#a loss of an incredible woman. may her memory be a blessing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

daughterofanarcissistwoman · 4 years

Text

A trauma involving the mother or father is sometimes referred to as a "wound" because it damages the body-mind, needs proper healing, and often leaves a scar or weakness in your body or emotional makeup. No wound is more charged for both men and women than the mother wound. Your relationship with your mother or whoever provided your "mothering" is the primary relationship in your development, and it inevitably conditions much of your life.

By repeatedly staying with difficult feelings and body sensations, your perspective of the past shifts. You become far less reactive and more flexible in your emotional responses. It is not that your history is rewritten, but rather that the self experiencing that history is transformed.

You may also secretly believe that your wound is ugly, something to be ashamed of. But ask, do the wounds of your friends make them any less attractive? Are you not inspired when they handle them in a courageous manner? Why would it not be the same for you? If there is some part of you that you find unacceptable, make it the object of your loving-kindness practice.

The Four Functions of Mothering

You can bring more clarity to your mother wound by reflecting specifically on what mothering means to you. There are four basic functions of mothering- nurturing, protecting, empowering, and initiating-and a trauma can occur in any of them. Although they are interconnected, it helps to examine them separately in order to clarify the trauma.

Through practicing mindfulness, compassion, and loving-kindness, you develop the four mothering capacities within yourself. The practice of developing these inner capacities is slow, but the effect is strong and easily felt. Keep in mind that "fathering" also involves these same four functions, with some differences. Ideally these functions are shared by both parents, with each compensating for the other's weaknesses. If you struggle with a trauma around the father, you can reflect on these same functions.

Reflecting on these functions will also help you understand that no woman is only a mother and no man only a father; "mothering" and "fathering" are done by women and men who by their very humanness are less than perfect in what they can give. For many people, this understanding alone is liberating.

Mother As Nurturer

The first of the four functions of the mother is nurturing, the giving of care that allows for life (symbolized by the mother's milk), which encompasses meeting the wide range of physical and emotional needs a child has in order to grow and develop. You know about a child's needs for food, shelter, medicine, comfort, and relatedness; a child who is not held enough develops into an adult with a range of physical and emotional difficulties, just as an inadequate diet manifests as health problems later in life. But there is a more subtle aspect of nurturing I call "nurturing with joy," which celebrates the existence of the child as a source of delight for the one who is mothering and which manifests in the child and continues into adulthood as a sense of innate worth and spontaneous joy.

If you did not receive sufficient nurturing in childhood, as an adult you may feel an insatiable need, an inability to take joy in others, or a lack of self-worth despite your competency and confidence.

As you develop mindfulness, you find your capacity to be in the moment includes the ability to nurture yourself and others. The practices of loving-kindness, empathetic joy, and compassion can feed your nourishing capacity. Finding teachers who nourish without creating the codependency of excessive mothering can furnish further inspiration and role modeling. Being mindful of the fear is in itself transforming. Observing the thousands of ways in which you are nurtured and nurture others in the greater community also break up the solidity and credibility of your wound's story. Nurturing, as with all the functions, begins with the mindful intention that this is a value, a particular energetic quality, or manner of relating to yourself and others that you wish to cultivate. By giving up clinging to your agenda that nurturing should be a certain way and instead simply staying with your intention, you slowly develop an inner nurturer. In so doing, you will change both your inadequate feelings and your story.

Mother As Protector

The second of the four functions of mothering is protecting. This is the instinctive and cultivated impulse to see that no physical or emotional harm comes to one who is vulnerable. It is symbolized by the warrior or guardian spirit. A child needs to be protected from physical, sexual, and emotional abuse, and from the threat of all three. Ironically, the first persons a child has to be protected from are the mother and father and their destructive impulses. These destructive impulses might take the form of excessive anger or emotional instability, for instance.

There is a subtle aspect of protecting energy that gives the child the incredible gift of feeling intrinsically safe, a feeling of trust in life. Unfortunately, quite frequently a child must try to flourish in a home environment that does not feel safe, even though no overt harm is done. As an adult the individual will often be at a loss to explain the unsafe feelings that plague them.

If you did not receive sufficient protection as a child, as an adult you may feel that there is "no one in your corner." You may have a memory of some traumatic event or environment that recurs during meditation. You may have developed an elaborate compensatory behavior pattern for your anxieties. You may be confused about the discrepancy between your family's "factual history" of your childhood versus the feelings you remember having as a child. For these reasons, in making the mother wound your practice, you focus on the feelings arising at present. They can be worked with, released, and transformed. The past is not so easy to work with. It is comprised of outer and inner events that are now immutable, hazy in recollection, or maybe even inaccurate.

There is no "magic bullet" that will dissipate all your past trauma or create instant feelings of safety. But if you continually bring attention to feelings of fear, loss, and confusion as they are arising and receive those feelings with compassion, they will begin to lose their grip. Gradually you will discover that they come less often, with less intensity, and stay for shorter periods of time.

Mother As Empoweror

The third of the four functions of the mother is empowering the child, encouraging and teaching independence and self-confidence. It is symbolized by the queen, who elevates her subjects and facilitates the beginning of their coming into their own power. The mother uses her royal power over the child with fairness, patience, generosity, and a commitment to preparing her child to become her equal or even to surpass her. The ability to perform this function comes from the mother's own self-confidence and love and from embracing the view that it is her sacred duty to empower her young. Empowering is achieved by encouraging self-reliance and providing education, discipline, and learning opportunities for the child. You are empowered to try, therefore to make mistakes and still be fully accepted. Your interests are met with enthusiasm; the importance and joy of hard work are recognized and encouraged. Failure is treated lightly, while curiosity and integrity are held in high regard.

In fairy tales, when the queen neglects or is afraid to allow the young their power, the kingdom becomes ill and languishes. In real life, this is seen in the mother who neglects or is even afraid of her child becoming powerful, so that a host of problems develop through neglect, constant criticism, or creating dependency.

Sometimes because of over-identification, the mother is willing to empower but insists that her child be like her or succeed in ways that satisfy her own ego. This is a false form of empowerment, a subtle form of enslavement. You may not realize that there is a difference between the functions of nurturing and protecting and that of empowering, but the difference is crucial. With nurturing and protecting the mother is doing for you, whereas the empowering function allows you to find your own power through doing for yourself. With your mother's blessing, you become independent and self-confident.

If you struggle with empowerment, then you may lament your anxiety and ineptitude, your perfectionism, or your unwillingness to try new things. Struggles with self-confidence will be visible in your meditation. It is as though a blessing was withheld, and it is debilitating. Slowly, through your yoga of being fully mindful of the wound, you learn how to give yourself the blessing of unconditional acceptance.

Mother As Initiator

The fourth function of the mother is initiating, and it is the most difficult to understand. It is through acts of initiation that you come to feel as though you are a valuable and welcome member of your family. As you develop, it is this function that provides the inner feeling that your life has meaning, and by the teenage years you understand that you have the right to become the full expression of your own unique life. It is also the initiation function that permits, accepts, and celebrates your leaving home to start your own life.

A girl achieves the inner experience of womanhood by way of initiation by the mother, who does this through how she treats her own womanhood and that of her daughter. The father plays a key role in initiation as well by recognizing the girl's power and her natural right to become a woman. For a boy, it is the father who is the primary initiator into manhood, but it is the mother who recognizes that the boy is leaving her side to enter the company of men. She signals that this is appropriate, not a reason for guilt, and she supports his bringing "mother replacements" in the way of female friends and girlfriends into her house. In welcoming them she acknowledges his independence.

When initiation occurs in a timely and clear manner, it is a beautiful process, though often painful for the parent. Most initiation takes place through symbols, rituals, and unspoken behavior. When it does not occur, there is a sense of guilt, of staying a youth, of not knowing or not feeling entitled to one's place in life. For a mother to be effective in providing initiation, she must have somehow received or found her own. It is the most selfless of all the aspects, for she is encouraging a separation that leaves her without. This initiating power is associated with the shaman, the goddess, the magus, and the medicine woman.

In seeking initiation you may be attracted to teachers who claim superior understanding, who create an impression of having vast authority, thus signaling what is often a false claim that they can initiate. You may frantically want answers in your life, not understanding that initiatory power will come to you if you treat your questions as sacred. It is tempting to surrender your power to a teacher rather than seek a teacher who will initiate you so that you gain self-empowerment.

You may simply want something to happen in your life that signals your aliveness, meaning, and place. It is a call for initiation.

Your experience of the first three functions may have been less than "good enough," therefore you may never have had the momentum to seek initiation.

Likewise, your mother and your father may have suffered from their own lack of initiation such that providing initiation was simply far beyond them.

Throughout human history, the tasks of mothering were shared by members of the extended family, tribal elders, and family friends. The community had rituals that helped in the process, including those that taught you to take comfort in the earth or nature as the Great Mother. Unfortunately, nowadays there is often only a mother and father to do all that needs to be done.

The wounds do not disappear, but they lose much of their charge. They fail to hook your mind and imprison your heart.

https://dharmawisdom.org/teachings/articles/healing-your-mother-or-father-wound

350 notes · View notes

the-other-art-blog · 3 years

Text

Jo’s Boys: Chapter 2 Parnassus (Part 2) May and Amy

As I said on Part 1 of these chapter post, the following quote says so much about Amy, but also relates to May.

...for she was one of those who prove that women can be faithful wives and mothers without sacrificing the special gift bestowed upon them for their own development and the good of others.

May married before Louisa started writing this book. It looks like Louisa was very interested in how May balanced family and work. At the time women had two options, either they focused on their careers or they get married. Trying to combine them seemed crazy.

There were a few literary works addressing this issue at the time. In 1877 Elizabeth Stuart published The Story of Avis which depicted a woman who gave up her art after getting married. Louisa read this book and warned May about it, but her sister was determined to prove those thoughts wrong. She writes,

‘I mean to combine painting and family, and show that it is a possibility if left alone.’

This blessed lot is mine, and from my purpose I shall never be diverted... I am free to follow my profession, I have a strong arm to protect, a tender love to cherish me and I have no fears for the future.

And indeed she succeeded those two years of marriage. In fact, 1879 proved to be one of May’s most prolific and successful years of her career. It’s such a shame May died just weeks after giving birth when her career was going so well.

To quote that same letter, “May decided wisely”, and Amy too.

There’s the idea that Amy stopped pursuing an artistic career because Louisa was jealous of how easy things came for May. She wasn’t wrong. May was incredibly lucky and there was always someone willing to help her. And as the baby of the family, she was often shielded from the hardships of life. So if Louisa was bitter, I wouldn’t blame her (although she pampered May too). And if this were true, I think her vision of May changed by the time she wrote this book.

I think Louisa gave Amy this development as part of her curiosity and admiration towards her own sister. 🥰 🥰 🥰

Come to think if it, Amy never really stopped drawing. After rejecting Fred, Louisa tells us that Amy has a quieter trip and that she spends her time sketching ( faceless knights in shinny armor or couples dancing, but that’s another story 😉 ). And in the last chapter, Amy is making a bust of baby Bess. Of course Amy would never drop her art, even if she tried. It’s such a fundamental part of who she is that it’s impossible for her to stay away from it. It defines her and differentiates her from everyone else around her.

Now, long has been discussed about May’s approval or dislike towards the character of Amy. The only direct quote I have found from May about Amy is a letter to Alf Whitman where she refers to her book counterpart as “horrid stupid”. She might be referring to Amy’s selfishness and vanity, as she recognizes she was the same once but now she is changing (like Amy did). However, this was before Part 2 was published.

Regardless, I am convinced that May would have loved how Amy’s life turned out. May was an incredibly generous person who dreamed of offering art to everyone, no matter the social class nor the color of their skin. She was always willing to help a fellow artist. She gifted Daniel Chester French his first sculpting tools, yeah THE Daniel Chester who sculpted the Lincoln Memorial! (In fact, he wrote the preface for May’s Memorial by Caroline Ticknor in 1928. He was always grateful for all the support and encouragement May gave him.)

Another thing that Amy and May have in common is the criticism towards their marriages. Many people don’t consider May feminist enough because she didn’t participated in the suffragette movement, she got married and she expressed how much she loved her domestic life. Who cares if she openly criticized the art system and spoke openly about the unequal opportunities that women have in artistic education. Even less, if she rejected multiple suitors until she found the right one, someone who would love her and respect her career.

In one of her letter, she said,

‘the lonely artistic life that once satisfied me seems the most dreary in the world’

Many people judges her and claims that she succumbed to the patriarchy. Really, what May was calling “dreary” was the lonely life she had. She was in Europe away from the rest of her family, she couldn’t even say goodbye to Marmee when she died. She was depressed for a while and felt guilty for not coming back home. The only person who was able to cheer her up was Ernest (like Laurie did with Amy 😊 ). She could go wherever she wanted because she had nothing attaching her to a certain place. But May always dreamed of marriage and a family. In a previous letter she says,

If mine can’t be a happy domestic life, as such as I have longed for and prayed for, perhaps the good God meant me for great things in other ways.

Just months before meeting Ernest, she still dreamed of romance! So sue her if she was happy with her husband and her domestic life. That was her dream.

I haven’t finished reading The Story of Avis, but by the synopsis, it seems that part of the problem was Avis’ husband and his lack of support towards her artistic career. This is an issue that neither May nor Amy had.

Ernest was one in a million. He never represented an obstacle to her career, on the contrary, he was an enthusiast. In the end, May got her Laurie 🥰 🥰 🥰

Now that I think of, Louisa followed the destiny of the real-life people in her characters. Beth, John and Marmee died in the novels because Lizzy, John and Marmee died in real life. However, she kept Amy alive.

Nobody expected May’s death. She had had such luck in life that it felt impossible for it to stop.

In various letters, May had asked Louisa to visit her in Meudon (where she lived with Ernest). Unfortunately, Louisa couldn’t go. There were responsibilities at home and her health was a big issue and she didn’t want to be a burden.

May’s death was devastating for Louisa. In one of her diary entries she remembers the last time she saw her, waving goodbye from the ship to London. Then she writes,

A lonely time with all away. My grief meets me when I come home, and the house is full of ghosts.

To me that phrase is incredibly personal. My grandparents and two of my aunts lived together. In the last years they’ve all been passing away and now the house that once was full of life is abandoned.

Louisa apologized in the preface of this book for writing little about Amy,

Since the original has died, it has been impossible for me to write of her,...

Indeed, I would have love to read more about Amy, but these first two pages about her are so important and tell us so much about her, her marriage and her career.

Maybe Louisa had already written this chapter before May’s death. Who knows. Maybe Louisa couldn’t bear another loss in her fictional family too. If May was gone, at least Amy would live and have a happy long life.

#there's a latter where Anna refers to May's 75th love affair #it migt be an exageration #but it does show how popular May was #little women #louisa may alcott #jo's boys #may alcott nieriker #amy march #amy laurence #ernest nieriker #may x ernest #amy x laurie

25 notes · View notes

thecompletebookworm · 4 years

Text

My friend calmed me down from my spiraling panic about RBG’s death (and my feelings that democracy no longer stands a chance) simply by saying:

“Democracy isn't supposed to lie on the back of one person, if it does than its already dead. Hang tight for now.”

So yes mourn the loss of an incredible woman, a pioneer who helped push women’s rights foreward. May her memory be a blessing. Do what you need to do to mourn, to keep going, to grieve without spiraling into complete darkness.

Because we can’t just accept that this is the end of our country. RBG is an amazing person with a powerful legacy, but she is still a singulaer person. Register to Vote. Become an election official if you’re not immunocompromised/at high risk. Keep Protesing. Keep Donating.

Her death is not the end of everything. Find hope in any way you can, but also give yourself space to grieve.

#RBG #notorious rbg #us politics #us #current events #supreme court #death

105 notes · View notes

detroitbydark · 4 years

Text

Chp 13

Characters: Commander Fox x Mouse (reader), and more Jedi/clones/politicians than you can shake a stick at.

Summary: that one time Padme throws a big party, Bly cracks jokes, fox hates himself some more, mouse wears matching underwear, and Anakin has a heart to heart.

A/N: Snuggle up Fox Fanciers this boy is stupid long and full of yearning on a level I didn’t know I could yearn. You’ve been warned!

Special thanks as always to @skdubbs and @crimson-dxwn for being my sounding boards and supporters in all this. Love you ladies! 😘

————

“For the love of the Force…” Mouse curses quietly. Padmé was never going to let her live this one down. She turns, admiring herself in the floor length mirror. The kriffing dress was perfect. Like, absolutely perfect. Had she not lost a few kilos since Coruscant she may not have even fit it to begin with but she had and it did and it was all that mattered at the moment.

It was easier to admire the stunning red dress clinging to each curve, cutting off just below her knees than it was to think about him. Yeah, knowing Fox was going to be there and seeing him were two entirely different things. Seeing him had felt… complicated.

There had been a split second when she’d first laid eyes on him in that door, bucket slung under his arm, that she would have done anything he asked just to be near him. The loss she’d felt the first few days on Naboo was nothing in comparison to what she felt when he’d entered the Senator’s office. It was a blessing to be holding Leia, to have Luke as an excuse to leave as soon as she could.

She couldn’t think with him there. Her first instinct had always been to radiate to him, even before she’d really understood that was what she was doing. Fighting that instinct was hard and it hurt, but she didn’t think she had it in her to be that girl anymore. She didn’t know if she could give all of herself again and again to be pushed away when he got scared.

Padmé had said all the activity would be just a few days and then they’d be back to normal. Mouse just had to survive. She’d gotten good at that.

On the way out the door she questions retrieving a shawl. She’d be eating with warriors, battle hardened soldiers. She doubts their delicate sensibilities would be thrown into a tizzy by the sight of her scars. Maybe the more delicate socialites and their wives, but she doesn’t much care for their opinions.

She reaches up to touch the skin of her shoulder as an afterthought. It wasn’t the appearance so much as the feel of it she didn’t like. She hated rubbing the lotion into it, the almost rubbery feeling of the proliferative tissue there, but the doctors had said it was important to keep it softened to prevent it from tightening and contracting over the joint. So, two to three times a day, Mouse let go of her own uneasiness and pressed the special lotion into the skin, rubbed and massaged until the skin was pink with irritation.

The walk to the grand dining room is short and Mouse's heels echo softly down the large hallway. She can hear the conversation before the doors are even opened for her, punctuated by deep, masculine laughter. She’s fashionably late and Padmé raises a brow from her spot across the room. Mouse offers an apologetic smile and the senator returns it. Anakin stands a foot behind his wife. His attention is split between watching her and conversing with his former master.

It’s odd seeing the Jedi, both men, in formal wear. Tuxes just don’t look quite right on them. That’s not to say they don’t cut striking figures - General Kenobi would have his choice of Coruscanti society girls if he marched around the capitol like that. It's just a little wrong to see the Jedi not in their robes.

“Sweetling!” The deep rumble drags her attention from the senator who returns to speaking with the men in front of her, neither of whom Mouse recognizes.

“Marshall Commander,” she greets, turning and accepting a soft kiss on the cheek as Cody draws near.

“Mous’ika,” he chides, using the name he’d obviously heard somewhere.

“Yes, Cody?” she asks sweetly, managing to hold in her giggle until he laughs.

“That’s more like it! How have you been?”

Mouse falls into conversation with the Commander of the 212th. They’d met a handful of times now since she’d arrived in Naboo. The Commander had accompanied his Jedi on more than a few visits and while General Kenobi was spending time with his former Padawan, Cody had taken to having tea with Mouse and Padmé. He was a steady man who loved to gossip over holodramas and sip herbal tea. In another life maybe, Mouse could picture him as a professor, or maybe the owner of a bookshop. Something quiet, studious.

A server makes the rounds as they chat and Cody plucks a flute from a tray and hands it to her. She takes it with thanks. The bubbles tickle her tongue as she takes a drink. Something prickles at the periphery of her senses and she glances around, trying to figure it out what it might be. She shakes off the feeling and gives her full attention to the Marshall Commander in front of her.

“This isn’t either of our particular scenes, I believe. We’ve got to blend in somehow.” He holds up his own tumbler in show, amber liquid and round cubes of ice rolling around in its confines.

“That’s very true. I was afraid I’d get here and be relegated to a wallflower.”

“As if Padme would allow that,” he scoffs.

Mouse laughs again. “Are you always right, Cody?”

“Ask General Kenobi.”

Music plays quietly, a string quartet from Coruscant flown in for just the night, as Mouse falls in at Cody’s side. A few troopers in dress greys stop to chat for a moment here and there and Mouse dutifully smiles and offers polite conversation, laughs at the appropriate times. She recognizes some here and there, a scar or tattoo sticking out in her memory, all Commanders with the occasional Lieutenant thrown in for color. She feels the sensation again and can finally place it. It’s as if someone is watching her. Cody offers her a questioning look as she glances around again. She flashes a smile and shrugs. She was being silly. No one was watching her.

“Are you still sponsoring the little girl on Coruscant?” Cody asks, making polite conversation.

“Me’kar? Yes, I actually just received a comm from her guardian the other day. She’s doing well, picking up basic incredibly fast.” Mouse had started sponsoring the child shortly after her arrival, not able to get her bright smile and sweet eyes out of her mind. It wasn’t uncommon for the children’s home to accept sponsorships to supplement the small stipends they received from the Republic. It cost money to keep the children dressed and fed and extras could be more than the budget allotted for. Mouse was more than happy to do it and the updates and occasional holo from the little girl were bright notes in her week.

“Have you given more thought to adopting her?” Cody asks knowingly, as if it was a forgone conclusion.

“I’m still thinking.” Mouse shrugs. It wasn’t a decision to take lightly, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the little girl and what it would be like to come home to her everyday, to be a mother to a child that needed one. She’d once harbored a silly dream of a family with one clone commander and little Me’kar playing a starring role. Now she still thought of a family, but maybe just of two and not three. Cody glances over her shoulder, a smile splitting his features. Mouse turns and sees, arguably, the most beautiful Twi’lek woman in the galaxy wrapped in a body contouring dress that looks nearly painted on.

“Have you met General Secura? Let me introduce you. She may be able to answer some of the questions you have.”

———

Aayla Secura was wonderful. Mouse found herself completely enthralled with the twi’lek woman as she spoke of Ryloth, customs, and traditions. The Jedi didn’t think her idea of adopting Me’kar to be improper and encouraged her. Family was important for her people and she didn’t believe any child should grow up without the opportunity to have one.

“I would encourage you to fill out whatever application needs to be started immediately. Bring the little one here or raise her on Coruscant, either way it sounds like you’ve been thinking a great deal on it. You’ve asked such important questions. The rest is all just figuring things out as you go.”

Mouse can’t help the bright smile she flashes. Aayla glances over her shoulder as Mouse takes a swallow of her second glass of bubbly. It’s sweet on her tongue and reminds her of Fall orchard fruits, crisp and delightful. She’s just a little bit more relaxed than she’d been an hour ago as the alcohol works to relax her nerves when she thinks she feels eyes again. She’s quick to laugh it off as nerves - she hadn’t been around so many people in ages.

“Have you met my Commander Bly yet?”

Mouse wonders on “my” for a moment, but as soon as the Commander is at the Jedi’s side she wonders no more. He stands close, closer than to be expected and his hand rests along the cutout in the Jedi’s dress for just a moment longer than is proper as he greets her.

“I’m rounding up stragglers, sir,” he says with a half smile, turning and offering Mouse a nod. She holds out a hand and Aayla introduces her. Bly has a moment when his brows twitch up in unison before he takes her hand and shakes it gently. “If you ladies would care to, I believe we're supposed to take our seats for dinner.”

Bly offers his arm to his general and she slips hers through it, allowing him to guide her. Mouse follows a half a step behind as they move to the grand hall. Large round tables are set up under sparkling chandeliers. Mouse tries to break off to a smaller one, out of the way and to the side of the room, but it seems Cody has taken up the rear behind the trio. He takes her arm gently as she tries to veer off.

“I believe you were assigned a seat of importance, Sweetling.”

Mouse shakes her head. She really was only here because Padmé wouldn’t hear of her not being there. She tries to explain to Cody as Bly glances over his shoulder. A look passes between the two troopers.

“I’m sure there’s at least one seat left at the head table.”

Mouse watches as Aayla gives her Commander a questioning look. She swears she sees him wink.

She’s not watching where he guides her, still gently trying to plead her case. She looks to her left and sees Padmé smiling brightly and knows she won’t back her up in her decision to hide in the shadows. Cody pulls the chair out for her as she offers him a grumpy look. He chuckles and captures her hand, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. Mouse feels her cheeks flame, too flustered to come up with anything in response. She doesn’t pay attention to the set of greys next to her as Cody nods and she slides into her seat. Not until he walks to his own seat beside General Kenobi does Mouse turn to introduce herself.

And comes face to face with the Commander of the Coruscant Guard.

Fox is leaned back in his seat, brow raised in her direction. He radiates slow simmering irritation.

“I- I’m sorry” she doesn’t know why she’s apologizing. She had nothing to do with this. Her eyes dart around frantically trying to find any other option, an escape, but all the other seats are full and the last of the guests are taking their places at the other tables. If she got up now she’d only draw more attention to herself.

Fox says nothing as he turns back to his drink and Bly on his other side. Mouse stares down at her plate, her stomach already twisting into knots. She throws back her drink, downing the rest in one swallow. A passing waiter offers her another and she readily accepts. Maybe if she’s just a little bit drunk this wouldn’t be so bad.

Padmé clears her throat and all eyes fall to where she stands at the head of their table. She’s resplendent, of course, in a loose cream gown that drapes her in the most eye pleasing of ways. Even if she didn’t have an air about her that demanded attention, her wardrobe choice alone would have done the job.

“I’d like to begin by thanking everyone for their company on this lovely evening. As I’m sure you’ve heard,” she says as if she’s letting the room in on a grand secret, “we’ve recently welcomed our first children into the world.” The small gathered crowd laughs as if on cue. Mouse glances to the other tables. She didn’t know faces, but she’d dutifully typed all the names into the guest list Padmé had dictated. They were some of the most influential individuals in the outer rim. Padmé has thought to treat this evening as a soft unveiling of the plan she’d eventually propose to the senate. It was a test crowd of her peers. She’d use their reaction to modify and gauge where to go from here.

“Now,I find being a mother is much like being a senator. There is always something that needs doing and a mother’s work, much like a senators, is never done.” She offers a smile as she glances from one side of the room to the other.

“The men and women I have invited here today,” she gestures to the clones and Jedi around her “are very familiar, also, with work that never seems to be done. These are the Marshall Commander and Commanders who keep the Grand Army of the Republic afloat. They and their men risk their lives for a Republic which has given them nothing in return, and for that,” Padmé gives a gentle smile around the table, “I want to be the first to openly admit that we have done them a grave disservice.”

Mouse glances to see the wait staff lining up along the walls with the first course. She really does try to pay attention to what the senator has to say, but Fox is so close. She can imagine she wouldn’t have to move far to be back against his chest, feel his hot breath against her skin. Maybe he’d wrap his arm around her, hold her tight, whisper sweet things in her ear-

Maker, she was pathetic. Her stomach turns in agreement.

“Throughout this evening I hope each and every one of you enjoy yourselves, and I also hope that you take a moment to give these brave men some of the gratitude that we, as a Republic, have denied them for far too long. Something I hope we will begin to change in the not so distant future.”

Polite clapping erupts as staff circles the tables and places the first course in one impressively synchronized movement. As Padmé sits, her husband leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek. Mouse looks away.

The food looks good. Or at least it should. Mouse had helped pick out the menu herself. Crudité, a small salad of exotic fruit, a light dressing. It should be perfect. Everyone else seemed to be enjoying it if the sound of silver clinking against china meant anything. She takes a bite and chews carefully - it has all the depth and flavor of sawdust.

“I didn’t realize you had a type.”

Mouse glances at Fox who is firmly staring at his own plate, chewing as if nothing is amiss. He’d always looked good in his greys but he looks utterly delicious now. His hair is longer and his face is shaved clean of its usual five-o’clock shadow.

“Excuse me?” Her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t take you for a trooper chaser.”

The food very nearly gets stuck in her throat as she attempts to swallow. She takes a pull of wine from her glass, coughing lightly.

“Everything ok, Mous’ika?” Cody asks from across the table, concern evident.

Retrieving her napkin from her lap, Mouse covers her next cough. “I’m fine, Cody.” She tries to give him a reassuring look from behind the fabric. “Must have forgotten to chew,” she jokes awkwardly. At her side Fox makes a low sound. Cody glances between the pair of them for a moment before turning back to General Kenobi at his side.

“Cody,” Fox says, and Mouse catches the quick flash of brown eyes. “I seem to remember it took nearly a year for you to say my name. You’re moving faster.”

“Why are you saying this?” she questions. Why would he think such a thing? She hadn’t done anything that deserved such an accusation. He shrugs before turning to Bly and asking him a question about field munitions.

It leaves Mouse's head spinning. No one else seems to notice as they all speak quietly to one another.

“Commander Bly? General Secura?” Bail looks to the other side of the table and the pair. “What are your feelings on Senator Amidala’s personhood bill I sent you?”

“Far be it from me to dislike a law that makes me human,” Bly cracks. A round of laughter rises among the other troopers present. Aayla rolls her eyes at her Commander in an unmistakably fond way.

“What I believe the Commander is trying to say Chancellor, is that it is a more than welcome change to the status quo.”

“I was trying to say that?”

“Yeah, the vocabulary seems a bit past him,” Fox cracks dryly.

Aayla looks from one to the other. “Force I wish General Koon and Commander Wolffe could have been here. Maybe than you’d remember how to behave.”

“The ori’vod is the one who taught us,” Bly offers with faux indignation.

Obi-wan manages to smother a chuckle, though a smile still tugs at his lips. “Master Plo Koon sends his deepest apologies. The Wolffe pack is still firmly entrenched on their mission and he didn’t feel it appropriate to leave them.”

There’s a general consensus of agreement among the group. Mouse catches General Kenobi's occasional glances around the table, the majority of them falling between Commander Bly and his General.

“Senator Amidala,” he begins, his voice pensive, “How do you propose to introduce your personhood bill?”

Padmé gives a warm smile. She’d been waiting for this; Mouse can tell by the way her eyes sharpen and the slight quickening of her voice. “I think we need to show the public that it’s not only the GAR that stands behind the Clones, but also the Jedi Order as well.”

Mouse makes a small sound of dissent, feeling Fox adjust next to her.

“Mous’ika?” Cody questions, “Do you not agree with the senator?” Mouse looks embarrassed as she glances Padmé’s way, but the senator looks more curious than anything. Mouse gathers her thoughts while she finishes her glass of wine. A passing server goes to refill the glass but, at her side, Fox waves him off. She wants to glare at him, but all eyes are on her, waiting.

“I’m no politician, so I’m not sure my opinion should amount to anything,” she begins, “but general public opinion about the Jedi Order is not…” She looks apologetically at the few Jedi at the table “Well, it’s not good right now.”

There’s some concerned looks flying her way. Bless. It was easy to miss what was happening at home when one was in a war zone the majority of the time.

She reaches for where her wine should be and grabs a glass of water that hadn't been there a moment ago. She takes a sip before speaking again.

“It would be a poor decision to align solely with the Order on this one, I feel. Just a look at the holonews and you’ll see articles and op-eds questioning the Jedi’s involvement in the war.”

Fox clears his throat.

“She’s right” How sweet it was to hear those words. “We’re dealing with domestic terrorism on an unprecedented level. Nothing that we can’t handle but it’s something to take into consideration. The public feels like the Order has overstepped its bounds. It lacks policing of its own.” Fox holds up his hand when Obi-wan goes to speak. “While that may not be the case, in the court of public opinion the Order is guilty more than it is not.”

Mouse can feel him looking at her, handing the reins back over. “The average Coruscanti already is apprehensive of such a large military force within their presence. It’s going to take some doing to convince them to see the troopers as anything but soldiers awaiting orders” she finishes diplomatically.

There are speculative looks and nods around the table. “Much to think about,” Bail agrees, taking a slow sip of wine. His eyes linger between her and Fox for far longer than she likes. “Thank you.”

Mouse nods, her cheeks glowing hot from the attention. Her hand brushes against Fox’s as she sets it back down on the table. Her fool’s heart skips a beat when he doesn’t pull away immediately. She fights the urge to lace her little finger with his. Luckily, the next course comes and they both have to adjust to the changing of plates.

Her stomach is still turning in loops and food is still not something that sounds appealing in the slightest as the main course comes out. She doesn’t even remember what it’s supposed to be. It looks like it was probably delicious, roasted meat and delicate fresh vegetables sautéed to perfection. She takes a few testing bites but her plate remains mostly untouched.

“Quit pushing your food around and eat”. Of course she hasn’t forgotten Fox is sitting next to her. It must have been too much to hope he had forgotten about her.

Again, when she glances his direction he doesn’t seem to be paying attention to her. She doesn’t acknowledge he’s said anything and listens in quietly as the others at the table chat.

She takes another bite and chews slowly before swallowing.

“Come on, another,” he says. This time something is softer about his voice. When Mouse looks she sees him glancing at her.

Her chest tightens uncomfortably. Why did she give him the power to do this?

“Mouse.”

She thinks for a moment that she just might be imagining things. Under the table Fox’s booted foot knocks softly against hers letting her know she wasn’t. This wasn’t fair.

“Eat.” It’s a soft plea. He didn’t get to be soft with her anymore. He didn’t get to give orders. He’d lost those privileges.

“I’m not hungry.”

Fox’s head turns slowly at her words. “You could have fooled me. You look like a strong wind could blow you away.”

“Let it go, Commander. You're being ridiculous,” she manages to whisper under her breath. She doesn’t realize the table has gone quiet, that half a dozen or more pairs of eyes are watching them. Fox hasn’t either.

“There are faster ways to kill yourself than starvation. I’m sure you remember at least one other way.” The sudden acid in his voice hides the sound of frustration and strikes a direct hit.

Mouse has never considered herself a dramatic person, far from it really. So the rapidly rising urge to turn and punch him in the eye comes as a surprise. The anger behind it is soon replaced by mortification when she realizes that everyone has gone quiet.

Cody’s jaw is set into a tight line, the antithesis of Bly’s slackened one. Both Aayla and Bail are staring down at their plates. Mouse doesn’t look at the others.

Fox is frozen at her side, unmoving and unspeaking. Horror is dawning in his eyes as she pulls the napkin off her lap and places it in her still full plate.

His hand fumbles reaching for hers under the table but she skitters out of his reach.

“If you’ll excuse me?” She addresses the gathered group, “I’ll be back shortly.” Hot angry tears are already starting to swell in her eyes as she pushes away from the table and makes her way from the great room. She manages to keep it together until she’s in the guest wing. She doesn’t slide to the floor in a heap til she’s in her room.

She doesn’t return to dinner.

————

“You know I remember it all.”

The words catch Fox by surprise. He picks up the tumblr resting along the stone terrace wall and takes a drink as he looks at the Jedi - former Jedi- he didn’t even know what Anakin Skywalker was anymore.

“Congratulations?” Bitterness is already brewing in his gut. First Mouse and now this? Could it get any worse? Could a man not drink away his self-loathing in peace?

“The first time I met the Chancellor I was a child, but I remember it like it was just this morning. He smiled at me. It was like having someone see me for the first time. Like my Mother. Like Qui-Gon-“

Fox isn’t in the mood for this.

“-as I got older his attention focused on me. He honed me. Groomed me for something-“

“That’s great, sir, really.” He’d failed to hold back his acidic comments when Mouse had been near. Now that it was Skywalker he doesn’t even care to try.

“Shift it Fox and listen to what the kriff I’ve got to say.”

Fox brings the glass to his lips and finishes it in one long, slow pull before taking it and throwing it out into the placid lake below. It would have felt better had it smashed. The urge to break something has been simmering on the back burner all night. Skywalker was bringing it to a rapid boil.

“And what are you trying to say Jetii? Your life story means to me about as much as sith spit.”

Something dangerous flares in the other man’s eyes. “We’re the same, you and I.”

Fox barks a laugh, a bitter stagnant sound as he feigns turning away for just a moment only to spin right back. “You and I are nothing alike. Are you one of millions? Does your order see you as interchangeable battle fodder? Tell me your serial number, sir.”

“Your loyalty is unquestionable. You would do anything for the people you care about.” Anakin seems undeterred by Fox’s growing ire. “We both love women who are far stronger than we gave them credit for-“

“Shut up.” Fox’s voice is low, a warning growl from a wounded animal. He’d already hurt someone he’d claimed to love, said something ugly and cruel. It wouldn’t take much effort to get him to throw a swing against the man in front of him.

“-we think we know best. Sometimes we do. Then we let our own ego get in the way and we hurt the ones we love with our good intentions.”

“What about shut up don’t you understand?” Fox takes a step forward, chest out. He wants this to escalate.

“What I don’t understand is how you can take a girl like her and purposefully hurt her. I watched her put a blaster to her-“

“ENOUGH!” Any cool Fox had left vanishes as he closes the space between them. His finger jabs into the other man’s chest, punctuating his point. “You don’t get to talk about her. You don’t get to talk about that night.”

How dare he. In the end, who was he but Sidious’s favorite lap dog? Rage boils over as Anakin steps into the jabbing finger, making Fox take an unwanted step back.

“Yeah? You want to go there? Pretty sure I remember being there just as much as you were. I was also there when your blaster killed Fives.”

Fox can’t hide the way he flinches at the name.

Anakin takes a slow even breath before he speaks again. “Fox, I’m not going to say I didn’t want to turn the damn thing on you and put two through your composite -Jedi way be damned- but I can look back and remember what your face looked like. When you stepped in the corner where you didn’t think anyone could see? You didn’t want to shoot Fives. You didn’t want to kill your brother.”

Fox closes his eyes, tipping his head up toward the night sky.

“She knew that too-“

“You think I don’t realize what she was doing? You think I don’t realize she was ready to sacrifice herself so I didn’t have to kill someone else I - “ He opens his eyes focusing back on the Jedi.

“But you didn’t feel her in the Force like I did. I was as much of a mess as any of us but you know what I felt coming from her?”

Fox shakes his head. He doesn’t want to know.

“Resolve. Love and resolve. She would have done anything to keep you safe. She was the only steady one of us all.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” He’d seen it in Mouse’s eyes, that decision she’d made and would have followed through with. For him. The nightmares where she had to follow through still found him, the ones with her wide eyes staring up blank and glassy while smoke rose in tendrils from her head.

“Because we're the same. Our love was used as fuel for manipulation. It was a tool to gain our compliance. I saw a future where Padmé died. Over and over and Palp- Sidious made me think I could stop it. If I did what he said I could stop it all. Then he was dead and I still had the dream. But you know what? She would have died at my hands because of me, because of my blind, fumbling attempt to prevent it in the first place and my children -” Emotion swells in his voice.

“When I watched you tonight, when I heard what you said, I saw those very blind steps I had been taking all over again. Stop it, Fox. She doesn’t deserve it.” Anakin stops and takes a deep breath,

“You don’t deserve it. Let the pain stop.”

Fox drags himself away from the Jedi, turning his back to stare out at the expanse of water below. “There’s no fixing what I’ve done”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“And I think you’re a fool.”

———-

Fox feels spent. Physically and emotionally exhausted, riding the fallout of an adrenaline surge down to rock bottom after his confrontation with Skywalker.

He’s ready for bed. He needs a solid six hours of sleep. Maybe a coma?

He wasn’t pleased with the continued attempts by others to force something with Mouse that was obviously not meant to be. He wasn’t pleased with his own behavior in response to it. He wasn’t a Hutuun, but he had certainly acted like one. Honestly, he'd rather take the butt of a blaster to his head as opposed to thinking about it anymore.

He tried to think of something else. Personhood. Not in a million lifetimes did Fox think someone as powerful as the Chancellor of the Republic or one of its most brilliant senators would take up the torch for him and his brothers. It was bound to be a controversial bill but after listening to Bail and Padmé speak, it didn’t seem so overwhelming. It was a real possibility that the end of the war wasn’t going to mean the proverbial scrap heap. The end of the war could mean citizenship, recognition, lives outside of battle and the GAR.

The thought left him a little lightheaded - or maybe that was the Alderaanian wine that had been flowing.

He tries to rein in his excitement at the thought. If Fox had learned one thing in his time in Coruscant and among politics it was that politicians were exceptionally good at dragging their shebs when it came to anything good. It would require finesse and more than a little debate for the good Senator to see her plans to fruition. If anyone could do it, it was Padmé. The time frame in which she could do it was up for debate. Fox raises a brow as he looks down the hall. If the sound coming from General Secura’s room meant anything, there was some very brisk debating going on between the General and her Commander.

Fox tries not to look at Mouse’s door as he goes to his own. He tries not to think about what personhood would mean for his vode that had broken regs and found something to fight for outside of the GAR.

Fox is barely in his door, already bending to remove his boots when he hears it, a soft plaintive voice in the hall. It’s instantly familiar. He’s already cursing himself. He’d done enough to her tonight. Obviously, he’d proven that he couldn’t be in the same room without hurting her. He hears her voice again and he’s pulling the door open without a second thought.

Mouse is leaning half in the hallway. “Hello?”

The disaster that had been dinner flashes in his mind's eye as do Skywalker’s words from a short time ago.

Let the pain stop.

Clearing his throat, he steps into the hall.

“Oh Maker...” it’s not the exact thing he was hoping to hear as she laid eyes on him, but he’s sure it’s no less than he deserves. “It had to be you, didn’t it?”

Fox gives her an appraising look. Her cheeks were hot and flushed even before she’d seen him and the gown she’d worn to dinner is still firmly in place. Her gentle eyes are rimmed in red. She looks just as stunning as she had a few hours ago.

The foundation his resolve has been built upon continues to crumble.

He chides himself. That foundation had never been strong, not when he’d asked Bail to transfer her, not when he’d seen her in her hospital room, certainly not when she’d given him the cold shoulder earlier when they’d arrived. It seemed everything about Mouse worked to destroy the barrier he’s tried to erect between them.

“What’s wrong?” He asks gruffly. He’s tired from travel and of the mental gymnastics he’d been putting himself through. Mostly though he was tired of feeling like he was fighting with both her and himself.

Mouse's eyes dart each way down the hallway as if looking for someone else to save the day. She isn’t that lucky. A particularly loud moan coming from Secura’s room emphasizes that point.

“My dress-“ a new wave of red blooms in her cheeks, “the zipper is stuck. I’ve been trying for nearly an hour and…” She glances down at the floor and her bare feet. He hates that she won’t look at him but he’s done nothing to earn that honor now has he?

He huffs taking a breath and a leap. “If you don’t hate the idea of my help, I’m willing to offer it.”

Mouse's eyes slowly rise back to his. “I-“ she’s making a decision as well. He can see it written across her face. Maker, he thinks, please give me this one chance.

“Yes. Please.” She stutters out her answer, pulling away from the door frame and moving into the suite. She glances over her shoulder as she moves as if she’s afraid he wouldn’t actually follow.

Mouse stops near a small dressing table with brushes and makeup laid out on its top. A full size mirror is immediately to its side. She watches him in the reflection. It’s the first time since the hospital on Coruscant that Fox has been alone with her. That feels like so long ago, another life and time. They’re two different people now.

He steps carefully into her space as if one off movement would spook her and this would all end. This close he can smell the soft floral perfume she’s dabbed on. He can feel the heat radiating from her. Equal parts comfort and temptation rolled in one.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he says suddenly. Skywalker’s words haunt him. “I shouldn’t have said the things I did.” Mouse’s head cocks to the side as she watches him.

“Why did you then? I’m certainly not Cody’s type and-“

“And what?”

She steals herself. Fox can see the deep breath she takes before she speaks again, “even if I was, my interest will always lie elsewhere.”

The meaning of her words strike home. “Me? After everything?”

“It was always you.” She admits softly.

She still- she still cared for him? After everything? After he’d nearly killed her. After he left her maimed. After he pushed her away over and over.

More of the wall crumbles. All he’d have to do now is take one big step and he could be over it.

“So, this zipper you were talking about?” He deflects, needs another minute to think because there's too much to sort through and he can’t make more mistakes. Not with Mouse. Not with them.

She nods softly toward her left side, pulling her arm forward to show the jammed apparatus. Fox closes his eyes. Her scars stand proudly from under the thin straps of her dress. When he opens them he catches Mouse watching him in the reflection, her look is sad.

“I can find someone else-“

His hand immediately drops to her hip as she tries to walk away, pulling her back and erasing the laughable space in between them. The shock shows on both of their faces.

“Easy,” he manages, and after a moment she settles against him. His thumb rubs small circles over her waist and he’s not sure if he’s trying to soothe her or himself. “I’m just coming up with a plan of action.” That draws a small smile from her but it’s all the encouragement he needs. “You need help taking your hair down?” He turns his head, the tip of his nose brushing against the soft strands still secured in their up-do.

It’s an absolute sithshit question, she had two working arms she could remove all the pins and clips herself, they both know this. Fox just wants- he wants more time. He wants to be ready to look at the damage he’s done and not feel repulsed by it. To maybe, just maybe, not hate himself when he looks at it.

“I- yeah, that would be helpful.” She says quietly after a moment. She sits on the stool in front of the mirror, her eyes following his actions with apprehension and curiosity. Fox takes a steadying breath and begins.

He’s never done this before, that is to say done anything more than held hairpins passed to him by senators like Padme and Chuchi on a transport after an event when they complained of the intricate styles giving them headaches or had simply needed to feel free of the bindings of senate formality. He’s seen enough though, and begins to work slowly from the base of her skull working up to the crown of her head. Mouse holds out her hand and he drops the thin pins in as he goes. As her hair begins to spill down, he watches her transform before his eyes back into the mouse he’d always known. Loose waves frame her face, still painted to perfection. Her red lips part and a soft breath escapes her as he massages his fingers along her scalp. Tension melts from her shoulders and she begins to lean back into him as his fingers rake through her hair, untangling strands until they slip smoothly through her fingers.

“You're going to make me fall asleep if you keep that up,” she says finally. The ghost of a smile crosses his face.

“Come on then. Stand up. Let’s get this thing undone before you have to sleep in it.” The stool is pushed to the side as she stands, and Fox moves a half a step back so he can see what he’s doing.

“The chain,” she says softly, catching his attention. “Unclasp it first, before the zipper. I can’t reach that at all.”

The thin gold chain hangs low on her bare back, spanning the distance between the straps of her dress. It glitters temptingly in the light, just like it had when he’d seen it earlier at dinner, when his mouth had gone dry at the mere sight of her.

Fox meets her eyes in the mirror as his hand moves softly from her right hip, up and over her back. His fingers drag feather-light over the bare skin they find. Mouse's eyes flutter shut and he can see her inhale deeply. Her skin was still as soft as he remembered. He gently scoops her hair to one side, over her right shoulder. Her eyes are still closed.

“Breathe, precious girl,” he orders softly, fighting a wince at the pet name that slips out. If Mouse cares, she doesn’t let on. She exhales slowly, opening her eyes at the end. Her pupils take a moment to adjust back to the light. “Am I ok?” he asks quietly.

“Are you?” There’s no heat or snark in her words. She’s staring at him, genuinely curious.

“I think so.” His fingers find the tiny gold catch holding the chain in place and it opens with ease.

“Can you- do you think you can do the zipper. If it’s too much to look at I-“

Fox stops her with a low sound. She hadn’t looked unsure or self conscious in the gown she wore all night. He wasn’t going to be the one to make her question it now. He’d already done enough.

“I’m good.”

He gently presses her left arm forward to gain access. He takes a steading breath as he looks down. The scarring spills across her shoulder, two shades lighter than her normal skin tone. He’s seen plenty of burns in his career and this wasn’t the worst but it feels like it is because he was the cause of it. A few centimeters more and he would have missed her entirely. A few centimeters the other way and-

His fingers move to the gown, easily plucking open the hook and loop closure at the top of the zipper. Mouse sucks in a sharp breath as the tips of his finger skim along the bare skin there.

“Is this ok?” he asks. She nods mutely. “I need words, Mouse,” he urges as gently as he can muster.

“It’s good.” Her voice wavers slightly as she speaks, “Go- go ahead.”

Fox can hear his heart beating in his skull. He can hear the rush of air through his lungs. Everything feels loud as his fingers slowly work at the jammed zipper. Mouse’s breathing is shallow as his fingers press into her, as they pull and twist until whatever has been keeping the closure jammed comes loose and it slides down. His fingers trail behind the zipper as it falls open.

He looks up to find her eyes on him again in the mirror's reflection. Her pupils are blown wide and her lips are parted. Fox feels the beginning wave of blood rush to his groin, the surge only becoming stronger as Mouse slowly - carefully - reaches up and slides the right strap of her gown down. She doesn’t look away from his reflection as her hand trails across her collarbone to the left strap. She pauses as if waiting for him to tell her to stop.

Fox puts the tips of his fingers over hers and together they lower the strap. He can see the rest of the scar now, can really get a feel for the size and the shape of it. It’s glossy compared to the surrounding area, as if her skin had been pulled too tight and frozen that way. She slides her fingers from the strap - laying flat against her lower arm - up, bringing his fingers along with it.

“Does it hurt?” The question slips out as her fingers glide over the surface.

“Not usually. It pulls sometimes,” she says softly, “They both do. I use lotion, try to get it massaged a couple times a day.” Fox’s eyes lock on hers. “The other option was worse.”

That’s right. She could be dead. He’s tried not to think of that the last few months, so trapped in his own guilt about hurting her that each time the psych droid brought it up he immediately countered with how she wasn’t and she had to live with what he’d done to her.

“Can I…?” He glances down and then back up. Mouse gives him a tense smile and a nod.

It feels different from how skin is supposed to feel. It feels thicker, less textured missing the fine hair that covered the rest of her arm. He traces the outline of it. It had only been glancing, the distal part of her shoulder taking the brunt of the burn from the bolt. His fingers map out the boundaries twice before he comes to a stand still.

He doesn’t want to stop touching her.

“Where’s your lotion?”

She doesn’t question him. He can see it in her eyes, in the split second of hesitation. She doesn’t want this to stop either.

One arm moves across her chest to hold her gown in place while the other reaches to the dressing table and wraps around a bottle. Fox takes it when offered and squeezes a small amount into his hand.

He’s taking that step over his wall, he realizes. It doesn’t feel like much of an obstacle anymore anyway as it lays in crumbles at his feet.

Her skin is warm under his touch, no real difference between the good tissue and the scarred as far as temperature is concerned. He works the lotion into her skin pressing his thumb in firm circles from the edges to the center. Mouse lets out a tiny sigh and it’s becoming more difficult to ignore the desire roiling in his belly.

“Fox…” he hums in response to the soft moan of his name, “it feels so good.”

“I missed you, Cyar’ika.” He offers tentatively as he presses in close, aligning her back against his chest. His free arm wraps around her waist holding her lightly against him. His hand falls away from her skin and his mouth descends to pepper soft kisses. She was warm. She was alive. she could be dead but she wasn’t and in the end it was because of his actions that he could still hold her, still hear the soft hitch in her breath as he sucks gently at the juncture where her shoulder and neck meet.

Mouse’s head tips, offering him more room. Her arm falls away from her dress and reaches back behind her, cradling the back of Fox’s while he sucks a mark into her skin. A sea of red flutters to the floor as the dress falls. Fox growls as he looks up and sees the pair of them, him still in his greys and her naked except for a small lacy pair of red panties. His red. From there his eyes travel up, finding the other shot he fired.

The scarring to her right flank is worse than the shoulder; he can see the puckered skin and the patterned appearance of healed grafting but he doesn’t feel the wave of guilt he’s felt earlier. She was alive and hot in his arms.

“Tell me to stop.” He demands quietly against her skin, “make me stop.”

Mouse’s hips press back against the hard line of his erection straining in his greys. Another low growl spills from his lips as he spins her around. Her lips are on his in an instant, messy and desperate as she presses up and into him. Her teeth pull at his lower lip. “Fox…”

His hands cradle her face as he slots his mouth over hers, breathing in the air she gives him like a gift from Fett himself. He can feel the press of her breasts against his chest, the way her hands wrapped around him and gripped at his back.

It was a dream. It had got to be. If it was, it was the first good one he’d had in months. Mouse whines quietly as his hands slide down and grips her hips as if they were the only thing tethering him to this reality. It’s too much and he should stop but he can’t because what he should do and what he wants to do are too wildly incompatible. His fingers graze over the pebbled skin of her right flank. Mouse inhales sharply.

“Stop.” The word leaves her mouth with sudden desperation, like it had been pulled from her body unwillingly. It’s like a bucket of cold water thrown over Fox as he jerks away.

Mouse turns from him, shaking her head as she snatched up a robe and quickly wraps it around herself. They’re both panting quietly.

He’d done something wrong, misread her signals. He was scum. He was an idiot. He should-

“I can’t do this again” She’s still breathless when she speaks, ruby lipstick smeared over swollen lips. “Fox look at me.” She demands quietly when he tries to turn away. “You can’t do this to me again.”

“Do what?” He can hear the desperation in his voice, he sounds pathetic.

She looks at him for a moment before she moves closer to him. He wants to turn away. He doesn’t want to hear how he’s ruined everything, how everything has become clear but it was now too late.

Her hand comes up softly to his cheek as she looks at him through dark lashes. Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“You can’t make me want you again, not if you're going to push me away when things get hard.” She has her free arm crossed over her chest. Her tone isn’t as strong as her words. They waiver as they fall from her lips.

He wants to make her every promise in the book before he even knows if he can keep them and it’s not about getting his dick wet.

He misses her. Has missed her every single day since the horrible event in the Chancellor’s office.

He misses her smile - the soft one she saved just for him. He misses the way she viewed the world from a different but similar way he did. He misses planning for a future with her even if he hadn’t told her any of it. Most of all he misses the quiet moments, the times when they would just lay together and enjoy being near one another.

“It was all for you Cyar’ika.” He says with force, as if he said it sure enough he’d convince her that every action he’d ever made in regards to her was completely selfless.

“Kriff” she curses, shaking her head. Her hand falls away and he misses the warm feeling of her skin against his, “you of all people-“ she mutters under her breath before speaking clearly.

“I get to make choices Fox. When it comes to my life, I get to weigh the risks and benefits and I get to make choices. You took that away from me. Have I loved being here?” she asks, gesturing around at the sumptuous suite, “I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t, but would I have rather been with you? Do you know that answer.”

Fox shakes his head.

“That’s right! Because you never asked. The truth is I would have rather been with you every minute of every day of the last three months. Doing paperwork, writing schedules, reviewing supply requisitions, it wouldn’t have mattered because I’d have been with you.”

“Cyar’ika, I didn’t-“

“No Fox, you didn’t think.” She sniffs lightly, her eyes bright with unshed tears, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life and you pushed me away. You turned your back on me when I needed you and now? Now you’re here and we fall into our old patterns? Not again. Not unless you can promise me you are in this 100% because I can’t do it again. My heart just can’t.”

Fox reaches out and swipes a trailing tear with his thumb “I-“ She leans into his touch, her cheek resting against his palm as her eyes drift shut. Just one second. she allows herself that. She straightens and steps away before his eyes can memorize the image of her.

“No, don’t say anything right now. Leave. Think. Decide what it is you really want. If it’s me you can find me and let me know.” There’s a finality to her words that has him biting back any response he may have made. She steps into him, rising up on her toes and gently bumping her forehead against his own.

“I do love you,” he says quietly.

Mouse blows out a ragged breath. “I know. You just need to decide if that’s going to be enough.” She moves toward the door, opening it. “Goodnight Fox.”

#fox and mouse #commander fox #cc 1010 #commander fox/reader #tcw

143 notes · View notes

starrlikesbooks · 4 years

Photo

Let’s talk about upcoming books!

It’s hard to believe the year is nearly over, but it’s equally hard to believe that it’s somehow still 2020 ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Either way, the new year means at least one good thing- cool new books!

Click the read more for a little on each and why I’m excited! And have a great new year! 💓🎉

The Echo Wife by Sarah Gailey is Gailey’s third full-length novel, and their second Adult novel. It’s an SFF story about a woman whose husband is cheating on her… with a clone of herself… which he made by stealing her research. The layers of betrayal! Obviously her and the clone have to kill him, what other choice do they have? I’m super excited for another one of Gailey’s fun, complex characters and the concept alone sounds so, so cool.

The Valley and the Flood by Rebecca Mahoney I’ve already had the pleasure over reading and I am PUMPED to get other people to read it! This is a magical realism story about grief and baggage mixed with a southern (western?) gothic vibe with the town in the desert full of otherwordly “neighbors”. This is a beautiful story of PTSD and healing and as well as a lushly magic one.

The Mirror Season by Anna-Marie McLemore is another one I’ve already been lucky enough to get an advanced copy of. This is a magical realism story about the trauma of two characters’ unfortunately closely connected sexual assault. This one is heavy, and if you’re sensitive to stories involving rape and/or blackmail you may want to avoid it, but it’s well written and honestly an excellent story of healing and reflection.

Lycanthropy & Other Chronic Illnesses by Kristen O’Neal I…. have also already read! Sorry- I am just a very lucky reader of books! This is a really modern online friendship based story of a girl and her community of people with chronic illnesses, like the one that forced her to come back home from college. But it turns out her best friend’s chronic illness is a little… weird. I love the humor in this book, I love the characters, I love the representation of these illnesses and the online communities they form, and I honestly think that anyone who 1) like werewolves and 2) is still on tumblr will love this book.

Blade of Secrets by Tricia Levenseller combines three of my favorite things- bladesmiths, magical quests, and the author of The Shadows Between Us. A magical bladesmith takes a commission from someone far more dangerous than she knows, and winds up with an uber powerful sword able to steal secrets, on the run, and with some surprising friends. I can’t think of anything I don’t like from that, and I know I already love Levenseller’s characters, so!

Mister Impossible by Maggie Stiefvater has… that title, but is also the sequel to Call Down the Hawk, Stiefvater’s Ronan Lynch centric TRC spin off. CDTH was incredible and ended with a massive cliff hanger, so I’m chompin at the bit for this book. More magical dreams! More disembodied voices! More murder and art theft and Declan Lynch failing at pretending not to be weird af!

May the Best Man Win by ZR Ellor has the potential to make me cry right from the get go. This is a MLM trans lovers-to-enemies-to-friends-to-lovers story and my God I’m vibrating. Basically it’s a battle for prom king between exes who had a messy break up because one of them ended their relationship in order to come out & transition. The cover is so cute and I’m ready for this to be fluffy and fun.

One Last Stop by Casey McQuiston is McQuistion’s sophomore novel after Red, White & Royal Blue, so… obviously? This one is sapphic and involves falling for someone who is literally in the past. I trust McQuiston so much I’d need this book immediately even if the concept didn’t sound amazing, but I’m feeling blessed that it does!

Violet Ghosts by Leah Thomas is about being best friends with (and crushing on) a ghost while also coming out to yourself as trans. As an enby who likes ghost books- may I just say trans rights? This book also involved parental abuse, so beware if you find that distressing or triggering!

Blood Like Magic by Liselle Sambury not only has a stunning cover and a main character who looks like she means serious business, but it’s a dark urabn fantasy about witches. The main character fails her ritual to come into her magic, she’s forced to kill her true love or strip her whole blood line. Ah, I love difficult choices, gray morality, and magic, so I’m already in love with this.

The Box in the Woods by Maureen Johnson I’m astounded and super excited to know is going to exist at all. I loved the Truly, Devious trilogy, and while this isn’t exactly a part of that it is the same main character and it is still a mystery about an unsolved murder! Plus, I love summer camps, so a summer camp murder mystery makes me happy.

Gearbreakers by Zoe Hana Mikuta is a sappic enemies-to-lovers about two girls on opposite sides of a war fought by giant Windups. This is a cyberpunk book of spies and pilots and gay love, and it’s also the first in a series!

Any Way the Wind Blows by Rainbow Rowell is the third and (most likely) final book of the Simon Snow series and it’s gonna be GOOD. My only wish is for it to be about 500 pages longer because I want a full out door stopper of tying up loose ends.

The River Has Teeth by Erica Waters is the second book by the Ghost Wood Song author- which was on my most anticipated list for 2020 last year! That one was creepy and folky and queer, and this one looks to be the same. This one has a sister disappear and some strong magic to find out what happened to her, and if their mother was the one who did it.

Mark of the Wicked by Georgia Bowers is a dark fantasy about a girl who comes into her powers but has some different ideas about how she should be using them. I love morally gray or just plain dark main characters, so I’m ready to jump right on this one. This one also involves memory loss/blacking out and being framed, which always adds a cool mysterious layer!

Among Thieves by M.J. Kuhn involves queer, selfish thieves forced to band together. I have a soft spot for characters who are really flawed and don’t want to work together (especially if it leads into found family!) and this also has a slow burn sapphic relationship and a lot of possible betrayal in it, so I’ll probably go crazy from reading it.

Beyond the Ruby Veil #2 by Mara Fitzgerald doesn’t have a title yet but it does have a great plot to work off of. I loved the first book- which was creepy, had a completely awful, villainous main character, and full (I mean full) of murder- and it ended in a way that point to the sequel being just as good if not better. The first one had the quality of just watching the world burn, and I have a feeling this one’s going to be the same thing with maybe more flames. If you plan on picking up either of them, consider checking out the CWs, though!

Little Thieves by Margaret Owen got added to this immediately because Owen definitely gained my love and trust via The Merciful Crow duology, and I’m certain it’s going to be incredible solely because she’s a wonderful writer and her characters are a lot of fun- and speaking of characters, she’s already shared some drawings and info on them and they’re GREAT I cannot wait to meet them. This is a retelling of The Goose Girl story, from the maid’s POV!

Jade Fire Gold by June C.L. Tan was originally on my 2020 most anticipated but then 2020 happened so… yeah. But it is actually coming out in 2021, as long as the world doesn’t end again (fingers crossed). Inspired by East Asian mythology, this one is about a dangerous cult, a peasant cursed to steal souls, and an exiled prince!

The Heartbreak Bakery by A.R. Capetta is going to be one of those cute, fluffy, feel good reads, which I think we probably all need about now. I love Capetta’s work and their very queer characters, and I love the idea of a magical baker both breaking up and then getting couples back together. Also, the MC is agender- we love to see it.

The Second Coming by André-Naquian Wheeler follows a teen with a traumatic past falling for a boy who might be the second coming of Jesus Christ. Honestly, I’m a little nervous about this one- but also I almost wrote my own queer second coming story, so who am I to talk? I don’t know much more about this book, but I’m excited to see what it turns out like!

45 notes · View notes

skippyv20 · 4 years

Text

Chershing the ones you love

Yesterday I found out that my 89 year old mother passed away and went to be with the lord. I shared memories with my husband of a mother that loved all of us dearly but was truly connected with my father and did not want to stay on earth without him. She went to heaven to be with him. Today I received a very long post from my niece who had a special relationship with my mother talking about all of the life lessons she learned from her nana. It made me laugh and cry at the same time. And it brought back memories long buried of a mother who truly loved deeply and shared with all. My mother was only 4’ 10 and only weighed 90 lbs all her life and my niece was quite tall. She was the only one in our family that got away with teasing my mother. She called her pippy for pipsqueak. Here are her fondest memories and I will treasure them always.

On January 5, 2021 my sweet Nana was called up to Heaven. She would have been 90 in May, and in those 89 years she truly had an incredible life + so many amazing stories to share. She grew up in France during the German occupation of World War II and her parents made the difficult decision to send her to live with the nuns in a convent because that was the safest place for her to be. Fruits + nuts were a rare, and very special treat at Christmas time & she was used to the sound of Gestapo Soldiers strapped with armory that clinked as they marched through her town that always kept them on edge. She lived through such a historic time in our history. Hearing her stories all of these years never got old and I would ask her often to share with me again, it was fascinating and remarkable. She traveled the world, had wonderful friends and family and truly enjoyed and LIVED her life. She was patient, incredibly loving, generous, giving, had the warmest smile and up to her very last day never lost her thick French accent after moving to the United States in her 20’s. She was every part of my childhood, my adulthood, and someone I greatly admired and cared for so deeply. She always made sure I knew how much I was loved and would do anything for me, and for my boys after I became a mother myself. The boys would light up her day and she loved every wild, chaotic and sweet + tender moment with them. She loved boating by my Papa’s side but never learned how to swim. She was the cutest little French woman to whom I called Pippy, short for Pipsqueak, because she stood up to my chest. She was classy, she was tender, she was poised, she was proper, and always on time (which meant 30 minutes early). She was witty, fun and exemplified in my eyes, the perfect woman, perfect wife, + the perfect grandmother. She meant absolutly everything to me and while I know in the deepest part of my heart she is with Jesus in heaven with the love of her life, my Papa, my heart is completely broken. We are finding comfort and joy through the tears looking at pictures, videos & reminiscing on memories that I will truly cherish for the rest of my lifetime & share to keep alive in all of our hearts

We are not having a funeral because of Covid but we are sharing

I am so very sorry for the loss of your amazing mother/grandmother/great grandmother. She sounds truly amazing. Heaven is richer tonight. May she fly high. Thank you so much for sharing this with us all...we are honoured to be included. May God Bless you and your family...you have another angel in your pocket.🙏🏻❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

1/07/21

10 notes · View notes

freddiesaysalright · 5 years

Text

Beautiful Mess Part 11

A Brian May x Reader Fic

Summary: Reader works in a bookshop. She meets Brian May and they have an instant connection. It seems to be a fairy tale romance. But, things are seldom what they seem.

Word Count: 3.5K

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @mrs-jack-murphy, @not-john-watsons-blog, @simmisblog, @mirkwoodshewolf, @assembledherethevolunteers, @thosequeenboys, @lv7867, @maymacca, @rethought, @brianslittlepet, @jinxy93, @stephydearestxo, @mrcleanisthicc, @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls, @readinghorn, @lookuptotheskiesandsee, @reedusteinrambles, @borhapqueen92, @1204-moonchild, @bohemiansweede Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for the epilogue!

A/N: The last chapter! There will be an epilogue though, so it’s not quite over yet! I love epilogues...I’m just trash like that

Warning(s): Some steamy stuff in there, but nothing explicit.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Part 11 here we go!!!

The only thing keeping your spirits up was the prospect of reuniting with Brian. The months apart had been difficult. Watching Richard deteriorate was nearly unbearable. You were almost relieved when he actually passed because his quality of life at the end was nonexistent.

“Ma’am, what can I get you to drink?” asked the stewardess as she leaned over your seat, pulling you out of your thoughts before that memory could pain you.

“Red wine, please,” you told her.

She nodded before moving on to the person behind you.

You looked out the little round window of the plane. Rain pattered against the surface, soft and light. No real trouble for your journey.

You were flying out of London to New York. Then from New York to Boston. That’s where you would meet Brian and the band on their tour. You decided to head out the day after Richard’s funeral. You needed to get away from everything for a while. The shop, the Kimballs, everything that reminded you of what you’d lost.

As a raindrop slid down the window, you thought of the irony that the day of Richard’s funeral was a rare, sunny day in London. It also made a comment from Charlie hit extra hard.

You watched Richard’s parents as they buried their son. The sunlight gleamed off his casket as the clergyman spoke. You couldn’t hear the words. You had all your love for Richard stored in your heart, and you didn’t need a spiritual meaning to it. Your eyes were fixed on Charlie and Susan.

Susan wept quietly into her handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes every few minutes. Charlie, however, seemed absolutely stoic. His face was expressionless, his eyes trained on the priest. His grief was apparently beyond tears.

You cried on and off throughout. You had cried with Richard and for Richard as his days dwindled, and you did it mostly alone. He asked his parents not to come to Switzerland, so they wouldn’t see him so weak.

As the service wore on, you sniffled. In his first moment of action, Charlie took your hand. But he still looked firmly forward, even when he gently squeezed your fingers. You blinked and a tear rolled down your cheek.

When they were lowering Richard into the ground, Susan began to sob quietly. As they covered him, she clung to you and her husband, and you supported her, fearing she might collapse. You tried to whisper some comforting words to her, but you were certain she never heard them. Finally, Charlie just wrapped her up in his arms and held her to his chest.

With one final blessing, it was all over. Susan couldn’t stand to be there, so she laid a gentle hand on Richard’s headstone before following the crowd out of the cemetery. You remained behind, looking at Charlie, who still had a stony look on his face.

“Papa?” you said. “Are you ready to go?”

He turned his back to you, facing the headstone. With a trembling hand, he touched it, running his fingers over the engraved words, particularly the years of Richard’s life.

“Papa?”

“It’s going to rain,” he said, looking resolutely up at the cloudless sky. “It’s going to rain.”

His voice rang in your ears as you sat on the plane now. Was Charlie at last letting his grief out? So much so that even the sky wept with him? You hoped so. Only the sky could convey the actual depth of that kind of loss. And he needed to let himself feel it.

You took a deep drink of you wine to swallow the lump in your throat.

The plane began to roll down the runway. It picked up speed right along with your heart. At last, you were escaping this sadness and flying to the person who made your heart happiest. Brian.

It was in the wee small hours of the morning when you finally arrived in Boston. The band had sent a car for you, and you thanked the driver as he put your luggage in the trunk and helped you into your seat.

You had never been to Boston before. You had visited the US years ago, but only New York City and Washington, DC. Those were extremely fun trips you and Richard had taken shortly after the announcement of your engagement. You were thankful the band had already been to those cities, and you would not have to face those memories.

Boston was beautiful. It was historical and unique. And much cleaner than you remembered New York being. The hotel was an upscale one in the heart of the city. You pulled up, and outside, you spotted Roger. He was smoking a cigarette and leaning over a girl who was pressed up against the wall. You heard her giggling as you emerged from the back of the car. When the door closed, he turned around and looked at you.

“Oh, evening, Y/N,” he said sloppily.

“More like good morning,” you returned with an amused smirk.

“What time is it?” he wondered.

“It’s four,” you said.

He faced the woman again. “Well, then. Time to get to bed, eh, love?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” she replied with a wide smile.

He flicked his cigarette away and started to lead her in.

“Wait, Roger!” you cried. “Could you tell me which room Brian’s in?”

“Six fifteen, I believe,” he said, wrinkling his brow as the thought. “Yeah, that’s it, ‘cause I’m next door and I’m in six seventeen.”

“Thanks, Rog,” you said.

He offered a mock salute.

“Good to see you, Y/N.”

With that, he disappeared inside. The driver finished unloading your bags and closed the trunk of the car.

“Anything else, ma’am?” he asked.

“No, thank you,” you replied, and handed him a tip.

A bellhop from the hotel came out and took your trolley of bags, following you into the elevator, and then down the hall to Brian’s room. You felt a bit nervous as you approached. You wondered if he’d been missing you or if he was having too much fun to think much of you. You realized it was absurd to think that way because of course Brian missed you. You shook your head.

The door was just barely cracked open and you smiled. He was waiting for you. You lifted your bags off the trolley, tipped the bellhop, and then pushed the door open.

The room was incredibly quiet, and you wondered if Brian was even there. Then, as you came further inside, you saw him. He was lying on the bed, fast asleep. The copy of Emma you’d loaned him was on his chest, his fingers just brushing the spine. You almost laughed. He must have fallen asleep reading.

You set your bags down and took a moment to just look at Brian. You had missed him so much these last few months that it seemed unreal to be in the same room as him now. You wanted to wake him and greet him properly, but he looked so at peace in his sleep. His mind was usually so active, you felt the only time he really got rest was when he slept. But you also knew that if you were in his position, you would want him to wake you.

So, you approached the bed. Kicking your shoes off, you crawled carefully over to him. He stirred, his head turning toward you and you smiled. You slowly put one leg over both of his so you could hover above him. Then you inched the book away from his hand and put it on the nightstand. In classic Brian fashion, the shirt underneath the book was mostly unbuttoned, leaving his chest exposed.

You pressed your lips to his warm skin, trailing from his collarbone all the way down to where the buttons were done, which was nearly to his belly button. He moaned softly beneath you and shifted.

“Y/N…”

You kissed his chest again.

“Yeah, baby?” you questioned.

Suddenly, he sucked in a sharp breath and his eyes snapped open. He stared, wide-eyed, at you for what felt like several long minutes. You just smiled at him.

Without warning, he grinned, grabbed you by the shoulders, and flipped you onto your back as he rolled on top of you. He showered you with kisses as you shrieked with laughter. It hit you how foreign it sounded. You couldn’t even remember the last time you laughed. But it felt natural with Brian, especially since he was kissing you everywhere his lips could reach.

“Brian!” you cried with a giggle. “My goodness, baby!”

“I - missed - you - so - fucking - much!” he said between kisses.

“I missed you too!” you returned happily.

He slowed down, placing a tender kiss to your lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. He relaxed against you, his hips settling between your legs as your lips moved together in harmony. You moaned into his mouth before he pulled away.

“Fuck, I missed you so much,” he panted.

“I missed you too,” you assured him again.

You put your hands on either side of his face, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs. He was so warm and comfortable. So beautiful to look at. He turned his face to press his lips into your palm before looking down at you again.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Perfect now that I’m with you,” you breathed back.

He half smiled, but looked hard at you.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for the funeral,” he said.

“Don’t be,” you returned. “It was fine.”

He moved your hair off your forehead and your eyes fluttered closed to his touch. It was like coming home to be in his arms and touching him again. Just to feel him. Really there. His scent and the sound of his voice was like an old familiar tune. A song you knew by heart. You opened your eyes to see him again.

“What do you need from me, dove?” he asked.

You smiled. It was a question you appreciated.

“D’you want to talk about everything?” he continued. “Or do you want to be distracted?”

“Distracted, please,” you said. “I don’t want to think about anything but you.”

He chuckled as he pecked your lips. “I can think of a few ways to make that happen.”

His tone sent a thrilling shiver down your spine.

“Well, by all means, get started,” you teased.

You hurriedly stripped each other of your clothing. Rushed, desperate kisses were placed across each other’s skin as the need to feel as close as possible took over. Your lovemaking was hasty and quick, chasing that release together after so much time apart. Brian was even a little rough with his thrusts, so you were seeing stars by the end of it. The absolute passion of being together again was overwhelming. You did forget everything except for Brian as he took you.

As you both came down from your highs, sweating and breathing heavily, he rolled off of you, but still pulled you under his arm. You rested your head on his chest. His heartbeat was quick and loud.

“I love you,” you sighed.

You felt him kiss the top of your head.

“I love you too,” he replied.

As you lay in the afterglow, weariness began to creep up on you. Your eyelids felt heavy and drooped closed.

“Brian,” you said.

“Yes, dove?”

“Hold me.”

“I am holding you,” he chuckled.

“Tighter,” you insisted.

He squeezed his arm around you gently. You snuggled as close to him as possible. There, in your spot over his heart, you slept more soundly than you had in months.

Brian remained awake. He watched you as you slept, and he saw the effects of the past weeks etched onto your face. It was like you hadn’t slept at all since he left you in the airport that day, and were finally catching up on it now. While you were still incredibly beautiful to him, the bags under your eyes and lines on your face told him what you didn’t say.

What you had been through was unimaginable to him. How long you were a nurse for Richard. What he must have looked like at the end. What his last words must have sounded like.

You told Brian over the phone that Richard passed away while you sat with him. You’d been holding his hand and felt it go limp. You heard his last breath leave his body. Brian shuddered at the thought. The pain it must have caused you. Brian would never forget the way you sounded when you called him. It was worse than a wounded animal.

He was relieved when you said you wanted distraction. As much as he loved being there for you, he wasn’t sure how much more tears he could take. It broke his heart to see you cry, so to see you now at peace was something he would hold onto. He was sure more tears would come. But for now, you could be happy. If not happy, at least content.

He dragged his fingers up and down your arm. He felt your body further relax into him as he did. That made him smile.

“Rest, dove,” he whispered into your hair. “Just rest now.”

Before too much longer, he drifted off behind you.

You and Brian stirred awake at the same time a few hours later. You smiled lazily up at him. Being with him made it feel like more than your body was rested. Your soul was rested too.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked.

“Amazing,” you replied, leaning up to peck him on the lips.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll have breakfast ordered to the room. Is that alright?”

“That’s perfect,” you said.

He started to roll over and reach for the phone, but you stopped him.

“Wait!”

“What is it?” he wondered, shooting you a puzzled look.

“Kiss me again,” you requested.

He happily obliged. You felt like you were being a bit annoying, asking to be held extra tight and then for another kiss, but you needed him. He grinned so widely, you were assured that he didn’t mind.

As he ordered the food, you leaned back against the pillows. You looked out the window and saw the bright blue sky and suddenly felt a bit of a lump in your throat.

“Alright,” Brian said. “Should be up in about ten minutes.”

You continued to look out the window.

“It’s going to rain, I think,” you said.

Brian followed your gaze. He didn’t argue that the sun was shining. It was like he read your mind. No. More like he read your heart.

“Well, it’ll help the flowers grow,” he replied.

You smiled at that.

Breakfast came and you enjoyed it together. You had real time to catch up now, and it was nice to feel sort of normal again. He told you he’d gotten you a backstage pass for the remainder of the shows, which excited you. Seeing Queen live was such an experience and you wanted to live it over and over again.

“So, how’d Cat take the parting?” Brian asked as he sipped his coffee.

“Honestly, he was more cross with me for leaving Switzerland,” you said. “He loved it there. But, I think he’ll be happy with grandma and grandpa for a while.”

He chuckled. “I’m assuming that’s Charlie and Susan?”

You nodded.

“Is that what our children will call them too?” he wondered.

You stopped, mid-bite into your bacon, and looked at him.

“Our children?” you repeated.

“Yeah, when we have them,” he said with a shrug.

You smirked. “When were you thinking of having children?”

“What, you don’t want them?” he asked.

“No, I do - especially your children - I just didn’t realize you thought about things like that,” you admitted.

“Of course I do,” he replied as if it were obvious. “I think about our future together a lot.”

Your smile widened.

“To answer your question,” you said. “Yes. Mama and Papa will be grandma and grandpa to our children.”

He kissed your cheek.

“I think that’s wonderful.”

After breakfast, you made love again, and then showered together before joining the band for the day. You went with them to the venue, which was massive, and Brian explained how the whole lighting rig worked and the behind the scenes aspect of the show. You were thoroughly impressed.

The whole tour was impressive. Travelling with the band was thrilling. The best part was spending every night with Brian and growing in your relationship even more. He was attentive to you throughout. Your grief for Richard came up at odd times. It was like a window you tried to keep closed, but every once in a while, it sprung open, letting in the wind and the rain. In those moments, Brian just held you close and let you feel it. As time wore on, the window was easier to close.

Brian had unknowingly restored your hope. When Richard died, you felt like everything was pointless. But when Brian talked about your children, or getting married, or mentioned anything about how your lives might look going forward, you felt purposeful again. Life was still to be lived, and you had an excellent one in store with Brian at your side.

When you returned to England after the tour, you and Brian decided to live together. He moved into your flat with you, and you found that having him there made it feel more like a home than just a place to live. You had Cat there as well, and you both agreed he truly ran the household. You marveled at how much this little cat affected your life. You owed him a lot.

Your sorrow for Richard began to ease, especially once you started helping Charlie out more. Your primary job was still at the bookshop, but you filled up a lot of the space that Richard left. It oddly made you feel closer to him. Once your life found its rhythm again, the pain subsided, and you let yourself feel the joys you experienced.

A year and a half after Richard died, you and Brian were lying together in bed. He was preparing to go on tour yet again. This time, you would not be joining him. You had nothing you wanted to be away from now. As fun as your last trip was, it was too long to leave the shop again.

“I’m going to miss you,” you told him, running a hand through his curls.

“I’m gonna miss you too,” he returned.

“You’ll be the one having all the fun,” you teased. “Seeing all the cities and going to all the parties…”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he protested. “Parties are sort of awkward without you.”

“Because women come on to you?”

His face flushed and he looked away.

You laughed. “Brian, I trust you,” you said. “Although, I can hardly blame them.”

The red on his cheeks deepened and you giggled. You traced his nose with your finger, trailing over his cheekbones as well.

“You are good looking,” you said. You regularly felt the need to remind him of this.

“Thank you,” he replied.

“If only there was a way to tell those women I’ve snatched you up already,” you sighed, a light tone in your voice.

“We could get married,” he blurted out.

Your heart skipped a beat and your hand went to his chest. You stared at him and he met your gaze, looking hopeful.

“Before I go,” he continued. “We could get married.”

“Brian, are you...are you proposing?” you asked breathlessly.

“I - yes, I am,” he said.

He sat up. You followed suit, a smile spreading across your lips.

“Think about it,” he said. “We already live together and that’s great. We’ve been together for nearly two years. We’ve been through so much and we know we can -”

You cut him off by grabbing his face and pulling him in for a deep kiss. He wrapped his arms around you and held you against him.

“You don’t have to pitch me,” you assured him. “Nothing would make me happier than being your wife.”

He grinned and kissed you again. You smiled into his lips. It was freeing to have this choice. He wasn’t forced on you. You wanted to marry him. You had found absolute love and you wanted to declare it to the world. Brian once told you that he was yours. Well, you were his too. By your own free will, with your whole heart, you were his.

“I don’t have a ring or anything,” he sputtered when you broke apart.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said, shaking your head. “We’ll pick out wedding bands and go to the courthouse this week. I just want you, baby.”

His eyes searched yours for any doubt. Any hesitation that might linger. He found none.

“I love you,” he said.

Tears stung your eyes. This time, happy ones.

“I love you too, Brian,” you replied. “I’ll love you forever.”

“Yes,” he laughed. “Forever.”

And you did.

#Brian May #brian may x reader #brian may imagine #brian may x you #Queen #queen imagine #queen fanfic #queen x reader #queen x you #bohemian rhapsody #BoRhap #borhap imagine #bohemian rhapsody imagine #gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee imagine #gwilym lee x you #beautiful mess series

113 notes · View notes

shallowmagics · 4 years

Photo

FROM THE RECORDS OF ARMES SALLOW

Interview : Faith Seed (Formerly Rachel Jessop)

Source Material: Far Cry 5

Memory Status: Partial

Date: December 8th, 2019

Can you tell me your name?

Faith Seed, ma’am.

Where are you from?

Born and raised in Hope County, Montana!

What’s the last thing you remember?

Letting my dear Deputy go back to their friends. They seemed so sad being separated from the rest of their people.

We have a history of memory loss here. Do you feel as though you may be missing some memories?

No, I remember everything. I pray my brothers are allowed the same blessing when they join me.

Have you found a job here in Sallow Hills?

I do research work at the facility outside of town. The other researchers are fascinated by my ability to genetically modify plants.

What was the strangest thing you had seen before arriving here?

Hope County isn’t exactly your average midwestern county, so there’s been more strange and miraculous events than I can ever hope to number. But I found an abandoned movie set once! Does that count?

What traits would your friends give to you?

My brothers would say I’m loyal and dedicated. Except for Joseph, he would say I’m the best out of all four of us. I take pride in that.

Is there anything else you would like to say?

Can I ask you some questions? Just in the spirit of fairness.

No.

From the Private Records of A. Sallow

Faith Seed. Formerly Rachel Jessop, at only 23 she has cultivated a rather... impressive record. Celebrated botanist, kicked several addictions by the time she was 19, and... a cult leader.

I honestly don’t know what the Otherworld meant by converging our little town with her.

One of the main antagonists of the video game, Far Cry 5, Faith Seed is cruel and manipulative. She is either the third or fourth (records are unclear) woman to take the name of “Faith”, yet clearly the favorite of all the Seed siblings to her elder, adopted brother, Joseph. She appears the most dedicated to her brother’s... cult for lack of a better word. The threat of replacement seems to spur on this incredible work ethic: able to control her own plot of land, weed out insurgents, and massive drug production.

Here she appears to not have any access to her drug, Bliss. However, I heard she is still working on a means of production. While I don’t believe she is dangerous just quite yet... I fear the day she meets any other people that are severely lacking in the morality department.

#// faith seed \\#Y'ALL AIN'T READY FOR HER #sallow hills (intro)

3 notes · View notes

renatlia · 5 years

Text

For Good

A peaceful silence hushed over the battlefield. It was won. However, the calm could only be enjoyed for so long before the scenery began to change.

Oh. It was over. Time and space were correcting themselves, closing the magical rifts that brought the group together. This was it.

Hearts sank watching the companions - brothers - around each of them fading away to their respective eras. Then, the transition seemed to pause midway. Caught halfway between the former battlefield and home, their surroundings looked strangely melted together. From the violent debris scattered along the ground, to the still eerily-dark sky, to the green grass beneath their feet, to the spectral-like figures of their friends.

There was no confusion on what was happening. The goddesses were giving their heroes the chance to bid farewell. Jaws clenched as emotions swelled and no words came to mind. Taking pity, Nayru cast her musical blessing on the silent protagonists, allowing them to express their feelings into song.

“I’ve heard it said,” the captain started cautiously, afraid to break the moment, “that people come into our lives for a reason, bringing something we must learn. And we are led to those who help us most to grow if we let them, and we help them in return.”

“Well, I don’t know if I believe that’s true, but I know I’m who I am today because I knew you,” the smithy replied. He wasn’t too sure if he himself had made that much of an impact on the others.

The farmhand was finding it difficult to breathe, just like last time, but he wouldn’t say nothing. He had to speak, and by the grace of Nayru, he was able to. “Like a comet pulled from orbit as it passes a sun. Like a stream that meets a boulder halfway through the wood. Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better? But because I knew you, I have been changed for good.”

He was surprised to see his cub once again after his adventure was over, but he was stunned meeting the Hero of Time. If his wild child hadn’t been the one to explain to him what was happening, he would’ve thought he’d finally cracked.

The old man had noticed his recognition, but he never asked about it. Instead, he took well to becoming a mentor, and they grew close enough to share secrets. While he felt horrible about having to keep the fate of his mentor secret, learning more about his ancestors was like a dream come true. Becoming Wolfie was a lot easier with someone to cover your absence. After all, it wasn’t just the old man and his cub on this adventure. Being greeted by someone new wielding the master sword was not something he thought he’d see again, especially not the man who forged it.

It was the man’s protege that sounded next. He had a feeling he was about to experience loss in an entirely new way since waking, and he wanted them all to know just how much they’d affected him. How much he loved them. How he wouldn’t forget them. “It well may be that we will never meet again in this lifetime, so let me say before we part... So much of me is made of what I learned from you. You’ll be with me like a handprint on my heart.”

Coming across a snarky, pantsless man was not as out of the norm as one would think. Someone completely lost and asking what the guardian carcasses were was. He helped the pink-haired man back to his camp. There he was assaulted with equally curious questions well into the night, especially once they recognized his sword.

They knew his name. He would’ve been suspicious if he didn’t feel such a strong sense of familiarity. He was almost afraid of the close brotherly bonds he was forming until they found the familiar face of an old companion. He knew then that no matter how much it would hurt in the end, he wanted to make long-lasting memories with these people.

“And now whatever way our stories end,” their eldest cut in, “I know you have re-written mine by being my friends.” To think, he and the mrs were just about to give up on having children. Now it was something they were looking forward to, and after having known these boys for the past several months, the old man felt slightly more prepared.

Contrarily, their youngest felt grossly unprepared. He didn’t know what he was going to do once the guys he’d grown attached to- lived with- fought together with... were gone. It was all too fast, and there was no new adventure or task given to throw himself into once he got home.

The young teen was choking on his tears. Through a watery and hazy filter, he could make out the face of a knight in shining armor, who he had been mentally referring as big brother, staring back at him in sad concern. No. That look wouldn’t do. The sailor needed to convey that he understood, that he was grateful to have this conversation, that he’d be okay.

“Like a ship blown from its mooring by a wind off the sea. Like a seed dropped by a skybird in a distant wood. Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better? But because I knew you-“ He shakily gasped to compose himself. “Because I knew you, I have been changed for good.”

He wasn’t panicking. He wasn’t! He’s woken up in strange places before with no memory of how he got there. Looking around, he could see nothing but dark, rocky terrain. Okay, okay. He needed to breathe. He pulled out his compass and telescope.

Finding north, he started to slowly pivot with his telescope hoping to catch any sign of civilization. A giant blue gem filled his vision startling the boy onto his bum. Luckily, he’d met this blue-haired woman, though it had been quite a while.

This was going to be one heck of an adventure.

“And just to clear the air, I ask forgiveness for the things I’ve done you blame me for.” Whether the Hero of the Sky was asking from those listening or from himself was unclear. He knew he couldn’t hold on to the darkness eating at him anymore. The guilt he felt for causing an eternal struggle for so many in his future was met with bafflement by his friends. Even if he could be held partly responsible for ‘causing’ their curse, there was no ill will directed towards him. Alas, the Spirit of the Hero had a tendency for self-blame, so he would ask for forgiveness, if only to release the negative emotions he had trapped in his throat.

“But then, I guess there’s blame to share.” The Hero of Time took the opportunity to apologize as well. He knew his meddling with time had caused the drastically different outcomes in history the group had experienced on their journey together. And though there was always a chance of death, the fact that he was alive while another timeline suffered Ganon’s rule left him with a sour taste.

“And none of it seems to matter anymore!” The Hero of Hyrule could understand their guilt and thoughts of inadequacy, but what is done is done. They had done their best for all good intentions, and no one begrudged them for it. What mattered now was that his friends had to leave, and he would be alone. Having an apocalyptic world like he did, he had never really lost much. Never really had much to begin with. This was all very new to him.

“Like a comet pulled from orbit as it passes a sun,” the smallest swordsman quoted from earlier.

He was just going through his same everyday routine when he met an older, scarred man outside town. He had been taken aback when the man had happily showed him his large sword. Most would’ve waved him off as a nosy child.

The blade was was impressive. Almost twice his height! Proudly centered in the middle of an angular hilt was the Goron symbol. It was incredibly sharp and looked perfectly balanced. He wondered if it was one of Biggoron’s works.

He would have never guessed what would happen next or the journey it would set him on. The man crouched down. Your name wouldn’t happen to be Link, would it?

“Like a stream that meets a boulder halfway through the wood.”

A humble traveler walked along a yellow, worn path. Just a little farther and he’d veer off to explore a cave he’d seen once. If he hadn’t been in such a hurry before, he would’ve already done so, but just as well, he was excited. He just couldn’t get adjusted to living in a castle. This was the first time in a while he was able to sneak away.

He met a couple strangers before the mouth of the cave. Not uncommon, he introduced himself. He had not expected they’d actually been looking for him. Confused, he let them lead the way through the cave to their campsite where he spent the night hearing tales of old spoken in first person.

He would still need to explore that cave.

“Like a ship blown from its mooring by a wind off the sea,” a new voice sang softly.

He was running late. Again. Why was it so hard to wake up if he struggled to fall asleep in the first place? How did that make sense?

Finally, he could see the blacksmith’s wife outside waiting for him. Gulley was also outside playing with the cucco. Good. Less embarrassment when he got inside. Curse his decision to continue pursuing the craft.

He took a moment to breathe when Gulley spotted him and waved. The kid winced in sympathy knowing full well the apprentice was just buying time. Well, he couldn’t pretend to wheeze forever. No one bought it anyway.

Out of literally nowhere, a giant club swung by a hinox knocked him sideways. The mother and son ran inside screaming. He counted three and cursed, struggling to stand. How and why were hinox in Hyrule? He cursed again realizing he was legit wheezing now. Lucky hit.

He booked it to the shop avoiding bombs the cyclopes threw at him. Inside, he gently pushed past the three fussing over him and stared the blacksmith dead in the eye. He was tossed a newly tempered blade. He couldn’t let those monsters continue to live in Hyrule.

Shouts disrupted the anxious silence. He ran back outside and balked at a couple of kids running around avoiding bombs. Cursing at everything, it took the three of them about ten minutes to dispatch of the scarily strong oafs. He had to admit, he was impressed.

He could tell what was coming before they could even open their mouths. Goddesses! Could he not catch a break?

“Like a seed dropped by a bird in the wood.”

What? Where was this? He didn’t even get any divine warning! Groose was surely throwing a fit over him vanishing mid-convo. He could only hope the goof wouldn’t do anything stupid searching for him.

A strange, repetitive thunking was drawing closer from behind. He dove out of the way of whatever the beast was, but it had actually come to a stop a few feet before him. A young man with long blonde hair hopped off its back asking if he were okay.

He struggled to answer staring wide-eyed over the man’s shoulder. How was she here? Who was this, and why was she with him?

The man stared back contemplating something in his silence. The stranger then called him by name and seemed proud of the reaction he got. He was getting dizzy from the amount of questions racing in his mind. How’d this guy know him? Why’d he have Fi with him?

Why did he feel so familiar?

“Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better?”

Bumping into a large gentleman in the bazaar was not how he imagined a new adventure to start.

The man asked him if they’d met before. They racked their brains for a good half hour trying to remember where’d they knew each other from. It was only when Lana found them followed by a familiar face that pieces were starting to fall into place.

No, it wasn’t Lana’s doing, and she knew nothing of how either. She did, however, sense their presence and knew they were safer together. The old man was still a mystery, but Lana assured them this was fine. Maybe they’d remember later. They all had the Spirit of the Hero.

Suddenly, they were in a new town. The whiplash of everything changing in a blink made him nauseous. Whatever this was, at the very least, they were somewhat experienced.

“I do believe I have been changed for the better,” the Hero of Legend sang quietly, his flushed face partially hidden beneath his hair. Soft smiles were sent his way.

“And because I knew you,” the Hero of Twilight prompted.

“Because I knew you,” the Hero of Winds agreed.

“Because I knew you.” Streaks were running down the vet’s cheeks. He could never catch a break.

To be fair, there wasn’t a dry eye present.

“I have been changed...”

The unison voices drifted away along with anything not of the world one hero would be standing alone in.

“...for good...”

#legend of zelda #linkeduniverse #linked universe #angst #sad fic #this has been on my mind for a while #for months really #recent fics have made me think deeper on it #time to work on the fluffy one now #for good #from wicked

105 notes · View notes

tallisstark · 5 years

Text

the courts offer bread and salt to TALLIS STARK of HOUSE STARK. many say that the TWENTY FOUR year old PRINCESS of THE NORTHERN KINGDOM is known to be DARING and LIGHTHEARTED, though ill tongues whisper that she is RECKLESS and UNFORGIVING. when her name is uttered , one is reminded of a thrown knife meeting its target, the smell of well-worn riding leathers, dark hair in elaborate braids. may she blessed and protected in this war of crowns. (fc: Anya Taylor Joy)

Hi all!! I’m Shay. I was in this RP briefly before, but I don’t expect anybody to remember me at all. I am excited to see this back in the tags and can’t wait to get started writing with you all. Under the cut is some more information about Tallis, though I have kept things fairly vague so as not to contradict anything her family may have already written, so this may be altered later. If you’d like to plot, please do drop me a message or like this and I’ll come to you!

Updated 09/02/2020

Tallis is the daughter of King Brandon Stark and Queen Betha, nee Mooton, one of four children. As well as her siblings, she has three cousins on her mother’s side - the Mooton sisters. She loves her family dearly, and is proud of her lineage.

From the moment she had been born, Tallis Stark was the apple of her father's eye. A lesser man than King Brandon Stark might have been disappointed that the child was a girl, but not he. She had been born early, smaller than most, with skin thin as paper and eyes too big for her head. She came into the world in the dead of a Winter, and few but King Brandon expected her to survive, until they heard her cry. Nothing with a shriek that loud could ever be weak.

She was a noisy baby, her wails heard all through Winterfell. Even when she was content, she yelled and gurgled and made herself known. They should have realised that was an omen of things to come, for Tallis Stark had a will as unyielding as valyrian steel, and would never learn to be silent.

Shrieking babe became wild toddler, wild toddler became feral child. She grew slowly, always dwarfed by others her age, with bones as fragile as a fledgling bird, but Tallis Stark was no bird. She was every inch a direwolf, a true child of the North. Her father delighted in her, and the pair of them were close, rarely away from each other's sides. He celebrated in her passion, his fire of the frost, he called it, and turned a blind eye to her behaviour, amused by antics that only grew bolder over time.

Queen Betha was not so amused. She despaired over her daughter at times, wringing hands in frustration, knowing not how to turn her wild, willful child into a respectable, Northern lady. She tried to arrange many a plot to foster Tallis, with her family in Maidenpool, to The Vale, the south, but King Brandon would not allow it. He would have missed her too greatly, and in any case, it was only he who had any degree of control over her. He rarely put his foot down, but when he did, she listened.

To anybody who worked in Winterfell, Tallis Stark was the bane of their existence. She terrorised the servants, the gardeners, the cooks, the squires. Nobody was safe from her unique brand of mischief, and though some were as fond of her as her father was, others would curse her name to delighted laughs from the royal brat.

She was always quick-witted, sharp and bright, but she didn't shine academically. Perhaps she could of, if she had put her mind to it, and she could recite the houses, their sigils and banners from memory. She liked history, but some of the more basic skills were lost to her. She struggled to read, and her penmanship is dreadful, her maths even worse. Eventually, she gave up trying. She grew good at listening and remembering, learning the stories of legend by ear and mimicking them perfectly. She could sew when she concentrated, but cared little for it, and never tried.

Where she did excel was in all things physical. She was small, but with that she was lithe and nimble, and she moved with a fluid grace that one would not expect from a girl with so much chaos in her soul. She could dance better than anyone, and rode a horse like she was half-centaur. She can hunt, she can climb, and she is fast, and of that she is most proud.

It was perhaps her boisterous nature that led her to seek out the company of the various boys if Winterfell, be they wards or the sons of visiting lords who made regular appearances. There was Eliar Umber, with whom she rode and played and made wishful plans to set off into Westeros in the search of glorious adventure. There was Aeron Greyjoy, who had recognised her warrior's spirit and placed a sword in her hand and an idea in her heart. And there was Rodrik Forrester. Since he had arrived at Winterfell as a ward, Tallis took great delight in his company.

Most believed Tallis would calm as she grew, and one day make a wonderful wife and mother. They are still waiting for this day to come. As she has got older, Tallis has only become more hedonistic. She does as she pleases with little regard for what it may mean for other people. She’s a drinker, and a gambler, and intensely passionate in her relationships with others. She has trained hard at weaponry, can throw a knife with great accuracy at 100 paces and has grown skilled with a sword. She fights with two now, light, but sharp blades clutched in either hand. Though she has never tasted battle, she is good, more than capable of holding her own. She knows that, though strong for her size, she cannot win a fight on strength and force alone, and so relies on her agility and speed to win, a tactic that serves her well.

The fire in her can be a beautiful thing, warm and bright and leaving her humming with an energy that comes from deep within her, a passion and a zest for life that can't be touched. She makes a warm and loving friend, but behind that is a danger. She can scorch hot enough to burn, and is prone to jealousy and quick to anger. The temper of Tallis Stark is legendary, and once you have fallen out of your favour, she will hold a grudge that she may never relinquish, her stubborn nature leaving her unforgiving, even long after she has forgotten why she was ever angry.

She is an animal lover, particularly dogs, birds and horses. She has a collection of birds of prey she is particularly proud of, and is usually in the company of a large, black and white dog. Originally named Kermit, as he grew gigantically big, she lovingly nicknamed him Crackbones after one of her favourite stories of old.

Tallis is adventurous by nature. She can be incredibly charming and affable when it suits her, and would never intentionally harm somebody without cause, however, she is selfish, even more so as a result of her hedonistic ways, and can often cause unintended hurt to others as a result.

Tallis is proud to be a Stark. For that reason, she doesn’t think she will ever intentionally seek a marriage. She wants to retain her name and her status, and if that means remaining unmarried, then so be it. There was one she would have given it all up for, but it wasn't to be and over time she lost hope.

At the core of it, she's a girl Who doesn't truly know what she wants. To travel, certainly, and see the world beyond The North, but to stay a woman of Winterfell. She longs to wander, but knows she will always return home, even as she resents being stuck behind stone walls. She isn't one for castle life, would be an awful wife and a worse mother. She loved once, and he was the only man she would ever consider marrying, but he was given to another and her heart was broken.

Now, she's struggling to find her place, hurting from the loss of her dear father, but knows it's at her brother's side. She harbours dreams of serving as a Northern ambassador, or even as a Kingsguard, anything to give her purpose and open up a part of a world she can only imagine.

#crowns.intro

8 notes · View notes

lokis-lady-death · 5 years

Text

The King of Gods Pt 6

Tom Hiddleston/Loki x reader

Lady Death: This is a sequal to the Interview with a God series I completed a few months ago. This picks up months after the original story ends. If you haven’t read IWAG, HERE is a quicklink to Part 1 or you can find it on my Master List !

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

The King of the Gods Part 6

It had been a week since you returned to Midgard and you had managed to retain a steady level of intoxication most of the time. The first few days, you would wander into different bars, only moving on if people began giving you too much attention, whether from a tipsy woman trying to hold onto you for support on her way to the bathroom or an intangible man trying to cop a feel.

You wanted to be drunk and left alone.

Trying to drown your worries, you stayed out of your apartment to the best of your abilities, but by the third day you knew you couldn’t avoid it any longer.

You had to go home.

When you finally decided to go back, you stocked up at the liquor store. A few bottles of off-brand whiskey sat on your kitchen counter, along with wine and little random mini-bottles. If you had to be in this awful place, you weren't going to be sober.

After taking a sip from one of the bottles, you inhaled sharply at the throbbing behind your eyes. Days of drinking until you passed out were beginning to weigh on you, eating away at your body until moving hurt and your head was sore.

The reason you kept going?

It drowned your soul enough that you could think about Loki without feeling your heart shatter into a trillion pieces. It even helped you walk around the corners of your apartment without flinching from the images that were ingrained into your conscious from your nightmares.

Alcohol may not have been the best solution, acting as a bandaid for an amputated arm, but it got you by.

On the fourth day, you woke up on the floor next to the couch, the pressure in your neck so tense you had to be careful as you rose up and stretched.

You hadn’t remembered doing it, but at some point in the night you had started binge watching Tom’s movies. You had gone through Kong, Crimson Peak, and halfway through the second Thor, you were out. Looking up at the TV, the option for Ragnorak was frozen on the screen with Tom in his Loki costume standing side by side with Chris as Thor.

Rubbing a hand down your face, you quickly looked away to find another bottle until you realized you actually had formed a smell from days of not showering or changing out of his black shirt. Rubbing your hair back out of your face, you resided it was time for a shower.

When you were finally rid of the lingering funk, you dragged your feet into the kitchen to search your medicine cabinet for something to ease your headache.

After popping some Advil, you turned back to the pile of Tom’s things that had remained untouched in days.

Letting out a sigh, you kneeled beside the bags and opened one up. Tom never had a shortage of black and white t shirts, button ups and books, including his copy of Much ado About Nothing. Pulling out a plain shirt, you slipped it on and laid against the couch to face the TV.

It felt like Loki’s green eyes were watching you when you let the movie play through, wishing more than anything you could reach out and touch him.

Feel him.

Hold him.

Swallowing hard, you drifted in and out of the days between alcohol, movies, and Tom’s clothes until finally waking up Monday morning for your first day back at work.

Yet as your alarm began to screech, you felt your nerves waver.

“I have to go,“ you convinced yourself, “I still have to live my life.”

In all this time, you tried to make yourself feel like you could be whole again, that all you needed was a few days to heal. Loki had only been a part of your life for a few months, you lived before him and you would have to live after him.

This was your life, the same life you had before you knew the god of mischief.

Urging yourself on, you managed to get out of bed and start getting ready. After drinking some coffee, you dug out a white button up from Tom’s luggage. You shrugged it on, slipped into some leggings and pulled your hair out of your face. Giving yourself a last glance in the mirror, you looked away in disgust.

Your skin was a pale, lustless color while your eyes sat upon dark, swollen patches. Taking in a breath, you tried to paint a more presentable version of yourself, lining your eyes, brushing pink on your cheeks. But even behind the colors, you looked ill. Giving up, you threw on Tom’s grey hoodie, packed your work bag and walked out only to freeze in the doorway.

Passing one last glance at his things, you reasoned you had to go. You needed a break from this place and these memories. Work was a necessary distraction, besides, you couldn’t keep avoiding life.

Before closing the door, you couldn't help but think, 'I hope Loki’s doing better than me.’

*****

The sun was beginning to creep through the palace, illuminating the golden walls and floors as if the kingdom of Asgard was the sun itself. The halls were busy with those that worked in the castle tending to their daily tasks, while dignitaries and nobles began to rise from their luxurious beds.

Loki, however, only stared up at the top of his canopy not making an effort to move even as servant walked into his room.

"Good morning, your highness,” the thin man in tan robes offered, “Would you like another moment to rest-”

“No, I’m awake,” Loki said flatly as he rose from the sheets.

It was the same routine every day now, beginning with him lying in bed all night while he thought about you and what you could be doing back on Midgard without him. Without even your memory of him. Were you happy now or did you feel the same emptiness he felt, even if you couldn't quite place where it came from?

Could you feel that something, deep down, was missing?

Loki hadn't realized how much his life had revolved around you and the time you both shared until your abrupt absence. Never in his long life had he imagined the loss of a single Midgardian would leave him so numb to the world that he would barely feel his own existence anymore. He moved through his day, hardly a word to anyone, simply going wherever he was needed and finishing his work so that he may return to his room to sit in silence. In the days since your departure, he had turned away Thor countless times, even ignored Elsa outside his door for hours while he withdrew into himself.

In a palace full of people, he had never felt so alone.

The only obligations he concerned himself with were that of the kingdom of Asgard, more specifically the work he did with his father. Every morning, his servant would come to tell him what duties he would be attending to that day at Odin's side as he readied to take the crown. It was unbearable, but he did what he had to in silence.

It wasn't until a week later that he was alerted to a new development.

"I overheard some truly incredible news for you this day," the servant started as he gathered his lord's clothes together. "It seems the Allfather is most impressed with your diligence and dedication. He sees you fit enough to set the coronation for tomorrow evening, we are to meet with him to begin preparations."

Loki's eyes cut across the room in surprise, certain he had misheard. "So soon? But I thought traditionally coronations were held at a certain time of year with the blessing of a priest, I haven't even prepared-"

"That's superstitious nonsense that Allfather has no concern with, I assure you," came from the doorway. Baldur had cracked the door just in time to interject himself into the conversation, being sure to close the door behind him. As he was about to go on, a sudden tremor broke out across the land of Asgard, shaking the homes and palace of its inhabitants. Loki steadied himself as the servant went to his knees, hands folded over his head. Baldur backed against a wall, feeling the vibrations of the quake move up his back while they waited it out.

When the motion stopped Loki shot a curious look towards Baldur. "That's the third one since I've been back," he noticed. "When did earthquakes become so prevalent in the realm of the gods?"

Baldur stood up and shrugged his robes out as he answered nonchalantly, "Allfather says it's a sign of his powers weakening, it's been steadily getting worse over the last month or so. Just another reason to get on with the coronation."

Loki walked behind his dressing curtain with the servant when he commented, "Still seems a bit hasty, don't you think?"

"Not at all," Baldur sold, "Allfather is in desperate need of rest and the tremors are becoming more frequent. He has been ready to pass on his legacy for some time now, it's just taken a long time for..."

Baldur's words trailed off when he couldn't find a suitable way to finish his statement until Loki filled in, "For what? For me to become worthy of his kingdom?"

Sucking on his teeth, the advisor saw he had made a poor choice in terms as he soothed, "It's all over and done business, really, why don't we just get on with the good side of things? You get to be crowned, Thor gets to return to his family, and you'll be granted the rest of your powers along with that of the Allfathers. Surely you can find a reason to celebrate in that? "

Loki looked down as his servant began fastening his traditional style chest and shoulder plates into place. In truth there had been a time when he wanted nothing more than his father's approval, even craved to possess his power, but that time had long since past. He had developed his own dreams and ambitions outside of these palace walls, had lived a lifetime it seemed without all the grandeur of Asgard.

But even giving up his life in Midgard paled in comparison to the crippling agony of losing you.

Of all the things he could have in the universe, the one thing he wanted most of all was out of his reach, living life without a second thought of him.

"I know it hasn't been ideal, Loki, given your circumstances and all, but this is what's best. This is your destiny, these are your powers, they're your birthright." When he still didn't show enthusiasm, Baldur added with a grunt, "There was a chance for you to not have this opportunity, you do realize that? This is not the punishment, Midgard was. This? This is a reward-"

"I'm aware," the god of mischief cut him off.

"Then shouldn't you be thrilled? You're getting everything you ever wanted, yet here you are still sulking over, over what? Some mortal girl?"

That comment sent fire through Loki's veins as he stepped out from behind the curtain, his golden cape flying back as he locked eyes with Baldur. "I never asked for any of this and you know that. I didn't want it when Thor abdicated his crowned prince title and I didn't want it while I was making a life for myself on Midgard. The only reason I even returned was at Allfather's request, because I assure you, I would never had asked to return. If it were up to me, you would be the one taking this kingdom in my stead."

Baldur looked like he would speak but the comment left him without the ability to form any more of an argument. Instead he took in a deep breath. "I'm sorry, that was a rude thing to say," he apologized, going towards Loki. "And as for the king, well… That's kind of you to say but you know Allfather would never allow me to take the throne, I don't have his blood running through my veins. Besides," he clasped Loki's armored shoulder and shot him a sympathetic grin, "I know you'll make a great king."

Loki met his stare but didn't reflect the sentiments. Instead he walked past Baldur towards the door, letting out a sigh. "Let's just get on with it."

*****

When you finally dragged yourself into work, you had managed to get through the building and slip into the office without anyone speaking to you. Logging into your computer, you breathed out in relief.

The last thing you wanted was to explain anything about what happened during your time off.

Settling in, you laid out the contents of your bag to get ready for work, pausing when your eyes caught the small picture frame sitting on the corner of your desk.

It was a 4x6 cut out of the kiss between you and Tom during your first date, the one that was pastured all over the cover of magazines. Sue had framed it for you as a joke, though it was anything but funny now. Taking the image in your hand, you didn't know how long you stared at it before finally laying it face down in your bottom drawer.

'That was a fantasy. This is real life,' you told yourself, 'Work, eat, breathe, sleep, repeat. Just gotta go one day at a time.'

Working for the first couple of hours on responding to emails, returning missed calls, and setting up your schedule for the month's projects, you actually could feel a sense of normalcy begin to return to you.

It wasn’t until closer to lunch that you heard a quick set of knocks grace your door. “Come in,” you called out, looking up in time to see your office friend Sue twirl in.

“Y/n!”

Before she even started, you knew this would be the turning point in your day. “Hi Sue."

“How was your vay-cay? You and Tommy have a fun time? Where did you guys go, it was to do something with family right?” Sue was absolutely beaming at you, her smile wide and bright against her artificially tan skin and short blonde hair, completely oblivious.

“Actually…” your eyes went over your desk, trying to find the words to say, but a wave of nausea passed over you at the thought of saying it out loud.

“Oh, I get it, it's personal, that’s cool. Real low key stuff, I know how Tom is about yalls business. I bet you guys had a blast, though, I couldn’t imagine spending a week with a mega star like Hiddleston!”

“Well, that’s…”

Sue’s smile didn’t waver while her head tipped to the side. “You okay, sweetie, you look a little… ?” Her nose scrunched but she didn't finish.

Your hand rubbed down your face as you tried to form the words. "Actually, Sue, Tom and I are no longer… seeing each other…"

Glancing back up, Sue's face was broken up as she digested the information. "Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry, y/n! Are you doing ok?"

Reflecting on the last few days of drinking until you passed out, wearing all his clothes until they lost his scent, watching all his movies on repeat, you put on a forced smile, "Yeah, I'm alright."

Sue looked sympathetic as she was about to say something else, but was cut off when your magazine director Mrs. Lynn came into your office with a passive knock. "Hi, y/n, glad to have you back. Did you see my email about-"

"Y/n and Tom broke up!" Sue blurted.

The air itself felt awkward as Lynn's brow quirked at the comment, looking back towards you before going, "Oh, um. I'm sorry?"

"It's fine, I'm fine, we're all fine," you went on, begging the moment to dissipate.

"Oo, you know what you should do?" Sue asked, bouncing at her own idea. "You should come out with me and Carmen! We were gonna go to Poison to check out a new band I'm doing an article on. You should totally tag along!"

"Carmen? From the advertising department? I, I don't know about that," you answered honestly, "I don't feel much like going out…"

It's not that you disliked Carmen, but you knew she was a friend of Elliot Stringer. After the fiasco at Chris's party and the death of Hela, Elliot got into a heated debate with the director and CEOvs of People magazine about publishing a story on the whole event.

Everyone thought he was crazy and brushed it off. That was the last time you saw Elliot, learning later through coworkers that he had reclused away with some family while keeping a heavy presence on Facebook. You wanted to ask Loki if he knew why Elliot was allowed to keep his memory, but just chalked it up to everything assuming he was nuts.

What was the point of making him forget if no one believed him?

Lynn, still standing there unanswered, threw in her two cents. "You know, going out with other women could do you some good. After my second divorce, some ladies and I went out to Vegas for a weekend. Absolutely best time of my life."

"Reeeeally?" Sue pressed, "So what did you wild girls get into?"

Lynn, who was in her fifties, had always been straight laced, and never a hair out of place in her short bob haircut, straightened her thin rimmed glasses on her nose, a slight blush lighting up her cheeks as she quietly quoted, "What happens in Vegas, ahem. Stays in Vegas."

Sue passed a very impressed nod to her boss before looking back down at you. "So what do you say? Come out with us?"

They were both grinning at you now, and you just couldn't find a way to argue staying home alone to drink yourself stupid. Looking between them, you finally gave up. "Alright," you resided, "I'll go out with yall."

*****

"Did you feel that tremor this morning?" a servant girl asked Elsa as she refilled her glass with wine. "It felt like it lasted longer than the one the other day, didn't it?"

Elsa didn't answer at first, merely resituating herself in the lounge chair. Finally, she went, "Yeah, it did feel longer."

The servant watched her take a deep breath before guzzling down her drink. Folding her arms around the bottle, she tried to think of something more to speak about. “Oh, did you hear? They intend to crown Prince Loki tomorrow evening!”

Elsa nearly gagged on her drink, spitting into her cup out of reflex. She cut her eyes up at the servant, pressing, “What? Why so soon?”

Shaken by the strange response, she only shrugged, “I’m not sure. But I’m told Baldur would like to take you shopping for a dress this afternoon if you’d like-”

“No,” she said flatly as she set the wine glass aside, “I wouldn’t. You may let his jerk-ness know I have plenty of gowns to choose from.”

In the week since you had left, she had wracked her brain for days trying to plan a way to help you and Loki. However, she was incapable of speaking to Loki about it, Baldur was acting bizarre, and Thor had shut the topic down permanently. Being in Asgard made it all the more difficult, only knowing a handful of people in the palace but none well enough to ask for help with what she needed, or trusted not to run back to Odin with what it was she was doing.

Even without knowing the full details, she knew her father in law was pulling the strings and she would do well to keep to herself for now, but what was troubling her the most now was this strange dream she had been having over and over the last few nights.

It started the same every time, her waking up in bed with Thor, the sun blanketing their room like it has done a thousand times before. But something was different about this day. As she got up to walk onto the veranda, she could hear faint shouts just before the ground began to shake. The closer she got, the louder the cries became, though none of the calamity seemed to alert her sleeping husband. As she walked outside, she took in the full cataclysmic activity that had stirred her from sleep. Out before her, lay Asgard in ruin. People screaming, children crying, the ground broken like glass with lava flowing through the streets. Even the once bright sky was now dark with the mountains in the distance spewing sulfur into the air. And then, out in the distance, just beyond the golden gates of the city, she could make out Loki, dressed in torn rags with you lifeless in his arms. He was on his knees clinging to your body, screaming out in anger just before being swallowed by a black smoke that began to run over the land from the Bifrost. Just as Elsa got ready to cry out, the world would fade and she would wake up in a cold sweat.

After the first night she had the dream, Elsa shrugged it off as her nerves getting the best of her. She was getting stir crazy, she reasoned throughout the day, nothing more. The second time she considered telling Thor, but as angry as she was with him, she didn't feel he would be any sort of comfort. So instead she kept quiet, trying to make herself believe it was nothing. By the fourth reccorance, the oracle was beginning to think something more was going on. After years of training to become Thor’s oracle, she couldn’t simply dismiss the vision, dwelling on it endlessly during the day until it felt maddening.

Through with all her aggravation, Elsa's handmaid Iona had been a small comfort. She was the only person she felt she could really talk to but still kept the dealings between you and Loki to herself. Instead she talked about her children and how desperately she missed them.

It was one of her main reasons for spending the day out on the veranda drinking, trying desperately to ignore the void of her children being on Midgard.

"In any case, Lady Elsa, would you be interested in a walk through the city? I'm sure there won't be anymore tremors and it's such a lovely day-"

"Everyday is 'lovely' here," Elsa snorted, the resentment for the kingdom boiling up to the surface. "I've walked the city, shopped the market, rode horses, swam the waters. I'm sick of being here, I just wanna go home."

If it wasn't for this place, she would be with her children. Taking them to school. Tucking them into bed, kissing them goodnight.

Taking another sip from her glass, she closed her eyes, sick of even looking at the golden city before her.

At this point, it could burn like it had in her nightmare and she wouldn't miss it.

Iona bit down on her lip as she looked at the beautiful Midgardian laid out in the sun. In the months since she had been there her heartbreak from being away from home had become apparent. The drinking had become more common, her distance from Thor was even noticeable. The servant wished she knew of a way to help her lady but nothing came to mind.

Later that afternoon, Iona was making her way towards the kitchen for another bottle of wine when she overheard a pair of guards not so quietly whispering amongst themselves. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, simply making her way past them until their words struck her.

"I thought it wasn't possible to communicate with other realms with the Bifrost closed?" one asked.

The servant slowed her pace to listen better, trying not to be obvious.

"That's what I thought, but it turns out that Allfather has a telecommunicator in his room that can reach beyond the portals. I don't know who it was he was speaking to, but it was obviously someone on Midgard."

"Could you tell who it was he was talking to?"

"I didn't recognize the voice, but it was definitely a woman-"

Iona had stopped listening when she realized what they had said. Hugging the wine bottle close to her chest, the servant quickly made her way back to her lady with what she had overheard.

"A telecommunicator? Like a phone?" Elsa asked in disbelief.

"I wouldn't know particularly, but isn't that wonderful? You can speak to your children!"

Elsa brought her thumb to her mouth, gently nibbling her thumb nail as she tried to think. As much as she missed her children, she knew she needed to fix the damage done between you and Loki. Somehow, she needed to get in touch with you, but even with a way to communicate with Midgard, there was no way to ensure she could reach you. Regardless, she knew what she had to do, but if it was in Allfather's room it could prove tricky.

"Would you like me to get Thor so that he can call them with you-"

"No!" Iona looked confused, but Elsa simply lied, "He has been busy, I don’t want to bother him with this just yet." The girl's brow furrowed and for a moment Elsa was afraid she had startled her. "But I would love to call them now if you think you could help me? It would mean the world to get to hear their sweet little voices… "

Thinking it over, there was a genuine sympathy from her as she offered, "What do you need me to do?"

*****

It was nearly eight o'clock when Sue texted you from out in front of your apartment building. Wondering one last time if this was the right thing to do, you looked back into the living room you had cooped yourself in for days. Empty bottles lined your kitchen counters, Tom’s clothes were now strewn across your couch and ottoman, and the TV was perpetually replayed Thor: Ragnarok. You reconsidered, just one last time, to stay hidden away from the world just one more night.

Your phone dinged and you read the message from Sue asking if you were coming down or not.

Taking a deep breath, you walked out and locked the door.

This is what moving on looked like.

Downstairs, you saw Sue and another woman waiting in a powder blue Beetle with masses of stickers clouding the back window. Her horn honked as you got closer, making you trot faster. After throwing yourself into the back seat, you looked up to find the women turned around to stare at you.

“Hi, you must be Carmen,” you stared, extending a hand out, “I think we met once at a Christmas party.”

Carmen, with her thick ruby red lips and deep caramel skin tilted her head to the side before squinting your way. “Oh, I think I remember that, yeah!” She flashed you a brilliant, large toothed grin before adding, “So Sue says you got dumped by Tom HIddleston? Tough break, nena, he is a fine piece of gringo.”

“Carmen!” Sue snapped. “Don’t mind her, she’s blunt to a fault. Now…” Her eyes went up and down you. “About what you’re wearing…”

You looked down, unsure how to take her comment. You had opted for a pair of old jeans, black shirt of Tom’s and some plain knee high leather boots. It may have been a bit plain, you realized, but you didn’t think it was that bad. “I thought we were just going to see a rock band, what’s wrong with how I’m dressed?”

“Nothin, ‘cept you’re literally wearing the enemy’s clothes!” Sue realized as she stared harder.

Carmen gasped, “That’s breaking the breakup laws of nature, we need to fix this!”

“But it’s not a big deal, we’re just going to listen to a band?”

“No!” they both shouted in unison before Sue reiterated, “No, I’m going to watch a band. You’re going to get over this breakup, to live it up, to party it out!”

“I am over it,” you mumbled.

“Then why are you wearing his shirt, y/n?”

At that you were speechless, looking down at the tshirt and feeling a sour pit form in your stomach.

Maybe they were right?

Maybe you were using his things as a crutch?

“Why don’t we just run up to your apartment and help you pick something out, we don’t mind waiting-”

“No!” They both looked taken aback by your outburst but you knew there was no way you could let them see the mess you accumulated. “I mean, is it really such a big deal? I’m not worried about my clothes, I’m just coming to hang out…”

Carmen’s thick black curls bounced as she shook her head, answering, “No, nena, you’re wrong, it’s more than just hanging out. You want to mend your broken heart? Then you need to go out on the dance floor, get lost in another man’s arms, forget all about ole’ whats-his-name. You need the rush and butterflies of passion to keep you going, just respark the life inside your womanhood! You need to know that you are ONE HOT MAMACITA and ain’t no man that can bring you down!”

After such a riveting argument, you gave up and the women started altering your outfit in the car, despite a few aggravated drivers that were having to pull around the Beetle. First, Carmen gave you her bedazzled black and silver hoop earrings, then Sue had stripped down to the lace bralet she wore in order to give you a black vest that left most of your chest and midriff exposed. Searching through both of their purses, they took turns coloring your eyes, lining your lids, and lifting your eyelashes. The piece de resistance was the flaming hot red lip stain Carmen finished your face with, waiting until it was perfectly set before she glossed over it.

“Now, your boots are fine, but those pants…” Carmen reached into her clutch and pulled out a sizable knife that made you flinch when she unsheathed it with a flick of the wrist. “Let’s upgrade them, shall we?”

Before you could utter an argument, she reached over and started easing through the denim of your jeans.

“Alright, you look awesome!” Sue exclaimed, looking over you like some new creation.”Come on, get together, Girl Power selfie!”

The three of you crammed your faces together, Carmen’s arm slithering around your shoulders to pull you closer as she poked your cheek. “Smile, nena, you’re a beautiful, powerful, independent woman! You’re about to have the night of your life, we are gonna make you forget old what’s his face!”

It may have been the sultry way she rolled her r’s, or maybe the way her smile just begged to be received, but she managed to get a grin out of you. The three of you grinned into the camera, taking several in a row with different expressions before finally starting the car. “Now, off to Poison we go!” Sue hollard while Carmen posted the pictures to her social media accounts.

*****

Elsa tried her hardest to appear calm while standing just down the hall from Odin’s room as her servant walked on ahead of her. They had waited in this area for some time, trying to track when guards walked by so they could slip in unseen. Yet with every second that passed, she felt her nerves waver.

Glancing around, Iona timidly knocked on the door to see if anyone would answer. When no one came, she slowly opened it to step inside. Elsa’s heart pounded when the servant disappeared into the room, wondering if she was doing the right thing by involving her at all. Being married to Thor could help if she were to get caught, but there was no telling what sort of repercussions could befall a simple worker. When she peeked her head back out to signal the coast was clear, Elsa took in a deep breath and darted across the hall into the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Her heart thudded harder inside her chest as she took in the chamber of the king of gods.

The room was not as brightly colored as the other rooms in the castle, a blue color illuminated most of the space with a swirl of motion as if the room itself was the ocean. A massive tankless aquarium held a distorted blob of water with multicolored glowing fish swimming inside. The colors splattered across the blank walls, traveling with her eyes as she took in only one piece of furniture: a massive, white sheeted balcony bed made of gold.

"Homey," Elsa breathed out, walking forward as she tried to figure out where the telecommunicator could possibly be. "Now, if I was the most powerful person in existence, where would I keep my intergalactic cellphone?"

"Cellphone?" the servant repeated.

"It's how Midgardian's call each other," she explained, trying to fight the urge to reach out and touch the seemingly free floating water. "I have one, bit it's back on Midgard."

"But if you have a method to communicate with your children, why not simply bring it here?"

Elsa looked back towards the questioning eyes. "Allfather doesn't allow any technology from a Midgard here,I couldn't even bring my hair curler," she answered, her annoyance in this situation evident. If Odin forbade communication between the words, why would he keep something like that hidden away in his room?

Better still who would he be talking to?

Elsa traced her fingers over the white marble walls, feeling for a seam, a notch, a hidden lever, anything that could reveal whatever sort of fanciful tech the god may have hidden away. "It would be so helpful if I knew what the heck I was lookin for," she sighed.

Iona mimicked the search as she racked her head for any helpful insight, but the truth was she didn't know what it could look like either. With nothing else to suggest, she wondered, "What does your device look like? Maybe they're similar?"

At the thought, Elsa couldn't help but snort. "Yeah, I can see it now, 'All Hail the Allfather, king of gods and Iphones'."

"Well, where would you put it away for no one else to use? Perhaps the Allfather keeps his the same way? "

Elsa had just made her way to the foot of the bed when Iona posed the question, though she really felt it was useless. Walking around to the head, she commented, "Honestly, I slip it under my pillow at night so I can feel it vibrate and grab it quickly."

For the hell of it, she slipped a hand under one side of the pillows. Nothing, though she wasn't surprised. Iona did the same motion, but stopped when her hand was halfway under. Her eyes went large as she pulled out a small flat box unlike anything she had ever seen before.

"What the actual hell?" Elsa whispered as she reached across the bed and took the phone out of her grip.

"Is this it? The telecommunicater?"

Elsa was speechless as she looked it over, noting the word Samsung etched across the smooth black back panel. Swiping her finger across the screen, the phone lit up with a default background. There was no security code, no password. At the second swipe, the home screen appeared with only two apps: call and message.

"I…" Elsa turned the phone over in her hands, bewildered by the whole thing. Why would an all knowing god- that seemed hell bent on keeping other worlds out of Asgard- keep a Midgardian cellphone under his pillow. The hair on the back of her neck stood as she realized there may be something more going on.

“This is good, right, Lady Elsa?” Iona asked with a shaky voice. “Now… now you may call your children.”

“Yeah… my children…” Her finger went down and selected the call button, lighting up the screen with the button keypad. She was about to dial a number when she glanced back up at Iona and thought for a moment. “Do you think you could perhaps wait outside? Let me know if someone is coming?”

“Oh,” Iona gasped, “Yes, yes of course!” She went out the door, not quite closing it behind her while Elsa looked back down at the screen.

She knew she didn’t have time for two calls, so she had to make one count.

“I’m sorry, my babies,” she whispered with a crack in her voice and tears swelling in her eyes, “But I have to do this.” Clicking several numbers, she held the phone to her ear and waited with bated breath for a voice to answer on the other line.

“Yes?” a man spoke quickly. The sound of someone else on the other end, someone from Midgard, speaking to her while she was on Asgard took her breath away. An agitated voice went on at her silence, “Hey, this better not be a collection call, I’ve paid all my shit up! And if this is the New York Times, you should have answered my first call-”

“Um… Who is this?” Elsa asked, not recognizing the voice.

The man scoffed loudly into the phone, “WHO. IS. THIS. You realize you called ME? Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m waiting on a very important call,” the voice went to hang up, but Elsa spoke up.

“NO! Please! I’m sorry, I’m looking for Jared? Jared Stringer?

An audible eye roll came through the line. “No, this is Elliot Stringer, you’re talking about my uncle, hold on, Jare- HEY!”

There was shuffling on the other line and Elsa called out in a hushed worried tone, “Hello? Hello!”

“Elsa?”

She sighed with relief, “Thank goodness. Jared, I need your help-”

“Are you still in Asgard? What’s going on? How come you’ve been up there so long, what’s happening?”

“Hush, I don’t have the time, I need you to listen. You have to get in touch with someone for me, she’s an oracle by the name of y/n. She’ll be staying in the city, she works for People’s magazine, but that’s all I know.”

“Get in touch with her? What for? Elsa, what’s happening up there? I’ve been having these intense visions, over and over for weeks now of, of, of volcanoes erupting, people dying, building collapsing. I’ve been afraid something terrible had happened-”

“You’ve been dreaming it, too?” she whispered into the line, not really meaning to but just so stricken by his words that it slipped out.

The phone was silent.

It was one thing for an oracle to have a dream mutliple times.

It was another matter entirely if more than one oracle shared the same dream.

“Jared, are you still there?”

A reluctant, “Yes,” came through.

“I need you to get in touch with her. I don’t know exactly what’s happening, but something doesn’t feel right. We’ve been having earthquakes, Baldur has been sketchy and Allfather, he’s…” She couldn’t put it into words, but everything about Asgard was beginning to feel off. “Just get in touch with her, there’s a chance she may know something about what’s going on. If nothing else, she needs to talk to Loki. I don’t know what’s happening, but I have a gut feeling about this and you always taught me to go with my gut-”

“Wait,” she heard in the background on the other end, “Did she,” some shuffling, a short slur of curses between the men before Elliot’s voice came back over the line, “Did you say y/n? At People magazine?” She could hear him clicking buttons on his cellphone, opening an app and scrolling through as he finished, “Because I actually know where to find her right now…”

“Then do it! Get her back to the cabin, help her contact Loki.”

“You know we’re not supposed to just summon the gods,” Jared cut in after hitting the speaker button on the phone. “Those are just for ritualistic purposes, and those must be deemed by the king. You can’t just-”

“Jared, please. You know this goes beyond protocols. Something is going on and if we were ever going to act, now would be the time.”

The line was quiet for a long enough moment that Elsa was afraid they had hung up. She breathed out in relief when she heard her former teacher agree, “Yes, alright. We’ll get her in touch with him. Just, you be careful. If Allfather really is planning something, it’s best to not get into any trouble up there. Thor can only keep you so safe-”

Looking down at the phone, Elsa went cold at the realization of what she was starting. “I’ll play it safe,” she got out as she glanced around Odin’s room, “Just get her in touch with Loki. And tell her about the visions. Go through the books, something has to be written somewhere about this.”

“Stay safe, Elsa.”

“You, too.”

When the line went dead, she erased the call and shoved the phone back under the pillow. Hurrying out, she held her breath until she heard the final click of the door as she closed it. Looking towards Iona, she tilted her head to let her know to move on and the pair made their way down the hall in silence as they passed a set of guards.

As nerve racking as this had been, Elsa could only hope her efforts weren’t in vain.

GUESS WHO’S BACK

BACK AGAIN

(Everyone’s favorite person to hate! Also, extra points to people who get that song reference cause I sang it as I picked that gif for ya’ll XD)

Like my garbage? Read more of it! Master List

Tags are open! You can request a tag view comments, private messages, or asks! I will always respond to let you know when you’re added! If you requested to be added and didn’t get a notification, let me know!

TKOG: @youveseen--thebutcher–thebutcher–thebutcher– @therealityhelix @m4shtyx @canoodlincanary @just-the-hiddles@hisxblackxqueen@imjusthereforthehiddlesfanfic @casteelle, @xmichellax @ohmygoditsanthonyedwardstark, @alexakeyloveloki @godhateskyleigh @teylacarter91

LOKI TAGS: @socialheartbreak @kcd15 @maladaptive-ninja-returns @nephalem67@jessiejunebug @woodyandbuzz20-01@imasultforlokiandspencerreid @bambamwolf87@avenging-blackwidow @kitsuneharo12 @yzssie@macbetheliza @lokilvrr@lokixme @li-ssu @j-u-s-t-4 @letskillthefuhrer @lou-makes-me-strong @wolfsmom1, @noplacelikehome77 @unicorniorosacomefrutillas@justiceiswater

#loki #loki odinson #Loki Laufeyson #loki x oc #loki x reader #loki (marvel)

63 notes · View notes

ofaphrvdite · 5 years

Text

silence ! raise the royal standard, for the duke of huéscar, ISANDRO DE TRASTÀMARA, has arrived. being 26 years old, he is sixth in line to the throne. many around the court call him the icarian, by virtue of him being suave and dynamic, while also being covetous and egotistical. — played by sean teale.

- THE BASICS.

full name: isandro alonso de trastàmara name meaning: isandro ‘liberator’, alonso ‘noble and ready’ known in history as: the usurper king, the king who avenged aurelia: the little rose, light of the east date of birth: june 3rd, 1992/1639 age: twenty six star sign: gemini profession: junior investment banker (modern verse) / duke of huéscar, heir apparent to the dukedom of alba, grandee of spain (royal verse) loyalty: spain, house trastàmara, the entente, eventually france and house du bourbon through marriage alignment: chaotic neutral mbti: esfj spoken languages: english, spanish, advanced french, advanced mandarin, intermediate german (modern verse) / spanish, english, advanced french, advanced portuguese, advanced latin, intermediate german, basic italian (royal verse) mother’s name: eleanor de trastàmara nee. mendoza (deceased in both verses), fifty two. father’s name: alonso de trastàmara, sixty siblings, if any: half brother, pedro moctezuma, thirty. half sister, elena de trastàmara, twenty-nine. height: 6’1” hair colour: black eye colour: brown

- BACKSTORY / MODERN VERSE.

there was little hope for isandro trastàmara developing any sense of ambition, as from his infancy he was taught nothing but how powerful his family was. ever since he was a baby, he had been raised by a hoard of the world’s best nannies - his own mother barely getting a look in. coming from a long line of incredibly successful bankers, and spanish nobility as his father loved to boast of, he was always provided with the very best that money could buy. he had everything he could ever want, resulting in a spoiled child who would grow into an entitled young man. and yet at every turn he was denied the only thing he craved - love. his father was always off on business trips, or with his latest flavour of the week, and his siblings were children all from different women, leaving the youngest of the brood alone in a home too large for a boy. in the turbulence of his childhood, there had been one sole grounding force, and that had been his mother. a woman who selflessly tried to devote as much time to her son as she possible could whilst her marriage self-destructed on the inside. there was no love between alonso and eleanor, only convenience. alonso had something pretty for his arm to make his ex wife seethe, and eleanor was able to stay in the country with her son.

it was aged ten when isandro’s only chance of forming any real familial bonds disappeared. and thus any hope that he might be saved from the trappings of his father’s legacy. on a bright sunny afternoon both mother and son were on their way back from izzy’s rugby practice and stopped for ice cream as they did every sunday. had he not insisted on handing the money to the ice cream man himself, perhaps his mother would not have chased the change he had dropped with clumsy hands into the street. maybe then she could have avoided the motorcycle that had swerved round the corner and sent his mother flying into the nearest windscreen. the memories of that day are buried deep, trauma locked away, but isandro can still remembers the screams of horrified onlookers, the screeching sound as the motorcyclist had sped away and the feeling of panic like a vice around his heart. he remembers the funeral though. how so few of her family had been able to attend, and most there had been men in suits from his father’s work that had barely known her more than her feigned smile. men who had patted him on the back and offered empty condolences to a child in a suit too big for him that only wanted a moment alone with his mother to say goodbye.

following his mothers death, isandro’s father sent him away to boarding school to keep him out from underneath his feet - adding to isandro’s already growing belief that it was his fate to be abandoned. within a few short years he moved on to eton after a hefty donation from alonso to study alongside the country’s future leaders. each year he would return home less and less, and the older he got, the more debauched his behavior grew. summers were spent abroad skiing in the alps, private yachts in cannes and villas in santorini. his exploits made front page news in the tabloids at home due to his high profile inner circle. among his friends were distant claimants to the british throne, sons of politicians, daughters of millionaires - all children who knew the numbness of an abandoned childhood that had been thrown together because they shared the same postcode.

oxford did little to settle his restless spirit despite all the threats from his father that he would be cut off. he had laughed in the man’s face. how could he ask for his lifestyle to be put aside, when it had been alonso who had flaunted the perks of it in his face for his entire life? his father had been no model citizen, certainly not a good husband nor parent, isandro could do nothing but mimic all he had ever known. throughout school he had always been told that he could do so much better - if only he applied himself. what was the point, he had asked, in trying when everything would always be handed to him anyway? complacency was the death of ambition afterall, and isandro was in no rush to leave behind the tornado that was his life. he would only be proven right when his acceptance letter for oxford had come in the post despite possessing none of the grades he needed. nepotism and a healthy donation to the great oxford library was all he’d really needed.

after graduation he had wandered europe for a year, as was the rite of passage for every child of the british upper class seeking to patronise all those lesser than them when they returned with tales of natives who lived such utterly simple lives. how else would they boast of how good a person they were if they hadn’t helped paint a school somewhere and then posted it all over the gram? he had put off his return for as long as possible, knowing a desk had already been reserved for him for the next forty years of his life. something he wasn’t eager to begin.

eventually his fathers patience could be pushed no further and he had begrudgingly returned to the uk and his new ( and so very exciting ) position as a junior investment banker in his father’s branch where he has remained ever since. the man is still as restless as ever, out every weekend and blowing his salary on ridiculous purchases. he hardly ever speaks to his family unless he utterly has to, most of their interactions now taking place at events that require a strong family presence. they all want their share of inheritance when dear old dad dies afterall. the only difference now is that he’s beginning to realise how meaningless his life really is, getting to an age where he’s beginning to wonder if he’s really just wasting the time he’s been given. ever since he was a child he’s only ever wanted to feel wanted, and that is perhaps the only thing in the world he can’t have.

- BACKSTORY / ROYAL VERSE.

it speaks volumes to his character that isandro de trastàmara was born third and youngest to his father, and yet it was he who would inherit the grandest title in spain below actual royalty. he had done little to earn the privileges in his life, and would grow to be a selfish and egocentric man - so expectant for good things as he had been bestowed them with no effort since birth. his eldest brother was born a bastard to his father’s mistress, and although he favoured pedro ( always so clever, so sensible, so very boring ), he was a brother to the crown. a prince in his own right. he would not deface the family name by legitimising him, and setting a dangerous precedent for someone so close to the throne. his first wife only bore him disappointment with a daughter and died in childbirth - leaving him still without a legitimate heir and now wifeless.

in his years abroad he met a young woman from a minor venezuelan noble family, awarded titles by the crown for their loyalties. she had been young and naive when brought to court for the king’s blessing, something he had begrudgingly granted, but soon discovered she was unwanted by spain. she was not of their country, not one of them, and yet it was the son she birthed that would seize so much power, who would be a cousin to the future rulers of spain. her life was a miserable one, none of the other highborn ladies would dare invite her into their society, leaving her lonely and isolated from her family. it was her son isandro who became her guiding light.

eleanor did her best to instill kindness and a decent moral compass in her son, knowing her husband would be attempting to warp him as best he could to bend to his will as she had. perhaps she may have succeeded and the future duke of alba would have been ruled by a good heart rather than bitterness and ruthless ambition. alas it was not meant to be, and her departure would serve only to darken him for many years before she was to be his guide in return.

isandro was only four years old when his mother was found murdered in the streets. her guards had abandoned her in favour of their lives and a small mob had claimed her life. though there were whispers it had been organised by someone higher up to look like an accident. he had been too young to understand why then, but the older he grew the more the need for vengeance had taken root in his heart. the king, his uncle, had done little to seek justice for his mother. and his father had not sought for it either. it had been an inconvenience at best but she was of no great loss to them when all was said and done.

and so isandro had grown up surrounded by nannies and tutors, no family to care for him. his elder brother too envious of missing out on a title he felt he deserved more, and his sister ambivalent towards her half brother, too caught up in the problems of her own life. his resentment grew against his cousins and the crown, festering over the years into something impossible to contain. when his cousin had succeeded the throne and began her reign of terror he had been more intent than ever that this must end. they had shared the same goal, and wished for spain to be as glorious as it always had been - but there was vast difference in their methods. he watched as his cousin’s bride charlotte was treated as a hostage for the entirety of her marriage, and then her pregnancy. as underhand deals left the foundations of greece unstable. murdering loved ones just to shake other rulers. and all under the guise of peace negotiations. so many innocent trampled that even he found no satisfaction in it, no matter how much it furthered spain’s plans.

he was by far not a good man. he had lied and cheated, feigned injury to escape from a war whilst men died for their country. had left a string of broken hearts behind him, leading women on before leaving them ruined. his behaviour was nothing short of selfish and reckless, and his father greatly disapproved. how could he trust his title to a son he didn’t believe had the responsibility to possess it? but alonso had always known how to bend others to his will, and isandro was no difference. threatening to cut his son off, he promised he would not see an ounce of his inheritance until he married a respectable bride. he had hoped this might settle the restless soul brewing in his son, and distract him from ideas of revenge he knew lay in wait.

unfortunately for alonso ( a blessing to isandro ) he won the hand of princess marguerite of france. a grand match to be sure, but two kindred spirits when it came to settling down. their’s was a betrothal of convenience for them both. isandro had no issues spoiling her as she deserved to be, and in turn he would get his inheritance. if anything, she fed into his ambition to take the crown from his cousins, to make spain what he thought it should be, and to give his future wife the throne she deserved. he had no wish to tame her, he much preferred a challenge, a partner that would push him. and she took no issue with his grey morality and less than sparkling record.

he is not at versailles to help bring about peace for europe. he doesn’t care if the continent tears itself in two, for he knows that spain will withstand it all. though he plays the part of dutiful noble, he is eager to secure support for his rapidly increasing coup. though he pretends it’s for selfish means, for revenge for his mother, there is an element of redemption to his cause. for so long he had sat idly by while innocents suffered at the hand of his queen, his family, and it had blackened his heart. perhaps he is not smart enough to wear the crown, and his morality is too confused to ever be a just ruler - but he is confident enough that his rule would be a kinder one than the tyranny currently subjected to them.

#! * INTRODUCTION / isandro.#! * INTRODUCTIONS.#izzy's intro is the equivalent of a spiderman origin story #in that #izzy's mum is the uncle ben that i must kill every single time

6 notes · View notes

elastigirl72 · 5 years

Text

Day 21: Shkoder>Lizbahd

620km to go...I’m finally in the mountains!

7 May: Shkoder 07:27am

Given I am a certified and ex practicing sports and rehab massage therapist who still actively promotes stretching and regular massage for active people, lying in my €35 spa having the massage of my life, I was alarmed to fail to recall without some effort my last similar session. It was well over a year ago. Also apparent was my failure on good, regular stretching. I’d been on a cycling yoga week last year, trying to will myself into better self-care with the lovely Sinead, cycling yoga star in Ireland. I am proud to have kept a few of hers, which should only be done in the confines of privacy as they could be taken as some sort of lap dance in the wrong setting. I have my own MASH stretch which I have to say is pretty damn awesome 😊. This young lady, who combined this job with school was one of the best therapists I’ve stumbled across, including myofascial release as part of her treatment. Weirdly, even knowing I was a cyclist, time ran out before she got to my quads. I paid her extra and she spent a good 15 minutes on each, each stroke reminding me how much abuse my legs had taken, largely over the last few weeks. I didn’t train hard for my adventure, and this was by design. Looking at my training log, you could be forgiven in thinking that I might have retired completely from cycling in November, only seeing an ember burning almost undetectable in January. Then, one dark, wet, typical Forest Saturday morning, making Kalamata olive ciabatta toast, I wondered “Where exactly is Kalamata?”. About an hour later, I not only knew where, I’d booked a return flight, and figured out a 2,200 mile route there in April, how long I’d ride each day, and about 1000 permutations of getting there. This was it. It was set. Only it wasn’t. Work threw in the possibility of a work event a day after I was due to fly back...and 3 days before setting off, it was confirmed as Istanbul.

Flying home from Kalamata on 11 May and back to Istanbul a day later would have meant a minimum of 16 hours travel doors to doors. The options I considered were to fly home, cycle to Istanbul, charter a yacht (yes, seriously, I did look into this!), get a bus from Athens to Istanbul (no pre-booking possible for the bike). After much deliberation, cogitation and planning, Athens won, with my bike case and work clothes being shipped to a hotel I booked on hotel rewords points. It seemed fitting too, as I’d never made it to the Athens Olympics as an athlete, but I got close, and next to qualifying, this trip is the biggest sporting conquest I’d attempted. It would be great to finish my ride at the Acropolis, but let’s see...thinking about how close I got to being an Olympian still is a bittersweet memory. Less than two minutes, a toilet stop in fact, and just a little bit faster and I’d have been there. But what I take from trying is that even though I ran my first marathon when I was 18, and didn’t think I was any good at running (this left it in the past until the months after my mum died in 1998, and from that event and to this day, sport has been my Lynch pin in coping with and celebrating life’s rollercoaster), I qualified as a mum o two young children, who to this day, probably still don’t see what hard work went in, and may well believe if you dream it, you can do it. It’s not a bad philosophy to have! That and blessed with good genes 😊.

And yet all so laughable! Here I sit, waiting for breakfast, the barista chuckling at my need for a third cappuccino (they’re tiny really, but delicious, and I giggle too, explaining I’m very tired 😆). I need it, it’s a big day today.

I’ve decided to cycle into the mountains, towards Pogradec, a village or town by a mountain lake. To check the route, I’ve planted in Athens a billion times and plotted by car (avoiding motorways, ferries and tolls) and by foot, put a pin in what looks like a country lane or a busy road to check the road conditions, and loosely made a plan: get past Tirana and head South East. It looks like I’ll spend another two nights before hitting Greece. Dare I say it, but the weather forecast and maps look fairly decent, but for now, the gear stays stuck on my back...

May 9: Librazhd - 05:19

Well, so much to digest from the last 40 or so hours in Albania. There’s still around 120km here to cover, and if my bike and body survive, we will make Greece today and my bed in Kastoria in around 100 miles...another big day - in the mountains.

In just 120 miles in this country, I have seen so much. The good, the bad, and yes, the ugly. Hearing that this is one country my pioneering explorer dad has not visited (I think this is a lifetime first between his coverage of the globe and mine) because its borders were closed when he ran is Overlander business, and learning from a Roman Empire history documentation that whilst the Roman Empire ruled all of the Mediterranean, except Albania, leads me to believe this country has an incredible past, and I need to investigate.

I learnt that Albanians have an industry built on roadside trade, most notably, car washes, petrol stations and attached to every petrol station, a hotel. Most of the people visible in daylight appear to be men; I barely saw a woman, either in the villages or city, and as a woman, this felt quite overwhelming, for no other reason than the imbalance. It meant that whilst the multitude of coffee shops were on offer, I didn’t want to stop. Already looking like an alien dropped from space, putting myself directly amongst gangs of rugged men who seemed to have nowhere to go and nothing to do was too much. That’s just me! But cycling past the many who stood at the side of the road and had stopped doing whatever they were doing, if in fact they were doing anything at all, they stood frozen, eyes and mouth agape. In no other country have I passed through have I had so many positive shouts and I guess, encouraging comments (for all I know they could have been shouting “loser!”). The contrast between those that have and have not was huge.

The road surfaces were very curious. In most places I’d visited, as you entered a town or city, the roads in Europe would be pothole free and markings better than the surrounding country roads. But in Albania, any town or city, the roads dissolved. A network of potholes you could disappear into and a patchwork of concrete “plasters”, and for no apparent reason, countless and pointless road jumps, unmarked, without any warning, which all cars, bling or ancient, rolled over so slowly, as if dampners and suspension were extinct and they had to maintain what they had.

Tirana, Albania’s capital, brought all my observations to a massive climax. Any Highway Code had not been introduced, and for a long time I decided they needed traffic lights at the very least (they did eventually appear). I saw the most insane driving I’ve ever seen in my life, making the film Ronin look like a police training video on how to drive safely around a city. At no other point during this trip had I felt as petrified for my safety as here. Checking my options at the worst point, I stopped at an intersection where coaches pulled up and double parked, a large verge, covered in mud, waste and men, sitting between and on it, police standing close, travellers trying to wheel suitcases over uneven verges, and me needing to make a decision on how the hell to get it out with my life. Google suggested what looked like the motorway, which started at this same junction. I confirmed with the police standing close by and they confirmed I could ride my bike on this road, and stopped the traffic to let me go. It was Russian roulette, but as soon as I hit the ring road’s massive hard shoulder, I felt my life had been saved and escape was nigh.

7km later, and I had reached the mountain road, SH3, the old Elbasan Road, replaced by the recently completed A3 that ran parallel. Order restored, the road started to climb. Given this was recently a major thoroughfare to the mountains, I wondered what would happen to the many restaurants and hotels that flowed with the road, through villages up towards the sky. It was quite haunting, and the stray dogs began to reveal themselves again. Children waved and one even raced me up a section, whilst another shouted “Hallo! Have an enjoyable day!” The climb was amazing, good road, and it felt like I owned it. I saw three cyclists in all, all heavily laden with panniers. I past cheerily one octogenarian going up and two coming the other way going down. It’s easy to see why they built a tunnel to take cars through the mountain, but it was their loss and my gain.

Here, in the land where I have seen more people walking their cow than their dogs, who in turn, run free , civic pride does not exist for what I have seen of Albania so far. It contrasts the most breathtaking landscapes, and shows diversity to the rest of Europe, yet fly-tipping is common, expected even, and mounds of wrecked cars are all to frequent. There are many ruined buildings and near Lehze, I passed what can only be described as a ghost town and factory, which was really sinister. Is this down to a poor state and government? Clearly there are people here who have wealth but the overriding feeling is this country is poor. It wants to be western but can’t quite bridge the gap. I feel very keen to explore its history.

Approaching the top of the mountain, which seemed like the top of the world, I happened upon the most cunning canine skullduggery I’ve ever witnessed. The mountaintop restaurant invited guests to it for 6km, and it was a real possibility that I might drop in. But as it appeared, there appeared to be a dead dog lying in the road directly in front of it, with two more dogs lying in wait to the side. Feeling both sad, but also danger, I pedalled slowly and quietly, not wanting to alarm the dogs to my side, and hoping to pass the dead dog without seeing too much gore. Then, just as I ran parallel, BOOM! he was up, his mates joining him in charging for me, up the remaining mountain! Luckily, I’d anticipated this ambush, and put down the biggest power of my life, as if being chased by a bear. I escaped, but my god! How brilliant of these stray masters of terror? Please, no more like this!

The climb was the day’s highlight, and telling myself that whatever hotel arrived at 100 miles, that’s where I was staying. As if my magic, a petrol station and a Swiss chalet looking hotel.

There’s not much to say about this place, except a stark contrast from the same priced oasis I had stayed at near Shkoder. Here, the food was bland and sparse, and the staff didn’t care as much as my last hotel. At Launi-A, seeing how much food I had put away the night before, at breakfast, they just kept bringing basket after basket of food! That hotel and its staff will keep me going for many years to come as the nicest surprise, and a great introduction to Albania.

And now, breakfast. A lovely Albanian who speaks good English and has lit the fire me and I have amazing coffee. It will be a good day! Ξεκίνα 😃 Even here, this far south, there’s snow on the mountains ahead! Titanium by David Gueta and Sia playing on the empty restaurant speakers...bring on the day 🌈

2 notes · View notes