as if he’d grown two heads. She didn’t know what to react to first – that somewhere, somehow, Belle had misinterpreted Andrew and insisted he was Irish; that Andrew was sent on orders to the wedding in place of his king; that King George III had any doubt about Elsa’s control (because while she had doubts of her own, she wanted others to believe completely in her competency); or that Andrew was more like her than she could have ever imagined anyone being.

Everything was coming to her fast, nearly too fast to process. Her head was trying to grasp onto too many ideas at once, and before she knew it or could stop it, the rose in her hand was starting to freeze. She gasped as ice covered it, shielding its beauty from her and Andrew. He gasped as well, but his intake of breath sounded different than hers had. Elsa was shocked; he was surprised, and by the smile that grew on his face, pleasantly so.

“Amazing,” he whispered. Elsa’s face contorted into one of disbelief.

“Amazing? This?” she asked holding the now completely frost-covered rose out to him. He glanced at her face, his mouth still smiling but hanging open. He looked like a child with a small pile of chocolate all to himself. “This is freezing and killing something alive and beautiful.”

His smile died as his rose did. He shook his head.

“Your Majesty, your gift-“

“Is a curse,” she intercepted. Again, he shook his head.

“It’s a gift, I can assure you. Imagine the beautiful things you could do with such magic,” he said in an astounded manner. She could imagine beautiful things from her snow – ice rinks for skating and snowball fights in the middle of May, Olaf (though maybe beautiful was a massive overstatement when describing the snowman) and her safe haven, the castle up on the North Mountain that she had created with her own two hands.

But she’d seen what her magic had done otherwise. It had nearly killed Anna twice. She’d frozen the entire kingdom and had run away like a coward, believing that being alone would fix all of her problems when it only created more dilemmas that she was not prepared to handle or deal with.

And yet, though Andrew and the rest of the world knew that she had frozen Arendelle over, he completely believed that her magic was a gift. His certainly was, and there was no dark side to it that Elsa could foresee. How could a rose kill a person? she wondered.

Elsa, having never been very good at confronting any sort of issue head on, straightened herself once again. She could feel her face was still full of disbelief of the worst kind, but she had had enough of Andrew and his magical flowers for one night. Besides, Anna was probably looking for her, or would be any moment. She’d been away from the reception for too long.

In one curt motion, Elsa dropped the rose and let it shatter on the ground as she turned away from Andrew Davies, hopefully for good, and rushed back to her sister and the calming lights of the lively ballroom.

#frozen #vuelie

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