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I want to go home
Feel like normal again
Stand use both feet breathe
Four walls sinking
But when will my energy levels reach that
When not too long ago spoons ran out before the day could
Recovery is such a strong word
Self care is so big
Because my world feels small
And I feel ready to do more
But sometimes life knows only how much I can actually handle
And life is chaos
Fair to everyone, the good the bad
#spilled ink#poem#my writing#queer writers#im stuck athome healing a foot#and im just#getting so exhausted of my days being exactly the same#the weeks too#and its getting too cold to sit out on the porch#with rainy days and blistering winds#the foot just had to be my driving foot#aomeone getme out if here before I lose my mind#or make the world more accessible in the meantime thanks#make my neighborhood not one near a well used highway in a city of cracked streets and shootings#guns needles sticks and stones#i just want to go home#i say when i lay in my bed#take me home away from the bed i never leave#i just wanna go home
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༄࿔ confessions from the heart
summary ; drabble requested by anon as part of my 1k follower celebration.
“#14 romantic confession + Luke? congratulations on 1k!”
“14. i dream of you. all i do, is dream of you.”
pairing ; lucerys velaryon x reader
notes ; no notes.
rainy days on the island of driftmark are an omen of the gods; to rest, to relax, and to allow your mind to settle into a poetic wonder.
rain pitter–patters against the stone walls and wind howls, rousing the nature of driftmark into a chorus of ruffling leaves. the sea clashes violently against sea walls, sprays of salt and ocean splashing against the inner land. the sweet smell of rain and sea flood your senses; causing you to inhale deeply and relax into your chair.
lucerys is quietly sitting near you in a chair, head lodged into a book where he utters the words of its contents to himself. you’re sure it’s his way of keeping pace – avoiding the need to allow his eyes to scatter the page wildly. he tastes each word on his tongue, pausing on more syllable-difficult words. this way, you reckon, he understands the book in its complex entirety.
“enjoying your book?” you question, fingers tracing shapes on to your exposed skin.
lucerys doesn’t miss a beat, “mhm.”
odd.
he always replies with a word, never sounds.
you slowly rise from your lain position on the sofa, arms helping you in the process. you peak over the cushions and observe his serene features. your legs swing over, feet touching the ground and pushing you off your seat. you approach him and look over his shoulder.
it’s.. about dreams?
“dreams?” you echo your thoughts. you watch as lucerys’ finger skims the page, suddenly stopping at a subheading that read ‘DREAMS ABOUT LOVED ONES’. he turns his head to the side, his eyes peeking up through his lashes and bangs.
“i dream of you,” he hums, looking back down at the book with shyness from his confession. he licks his lips and tries to swallow down the nerves. “all the time.”
his words easily make a blush creep up on to your cheeks. they’re suddenly blistering hot. you seat at his shoulder and move to sit at the chair adjacent to him. the words flare in your stomach, causing a certain giddiness. dreams about a loved one. was the notion of clairvoyance plaguing him?
“you do?” you respond bashfully, folding your hands together and gently resting your head on them. you smile at him when he meets your gaze. “nothing else?”
he laughs, suddenly embarrassed, “all i do, is dream of you.”
it’s tooth-achingly sweet. he’s looking at you with this glint in his eye and a soft smile that reminds you of when he was a just a boy. when he was unsure of himself and constantly on the receiving end of being abashed. you lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek.
“and what does the book say, hm?”
lucerys feels a sense of pride and devotion swell in his chest at your question. he gives you a toothy grin, rising to his feet to lean over the table.
he gives you a kiss on your cheek, “it means,” he kisses you on your other cheek, “that i’m hopelessly,” he kisses your mouth, “in love with you.”
the prince of driftmark pulls away just a bit, his eyes searching yours for any sign of rejection. there is none, for you sigh longingly and give him another kiss on the mouth. he smiles into it and indulges himself into the feeling it gives him.
“i’m hopelessly in love with you, lucerys velaryon.”
#lucerys velaryon imagine#lucerys velaryon x reader#lucerys velaryon fanfic#lucerys velaryon blurb#hotd x reader#hotd imagine#hotd fanfic#my writing#house-strong 1k celebration
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even if your everything fades away, losing its shape, it remains alive within me for eternity - levi ackerman
levi reminisces amidst the noise of his thoughts and the black tea in his cup
a winter story
warnings: spoilers for aot manga ending, light angst, mentions of insomnia and ptsd (kinda), mentions of war and loss
levi stared out the open french window, his thoughts were quiet for once, the rare moment of peace and solace unwelcomed. the lousy beige curtains that do nothing to block out the sun ("they're for aesthetics, levi, just hang them up.") flapped aimlessly as the wind breezed into the small room, allowing him the occasional glimpse of the bright blue beyond.
through his years of living, levi learned that nothing lasts. even the sky, blue as the atmosphere may be far out in space, changed too much around him. it got dark and rainy, cloudlessly hot and blistering, covered in green smoke that filled his lungs and made him cough pigments for days, and worst of all it got crowded with white hot steam that he could feel burning onto his skin.
he blinked, and suddenly it wasn't quiet anymore.
levi averted his gaze to the cup of tea he held, neglected for who knows how long, no longer steaming, just barely lukewarm.
he rised from the chair to pour himself a fresh cup, glancing around the life of luxury he could never have imagined living in. the dull throb in his leg seemed amplified today.
the last time he saw his comrades had been years prior, and even then they had been a blur, fogged, all steamed up like the sky was that day.
he had no doubt that as he kept living, he would only continue to forget. time was a construct levi struggled to have a positive relationship with. he had definitely outlived his dues, and yet here he was feeling every year, every month, every day and every second that went by.
and unfortunately, time never healed, unlike the bullshit saying he was always offered as comfort.
time had only made it worse for levi to remember, and to live.
in a desperate attempt to justify keeping the life his soldiers had saved, he vowed to live not for himself but for those who would undoubtedly be forgotten. he had to keep the hearts they'd dedicated. he had to keep remembering.
and so as much as he wished his thoughts would quiet, that nights he begged the death grip his memories held on him to put him to sleep, and days where the ghost of his pain was beyond unbearable would go away, he never wished to forget.
he knew this was the only way he was capable of preserving them.
thus he settled himself back into the same chair he could always be found in, near the french windows with its stupidly useless beige curtains, and kept staring into the sky. watching as it changed, gloomy, rainy, hot and blistering, and never again filled with smoke or steam. allowing himself to drown in recollected echoes of war, his tea forgotten, levi reminisces.
main masterlist
youremy-celebrity © 2023
#attack on titan#aot#levi ackerman#survey corps#the rumbling#shingeki no kyojin#levi angst#post rumbling#snk levi#aot spoilers#levi aot#aot fanfiction#shingeki no kyoujin levi#snk spoilers#snk#shingeki no kyoujin manga#shingeki no kyoujin headcanons#attack on titan the final season#levi heichou
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🍂Weekly Tag Wednesday🍂 Thank you for the tag, @ohkate ! I wasn't expecting this — been a while since I’ve done a tag game.
Suppose this is as good as a time as any to kind of introduce myself to this fandom I've ducked into, too, haha
Name: crest (not my actual name but that's all you get folks)
Age: mid twenties
Favorite color: dark or silvery green
What emoji best describes your current mood? 😌 it's the end of a long week, but it's been a nice evening thus far.
What season is it where you are right now? Autumn, a bit rainy where I'm at. It’s nice.
Were you up before or after the sun this morning? Before. It stays dark late, but I was also up early.
Are you currently in possession of a pumpkin? No.
Do prefer to carve or paint your jack-o-lanterns? I've carved them, and I enjoy that, and I love having a candle flicker inside. However, I think I'm a better painter, and it's less mess, so probably paint.
Do you have a favorite pumpkin-spice flavored treat? If so, what is it? I actually do like a pumpkin spice latte, no whip though. it's just a nice cozy drink.
What's your favorite season and what's your favorite pie that you associate with it? I used to say autumn, but I think it might be winter -- what I would call true winter. Frozen lakes and blistering wind chill. I understand to most people this sounds fucking awful, but it makes you feel alive when you step out onto a frozen day and get hit by that cold, where you can walk on dark water because it's frozen solid, and the air itself is crisp and makes your fingertips red, and the world is so quiet but echoes the most smallest of sounds, and the wind hums a tune with its chilly air. I adore true winter.
We're having a pot-luck, what are you going to bring? If you need an entree, then I'll make jambalaya, it can feed an army. More of a side? Either pączki bread or chocolate chip banana bread.
It's chilly outside and you need a hot drink in your hands, what are you drinking? either a cup of coffee with a tsp of brown sugar, or earl grey tea with a touch of milk.
Will you be wearing a costume for Halloween? Is it ready? Probably not. I have earrings I've made, I'll wear those, but I also have a job where dressing for halloween would be entirely inappropriate, so.
Finally, what's something you've made or done recently that you're proud of? Um, I joined my community band, and I’m excited to get to playing an instrument again. It’s been a few years, and I was nervous I’d be terrible, but it’s coming back!
Also know I’m late for Wednesday, but hope it’s okay.
I'll tag a few people, but it's an open tag for anyone who wants to participate, and no one has to participate! enjoy your weekend everybody--
@its-tea-time-darling , @hamartian-cathexis , @qlala , @blue-summers , @michellemisfit
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they endure blistering winds and scorching desert! (arranging for my oral surgery) they climbs to the highest bloody room of the tallest bloody tower (paying for the university) ...And what does it find?
Some gender-confused wolf telling them that they princess is already married. (that there were many more errands to do)
Currently I probably would have left the internet for longer but I had to answer things about my friends and today was a rainy day and it means SNAILS
#shittylittlefrog#yes. my existence on the internet is only controlled by spamming my friends about snails
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life lines/hhsfl
Under the playground slide, there’s a map for the future
Different sized handprints indented into the purple plastic, enough variation to match every child’s stubby fingers and smooth palm
The same mark that was too big in first grade became too small in fifth, and one day even the biggest mark will be full of wrinkled skin
A sign of what’s to come sharing the space with a reminder of what once was, proof of growth littering the surface between waxy fingerprints and dust
Splintering wood not far above your head, the absence of infantile footsteps felt in its stillness
You don’t remember the last day you stood upright in this space, nor the first day you had to crouch
But now, as you kneel and trace the familiar patterns, the rubber floor will do its best to comfort your aged knees, two dry patches occupying the same space where light-up shoes once stood
Outside this sanctuary, the wind floats by, carrying ghostly memories and the distant squeak of tricycle wheels
Rusty metal bars that birthed calluses and blisters alongside smiles and laughter
And raised stepping stones that challenged developing braveries and balances
But back under the playground slide, there’s the safety of four walls and a roof
A dry spot for rainy days and a shady spot for sunny ones
A small bench with slits that hold stories
And plastic handprints that bring the past, present, and future together as one
#my old elementary/middle school changed the playground right after I left and I'm salty and nostalgic about it#original content#original poem#poetry#poets on tumblr#writing#writers on tumblr#writeblr#nostalgia#creative writing
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What’s the Best Time of Year to Paint Your Fence in Allen?
When it comes to home improvement projects, painting your fence might not seem like the most critical task. However, a well-painted fence can significantly enhance the curb appeal of your home, protect the wood from the elements, and increase the overall value of your property. If you live in Allen, Texas, you might be wondering when the best time of year is to tackle this project. This article will guide you through the ideal timing for fence painting in Allen, taking into consideration the local climate, weather patterns, and other factors that can influence the outcome of your project.
Understanding Allen's Climate Allen, Texas, is located in the northern part of the state and experiences a humid subtropical climate. This means that the area has hot summers, mild winters, and moderate to high humidity levels throughout the year. Understanding the climate is crucial when planning your fence painting project because weather conditions can significantly affect the durability and appearance of the paint.
Summer: Summers in Allen are typically hot, with temperatures often reaching the upper 90s or even exceeding 100°F. The high heat can cause paint to dry too quickly, leading to a less smooth finish and potential cracking or peeling over time. Additionally, the intense sun can cause the paint to fade faster. The combination of heat and humidity can also make the painting process uncomfortable and exhausting.
Winter: Winters in Allen are relatively mild, with average temperatures ranging from the mid-30s to the mid-50s°F. While the colder temperatures are more comfortable for working outdoors, the cooler weather can slow down the paint drying process. Additionally, there is a higher chance of rain and even occasional frost, which can disrupt the painting process and affect the final result.
Spring: Spring in Allen is characterized by mild temperatures, typically ranging from the mid-50s to the mid-70s°F. However, spring is also the rainy season, which can make it challenging to find a stretch of dry weather suitable for painting. Rain can wash away fresh paint or cause uneven drying, leading to an uneven finish.
Fall: Fall is often considered the best time for fence painting in Allen. Temperatures during the fall months are typically cooler, ranging from the mid-60s to the low 80s°F, which is ideal for painting. The humidity levels are generally lower than in the summer, and there is less chance of rain compared to the spring. Fall weather allows the paint to dry at a steady rate, leading to a more durable and even finish.
Factors to Consider When Planning Your Fence Painting When deciding on the best time to paint your fence in Allen, it's essential to consider several factors beyond just the temperature and weather conditions. Here are some key points to keep in mind:
Wood Condition: The condition of your fence wood is a critical factor in determining when to paint. If the wood is new, it's best to wait at least a few months before painting to allow it to dry and weather properly. On the other hand, if the wood is older and showing signs of wear, it might be best to paint it as soon as possible to prevent further damage.
Moisture Levels: Moisture is the enemy of paint. If the wood is damp, the paint will not adhere properly, leading to peeling and blistering. It's crucial to ensure that the wood is completely dry before painting. In Allen, the humidity levels can vary, so it's important to check the weather forecast and choose a dry day for your project.
Time of Day: The time of day you choose to paint can also impact the final result. It's best to avoid painting during the hottest part of the day, as the intense heat can cause the paint to dry too quickly. Early morning or late afternoon is usually the best time to paint, as the temperatures are cooler and the sun is less intense.
Wind: Windy conditions can make painting challenging, especially if you're using a sprayer. Wind can cause the paint to drift, leading to uneven coverage and potential overspray on nearby surfaces. If possible, choose a calm day to ensure a smooth and even application.
Preparing Your Fence for Painting Proper preparation is key to a successful fence painting project. Before you start painting, follow these steps to ensure the best possible results:
Cleaning: Start by thoroughly cleaning the fence to remove dirt, debris, and mildew. You can use a pressure washer for a deep clean, but be careful not to damage the wood. Allow the fence to dry completely before proceeding.
Sanding: Sanding the fence helps to smooth out rough areas and remove any old, peeling paint. Use medium-grit sandpaper and sand in the direction of the wood grain. After sanding, wipe the fence down with a damp cloth to remove any dust.
Repairing: Inspect the fence for any damage, such as loose or broken boards, and make necessary repairs before painting. This is also a good time to check for any rusted nails or screws and replace them if needed.
Priming: Applying a primer is essential, especially if the wood is bare or the previous paint job was uneven. Primer helps the paint adhere better to the wood and provides a uniform base for the color coat. Choose a primer that is compatible with the type of paint you plan to use.
Choosing the Right Paint for Your Fence Selecting the right type of paint is crucial for achieving a long-lasting and attractive finish. Here are some tips for choosing the best paint for your fence:
Type of Paint: For outdoor wood surfaces like fences, acrylic latex paint is generally the best choice. It offers excellent durability, flexibility, and resistance to weathering. Oil-based paints are also an option, but they tend to be more challenging to work with and take longer to dry.
Color: The color of your fence can impact the overall look of your property. Lighter colors can make your yard appear larger and more open, while darker colors can create a more intimate and cozy atmosphere. Consider the style of your home and the surrounding landscape when choosing a color.
Finish: The finish of the paint is another important consideration. A satin or semi-gloss finish is typically recommended for fences, as it provides a good balance between durability and aesthetic appeal. High-gloss finishes can be too shiny and highlight imperfections, while flat finishes may not provide enough protection.
Conclusion When it comes to fence painting in Allen, the timing of your project can make a significant difference in the quality and longevity of the finish. Fall is generally the best time of year to paint your fence in Allen, thanks to the cooler temperatures, lower humidity levels, and reduced chance of rain. However, it's essential to consider factors such as the condition of the wood, moisture levels, and proper preparation to ensure a successful outcome.
By following the guidelines outlined in this article, you can achieve a beautiful, durable finish that will enhance the appearance of your property and protect your fence for years to come. Whether you're looking to refresh the look of your existing fence or preparing to paint a new one, choosing the right time and approach will make all the difference.
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Embracing the Elements- Outdoor Photography in All Weather
When it comes to capturing the essence of outdoor moments, Lauren Bonvini is the name that springs to mind. With a passion for photography ignited by her furry companion back in 2015, Lauren has evolved into a professional dog competition photographer, etching tales of athleticism and camaraderie through her lens. Her journey from capturing candid moments at home to thriving in the heart of rugged outdoor events is a testament to her dedication and love for her craft.
Lauren Bonvini
Bonvini is a photographer who committed to cameras in 2015 after adopting her first dog, knowing she wanted to capture their lives together in as much detail as possible, whether they were at home, hiking, or road-tripping across the West," says Lauren, the artist behind the lens. Her story epitomizes the transformative power of photography, where a simple desire to document life's moments can evolve into a thriving career.
Lauren Bonvini Dog
In 2020, Lauren's photographic expertise blossomed as she began crafting captivating portraits and event shoots for friends and acquaintances. The world of photography opened its arms wider in 2021 when she ventured into dog sports photography. With her keen eye for action shots and a deep understanding of canine athleticism, she quickly gained recognition among the dog sports community.
However, it wasn't until 2022 that the idea of PenPals took shape. Inspired by her herding and photography-loving friends scattered across the country, Bonvini decided to embark on this journey, combining her love for dogs, sports, and photography into a harmonious whole. PenPals emerged as a platform where her passion for capturing genuine moments in outdoor settings came to life.
"I love making the experience easy and fun for everyone involved," Lauren emphasizes. Her approach to photography is rooted in creating a comfortable and enjoyable atmosphere, whether she's photographing a canine athlete in action or capturing the intimate moments of an engagement or maternity shoot. In an era where forced poses and artificial smiles are all too common, Lauren's candid and natural style stands out as a refreshing departure.
One of the most significant challenges outdoor photographers face is dealing with varying weather conditions. Mother Nature, with her unpredictable temperament, can throw quite the curveball. Rain, wind, snow, or blistering heat – they're all part of the package when you're dedicated to outdoor photography. But Lauren has a few tips up her sleeve on how to embrace these elements and still capture stunning images.
The Boy Scouts' motto holds for outdoor photographers as well. Always be prepared for the weather you might encounter during a shoot. Carry waterproof gear, lens hoods, and lens cleaning supplies for rainy days. On sunny days, pack sunscreen and hats to protect yourself from harsh sunlight.
Rather than viewing bad weather as a hindrance, embrace it as an opportunity. Rain can create beautiful reflections, while snow can add a magical touch to your photos. Experiment with different weather conditions to add unique elements to your shots.
Outdoor photography is all about harnessing the power of natural light. Different weather conditions can provide distinct lighting opportunities. Cloudy days offer soft, even lighting, while golden hours during sunrise and sunset can create dramatic effects. Adapt your shooting style to the available light.
Invest in weather-sealed camera bodies and lenses. Additionally, use lens filters to protect your front element from rain, snow, and dust. Always keep your gear clean and dry to ensure it functions properly in adverse conditions.
As a photographer, you are an integral part of the outdoor scene. Dress appropriately for the weather to stay comfortable and focused. Layering is key, as it allows you to adapt to changing conditions throughout the day.
Keep an eye on weather forecasts and plan your outdoor shoots accordingly. Sometimes, a little patience can go a long way. Waiting for a break in the weather can result in incredible shots that would have been missed otherwise.
Working with a professional dog competition photographer like Lauren Bonvini can elevate your experience and the quality of your photos to a whole new level. Here are some benefits of entrusting your special moments to a professional.
Professional photographers have honed their craft through years of experience. They understand the intricacies of lighting, composition, and timing to capture the perfect shot. Lauren's journey from a dog owner to an accomplished photographer showcases this progression.
Professionals invest in high-quality cameras, lenses, and accessories to ensure the best results. Lauren's commitment to her craft is evident in her choice of gear, which enables her to capture action shots with precision.
Professional photographers like Lauren bring a unique creative vision to their work. They can transform ordinary moments into extraordinary images, adding depth and emotion to each frame.
Working with a professional photographer is a collaborative process. They take the time to understand your vision and preferences, ensuring that your photos reflect your personality and style.
Professionals are reliable and committed to delivering on their promises. You can trust them to capture your special moments without worrying about technical glitches or missed opportunities.
Whether you're looking to capture the grace and athleticism of your canine companion in a sporting event or create timeless memories during an engagement or maternity shoot, Lauren Bonvini's portfolio showcases her versatility and passion for outdoor photography. Her ability to capture candid, natural moments regardless of the weather sets her apart in the realm of professional photography.
Outdoor photography, like life itself, is full of unpredictability. Yet, it is precisely this unpredictability that adds depth and character to each photograph. Lauren Bonvini's journey from a dog owner to a professional photographer is a testament to the power of passion and dedication.
So, the next time you find yourself amidst the elements, remember Lauren's tips and embrace the challenge. You might just capture a moment that tells a story as beautiful as the great outdoors itself.
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➽ lux et veritas! welcome to yale, ( ROISEN ‘ROSE’ KELLY ). you’re a ( PROFESSOR ), aren’t you? your form says you’re ( FOURTY-ONE ), go by ( SHE/HER ), and excel in ( CREATIVE WRITING ). but looking back at your college essay, i’d describe you as ( POIGNANT EDITOR NOTES WRITTEN ON UNDERGRAD ASSIGNMENTS; WARM IRISH STEW AND BLACK TEA ON RAINY CONNECTICUT DAYS; MUFFLED LAUGHTER IN HIDDEN LIBRARY CORNERS ). keep out of the shadows! [fc: catriona balfe]
our story begins in northern ireland, where rose grew up roisen niamh kelly, daughter of two irish catholics who were heavily involved in the north ireland conflict. and by involved, we mean ‘front of the lines, midst of the police battles, fighting for freedom’ involved. this meant her grandmother raised her as a child while her parents took on the crown, and roisen was brought up on old hollywood black and white movies, frank sinatra tunes, and the beautifully tragic love stories of her ancestors.
luckily her parents came out relatively unscathed, and northern ireland gained political self-government, so everyone was happy. and roisen went on to get top marks in high school and receive an opportunity to study in... england, of all places, much to her parents’ chagrin. but they couldn’t deny that cambridge was an excellent school, and her tuition fees would be covered by scholarship.
so off roisen went, shaking off her past in an attempt at a fresh start, and beginning the school year as ‘rose’. it was beautiful, reminded everyone of titanic (the good parts, the romantic parts), and she embodied the character as if she was freaking kate winslet herself. roisen was swept up in college romance, passionate discourse, adventures through historical streets with devishly handsome classmates.
of course, life has a way of changing in an instant. one blistering cambridge evening, rose was fighting the snow and wind on her way back to the dorms, and felt a tug on the back of her coat. when she spun around, she was met with a group of... ghosts, translucent against the swirling snow and looking sorrowful, distraught.
it was at this moment rose realized she could see ghosts. and talk to them. and touch them. perhaps she always could, she realized quickly - when she lived in ireland, the fighting gave the city a somber air, and she could feel whispers of sadness around every corner, and soldiers returned home gray and transparent, but perhaps not as alive as she once thought.
the ghosts asked her for help uncovering the truth to their untimely death, a fire in a warehouse. she couldn’t deny them, and alerted authorities of their accounts. the fire had been started by a disgruntled ex-employee, who was caught. the ghosts were at peace, and rose was suddenly aware of her talents.
she left cambridge after graduation, unsure if she should search for more ghosts to help, or if she should check herself into the nearest mental hospital. the ghosts found her, though, which was probably for the best. rose helped them all as best she could, and finally gained enough confidence to ask them for permission to tell their stories.
so perhaps her creative writing expenditure wasn’t exactly creative. rose didn’t tell people the stories were gathered by the undead, so she received the credit (and of course took liberties at their approval, otherwise she would’ve had a lot of confused relatives at her doorstep, wondering why the detective in her mystery novel had solved a crime eerily similar to their brother’s death). but she grew into her craft, writing a second nature - after solving ghostly mysteries.
when she was in her late twenties, rose met her spouse (WANTED CONNECTION). the two connected instantly, bonding over their love of the supernatural, before eventually realizing they were both a little too familiar with the undead. they told rose about the uncommons, and the pair went to yale to meet the society. rose hesitated to join an american college, but eventually gave in. in the past ten years, she’s grown in the ranks of her department, and also amongst the uncommons members.
rose is known for being tactful, sarcastic and clever, but can be standoffish, selfish and fickle. her recent split with her spouse has made things even more tense - they’re constantly around, and the lack of space is making her second guess her place at yale. perhaps there are other ghosts who could use her help. after all, the society seems to have been doing fine all these years, surely no demons could harm that if she left?
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Vampire
Relaxed upon the back of a boulder with watch of the ponies you sat while the men of the Company sunned themselves after their turn in the river to bathe on this hot day, safe underneath an umbrella that since the rainy end of Spring had turned to a week of blistering sunshine was fixed above your head. Curiosity had gotten the better of the Dwarf King who, while his hands fixed a small comb through his short dripping beard between adjustments of the tunic draped over his shoulder he would add when his chest hair had dried fully. “Miss Pear, the rains have left us, this region is notoriously dry and the only droplets that should fall upon you would come from my meddlesome nephews.” He mused with a hint of a chuckle hoping to make you laugh or smile after seeing how the heat had worn upon your usually bubbly self.
Upon him your eyes fell stunning him as always for that brief first moment of attention until you answered, “Oh I know. Gandalf gave me his best rundown of the weather ahead while he’s away so I can keep on top of it.”
“Then why, might I ask, do you insist upon use of your umbrella?” he asked as politely as possible to not insult you.
“Thorin, I do mean this with every respect to your kin,” you said and he nodded to urge you to continue, “And every ounce of jealousy my tone implies.”
Weakly he chuckled back, “Jealousy?”
“For people who are said to live underground in mountains far from sunlight you have an absurd ease at remaining in sunlight for the entire day.” Unable to help it his smile spread same as those on the few guys who had crept closer to listen in. “I don’t tan in sunlight, I burn.”
That had his mouth drop open, “You are a Vampire,” he stated matter of factly as if he should have seen it before this moment to have eased your suffering sooner.
“I am not a Vampire. I don’t light on fire in sunlight, my skin just turns red and is stiff, painful and after some aloe for the burns I might be a bit tanned for a week but it peels off and I’m back to my glow in the dark self.”
“A Vampire,” he repeated with a nod making your brows furrow.
“Thorin, I don’t drink blood, I can’t turn into a bat, there’s no mind control or pheromone attractant power. I’m a person who grew up where there’s two weeks of sun lit daytime and then two weeks of night straight. I just lack the melanin to keep up with your jealousy inducing kinsmen.”
Over your shoulder you looked after his having signed a symbol for what would be taken as a Bloodless Vampire, one who had been prey or hailed from kin who had been fed upon by Sauron or one of the servants of him and Morgoth who had restricted ways to engage that part of your blood to not change your being to become such a foul creature. Far from uncommon amongst Dwarves in the Southern Kingdoms who are prized and respected for such strength to fight such a force from within the entire Company now would honor the known restrictions to support you in this inner turmoil they were now set to not let you face alone. “What did you just sign?” Back to the King you looked, “I am not a Vampire!”
“No, farthest from it, and we honor you all the more for it.” Softly you sighed and he stated, “We shall pass beyond this heat within a week beyond those hills then rains and clouds should cover our pathways for some time beyond that up to the very edge of where we meet the Misty Mountains we will have to cross.” Over to the others he moved and you simply shook your head assuming this must be some joke amongst Dwarves.
.
Muddled between the common tongue mention of where within the dungeons to put you Thorin had refused to move under hold of the guards locking Thranduil in place to hear the requirement of a sunlight tolerable and water vapor free cell that had you chime in to make the Elf King look you over. “He says anything about a Vampire he’s downright lying!” All the Kings had to do was lock eyes and you groaned and turned around on your heel then looked off the winding pathways linking to this platform you and the others stood upon. “Wonder how far down that goes,”
A hand on your back however had you under respectful guidance to a far different space that had you huff and plop down on your belly onto the cot the men didn’t have, each being left to the ground or a stone bench to lay upon. All you could do was simply lay there with your thoughts lost for how to deal with this. Looking up only to inspect the carefully crafted meals that you would be served for the two weeks you would be withheld here.
.
“Please come back inside!” voices called to your back as you stormed out of the peak full of Dwarves from the Iron Hills and the other Kingdoms South as Orcarni sat who had dared to try and connect by experiences of their own or those of relatives who suffered from your same internal blood battle. “Do not harm yourself out of fear, no one is judging you of your kin!”
Thorin amongst the voices of those chasing after you had split out the loudest in his pleas to return inside the safety of the mountain peak. Nothing they said had you pause, what did was the sudden shadow that fell upon you making you stare fiercely up at King Thranduil who had an umbrella in his hand up high out of your reach but aligned to cast you within a bubble of shade. “Give me the umbrella, Your Majesty.”
“No, and cannot evade my assistance either, Miss Pear.” That initiated a series of sprints and evasive maneuvers until you had been caught in the bend of his arm to not stumble when your foot had caused a loose rocky patch of earth that gave way under your foot.
Up at him you glared even in his release of you onto sturdy ground. “If I would bite anyone it would be you,” you grit out only making him smile to himself but dropping jaws on the Company who caught up.
“Uncle! King Thranduil is tempting Miss Pear!” Kili shouted and looped an arm around your waist to whip you around his back to be between you and his equally as fiery staring brother and uncles surrounded by unsettled friends while the Elf King extended the umbrella in said motions to keep you still even then in the shade.
“Thranduil, Miss Pear has managed thus far without threat of a turn do not initiate one now to cushion your pride for being an appetizer.”
“Appetizer,” the Elf King scoffed to himself simply making you shake your head and turn to walk away only to have more members of the Company lift up the umbrellas they had fetched on the way after you.
All –
@sherala007, @mariannetora, @jesgisborne, @knitastically, @catthefearless, @theincaprincess, ggbbhehe4455, @lilith15000, @alishlieb,
Not nsfw(smut) - @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore
Hobbit/LotR – @jotink78, @pastelhexmaniac
x Company – @evyiione, @menewyn
X Thranduil - @evyiione, @tigereyesf, @pastelhexmaniac, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore
x Thorin – @evyiione, @deepestfirefun, @queenoferebor
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Thursday 26 October 1837
7 ½
12 10
fine but dullish morning F42° at 8 ½ - and sat reading Murrays’ encyclopedia of geology till A- came for me to breakfast at 9 – she had breakfasted and Mr. Horner came about 9 10 – I out about 10 and out the whole day in the barn and stabling siding the cowhouse and piling bricks in the coach house 3 loads = 1500 by by George N-‘s cart and 1 load = 350 by my own cart (Samuel Booth) from Mr. Rawsons – Culpan to wall up the coach house against cow house to the top on Monday – Booths men hewing and finished putting windows into hay shed and did a little at the front stable end door – Robert Mann’s men went home in the afternoon – and all the other men – Robert M- helped John B- to side and pile bricks – Booth here all the afternoon and part of the morning – A- off to Cliff Hill about 11 and not back till 6 20 had sent for Mr. Jubb to see her aunt – the blister put on last night had been troublesome – came in at 5 55 – dressed in the tent room – Mrs. Ann Lee here all day mending my blue room drugget – made extracts from vol. 1 Portugal and Gallicia – dinner at 7 5 coffee at 8 – A- read French and I asleep on the sofa and then read the paper – we came upstairs at 10 55 at which hour F51° very rainy day – high wind tonight
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Can I place a written request for Captive Prince?on a rainy day, laurent arrives tired after a day of school in college and damen is home to welcome him. damen makes popcorn and they watch movies on the couch.damen gives Laurent a little massage so he can de-stress(pls make Laurent wear glasses,I've been obsessed with it since I read his fic for the most recent rehearsal request!)they have 3 cats(or dogs,you decide)
Domestic Damen and Laurent
Set one year after part 1.
The rain that had drenched Laurent’s thin clothing on his walk home seemed to soak through his skin, the biting cold gripping his bones with a tight, unyielding fist. He saw no one as he trudged along a dark street against the wind, only a few minutes away from his destination.
He ached for Damen. It wasn’t the first time he’d missed his lover recently. The day had dragged along dreadfully, and the only thing getting Laurent through it was the thought of Damen waiting for him at home.
Home. It was a new thought – once tentatively hopeful, but now certain and bursting with unimaginable joy. It was still unfathomable to Laurent, sometimes, that he could share this life with someone who matched him in every way and gave him a newfound sense of ease, of comfort and belonging.
At first, when Damen had suggested they move in together, Laurent was speechless. Even after being with Damen for many months, he still managed to get caught off guard by the abundant proof of Damen’s love. But he was serious, and Laurent was helpless to the thought of rarely having to leave his side.
Laurent almost groaned in relief as he entered into his apartment building, the dry air of the lobby area a welcome feeling. He practically sprinted up the stairs, exiting on the second floor before arriving at apartment 226.
A shift of the lock, and he was inside. The light from within was warm, the air warmer.
After quietly hanging up his coat and bag, Laurent went toward the kitchen doorway, its light and the promise of Damen calling to him like a beacon. And there he was, a large and welcome presence putting the last of the clean dishes away.
“Sweetheart,” Damen grinned when he caught sight of Laurent and a moment later opened his arms. Laurent fell into them without hesitation, burying his face into the warmth of his lover’s neck and sighing. Two of their cats – Auggie and Sylvia – leapt down from the counter to weave between Laurent’s legs, meowing up at their owner with excitement.
It felt good to be home.
“Long day?” Damen murmured. Laurent squeezed him harder.
“You have no idea.”
Damen pulled back for a moment, his hands on Laurent’s shoulders. “You’re soaking wet,” he said, concern furrowing his eyebrows.
Laurent smiled sheepishly. “It rained on my walk home.”
Damen shook his head once, then pulled Laurent back into his embrace for a few moments.
“Do you want to take a bath?” Damen murmured, and Laurent acquiesced without hesitation; baths were one of his few guilty pleasures.
They entered into the bathroom together, and Damen wordlessly went to turn on the bath’s faucet and pour lavender-scented bubble bath into the pooling water.
As the bath began to fill up, Damen sat Laurent on the edge of the tub and kneeled before him, his hands reaching up to peel Laurent out of his soaked clothing. Nothing was said between them, the silence a comfortable blanket that warmed Laurent up almost as much as Damen’s touch.
The cold had rendered Laurent’s skin almost translucent, his blue veins standing out starkly against their pale canvas. Damen frowned when he noticed, and quickly began kissing warmth back into Laurent’s flesh. He started on Laurent’s right wrist, reverently pressing his mouth to the soft inside before moving up a centimeter, and then another, heated breath fanning out over pale skin. Laurent sighed, and let his head tip forward in thoughtless surrender.
Damen worked his way up Laurent’s arm before moving to the other one, and Laurent closed his eyes and just felt as Damen’s lips covered his shoulder, neck, chest, stomach, the faucet running like white noise in the background. His breath rushed out of his mouth when Damen’s lips ghosted over the insides of his thighs, and he was met with a warm pair of brown eyes and a wicked grin upon opening his eyes.
“Get up here, brute,” Laurent breathed, and Damen surged forward to kiss him. He tasted familiar.
They got lost in each other for a few breathless minutes before Laurent whispered against Damen’s lips, “I think the bath is ready.”
Taking a tender step into the bath, Laurent hissed for a second before his skin started to adjust to the blistering heat. Damen knew just how he liked it. A moment after he settled down into the water, Damen undressed and entered behind him, plastering himself to Laurent’s back and wrapping his arms around the smaller man’s midsection. Laurent leaned back with a hum, which prompted Damen to nuzzle his head into the enticing space between Laurent’s neck and shoulder.
Minutes ticked by, interrupted only by the gentle sloshing of water that moved with their hands sweeping across each other’s bodies. Nothing existed except the feeling of their skin pressed together and the slow glide of their touches. The bathroom filled with steam, and Laurent basked in the lavender scent of it, letting it lull him into a light sleep in Damen’s arms.
It could’ve been a minute or an hour later, Laurent wasn’t sure, when he drifted back to consciousness to the feeling of Damen massaging his shoulders.
He sighed, and nuzzled his face into Damen’s neck.
“What’s this?” Laurent mumbled.
“You seemed so tense,” Damen said, his thumbs digging a little deeper into the muscle, making Laurent groan in a heady mix of ecstasy and tenseness.
“I’ve been leaning over a desk studying and taking notes non-stop all day while sitting in the most uncomfortable chairs. It’s not exactly my dream day.”
Damen’s grip changed as he worked his way across Laurent’s shoulders before making his way up to his slender, elegant neck. The noise Laurent made was downright sinful, and Damen had to bite back his grin. Someone was definitely enjoying themselves.
It continued on like that for some time, as Damen worked his grip across the tight spots in Laurent’s body. Laurent basked in it – the way Damen handled him both firmly and gently, his love bleeding through every touch.
Eventually, the bath water ran cold. Laurent did not mind, though; he and Damen had plans to watch a movie together that night, and he was excited to cuddle up on the couch under blankets with his stupidly loving boyfriend.
Damen towelled Laurent down thoroughly before wiping himself down much quicker. He then stepped forward and delivered a peck to Laurent’s lips.
“You take your time getting dressed. I’m going to heat up the takeout I got for you and get the movie ready,” Damen explained before jogging out of the bathroom completely naked.
Laurent had to restrain his laughter. Sometimes Damen was just so ridiculously Damen and the man didn’t even realize it.
A rush of private joy swept through Laurent upon entering the closet and seeing their clothes hung up side-by-side together. Two months had passed since their move-in, and Laurent was still not entirely used to these little reminders of the ways their two lives were now intertwined.
After dressing in his usual cotton shorts and one of Damen’s large t-shirts, Laurent grabbed his glasses without hesitation and headed into the living room, where Damen was placing his takeout onto the coffee table.
Damen smiled when he saw Laurent, coming over to slip his arms around Laurent’s slender waist. “Mm, you put them on.”
Laurent rolled his eyes. “Do you even like me or just the glasses?”
Damen let out a hearty laugh at that, and his delight was contagious.
“I like it when you’re comfortable, and yourself,” Damen explained, brushing his thumb down a porcelain cheek. “The glasses are just a manifestation of your trust in me, so of course I love them.”
Suddenly feeling like he was going to burst from all the emotions pushing against his ribcage and the blush rising in his cheeks, Laurent pushed past Damen into the kitchen.
“You’re making popcorn?” Laurent asked, when he heard distinct popping noises coming from the microwave.
“It is a movie night,” Damen explained simply, before directing Laurent to the couch. “Now pull up our movie options.”
They ended up going with a romantic comedy Damen had wanted to see, and though Laurent resisted and rolled his eyes, he was secretly excited to see Damen become engrossed in a cheesy plotline. Laurent could feel any remaining tension ease out of him as he settled on the couch with his food, lover, and cats around him.
Sylvia, who was still a kitten, climbed onto Laurent’s shoulders and pawed at his glasses before wrapping herself around his neck, while Auggie laid against Laurent’s leg. Damen had his arm wrapped around his boyfriend, its weight like a security blanket, and they were about to start the movie when Laurent realized something.
“Buttercup!” he called out into their apartment, hoping the seclusive feline would show. “Come here, baby.”
Sure enough, a minute later, a calico cat slinked around a corner with all the attitude of a movie star before hopping up into Laurent’s lap, almost sitting directly on his food. Both men laughed, and Laurent reached out to stroke Buttercup’s soft fur while Damen started the movie.
It was cheesy, but it was perfect. Laurent could feel all the cats purring while he petted them and devoured his food. Damen was a constant presence by his side, ceaselessly stroking Laurent’s hair and delivering random kisses to the crown of his head. He even came up with a game where they “had” to kiss every time the two protagonists kissed each other. And even though it only happened three times, Damen found other ways to sneak in more kisses throughout the movie. Laurent wasn’t complaining.
That night, as Laurent fell asleep against Damen in their shared apartment, surrounded by their pets, no coherent thought besides formless bliss entered into the confines of his mind. He was home, and he was safe.
Read this ficlet on AO3.
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Chapter 1, Leaving the Sun
A/N: hey, it's Knightingale! This is the first chapter of my Twilight fanfiction I started writing this year. I edited this after I posted on my laptop so hopefully it looks better. 2020 is a mess and I just wanted to write some garbage fanfiction. Let me know what you think of it!
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You looked out the open car window into the wide expanse of Arizona’s cloudless open sky, a backdrop of perfect blue against the tall buildings placed in the desert of your home state. Soon, your new home would be in Forks, Washington, which differed very much from here. The open sky in Phoenix was ever-present, only gracing the dusty ground and perpetually dying lawns a few times each year with rain an average of 33 times. Yes, you had checked. In Forks, the sky was framed by tall trees when you looked up into the shaded clouds that were nearly always hanging in the air. The rain was just as present as the greenery that covered the trees, raining nearly every day. Phoenix was where you had lived with your sister and mother for all your life. Forks is the home of your father, Charlie. You call him “Dad” to his face, of course, but you had fallen into the same habit as your older sister Bella when addressing him to others as “Charlie”. Last you had been to Forks was three summers ago when you had made your month-long summer visit to his little home in the rainy forests. Bella, your elder sister, who detested Forks, had put up enough of a fight to convince both your parents to let the two of you stay in Phoenix for the summer, bringing Charlie up instead for a mere two weeks in Cali. Now you and your sister were moving to live with him there!
You were much more excited about your leaving compared to your sister. You hadn’t been to Forks since you were 12 years old. You had often enjoyed your trips every summer, living with your dad for a month felt like a fairy tale. The large forests covered in green was like an alien world compared to Phoenix, as if you had stepped through a faery gate and was transported to another dimension. One filled with trees that held up the clouds, a place full of desaturated buildings full of cozy warmth and forgotten smiles.
You’re mother, Renne, broke you out of her daydreams with her voice,
“Bella,” she sighs to your older sister, “You don’t have to do this.” She glances at you through the rear-view mirror, “Neither of you do.” she looks back to Bella, her main concern, with her sweet, childish eyes. You can see Bella’s face tighten with nervous anxiety in the car doors outside mirror. You knew why she was anxious. As much as you loved her, Renne could be a little… absent-minded sometimes. She wasn’t dumb or dull-minded, quite the opposite, actually. Her mind was always in so many places at once; like a box of little bunny rabbits, hopping energetically from place to place. Unfortunately, this caused her to forget things sometimes. Like having a bag of marbles, but the bottom seam of the bag is ripped and marbles keep spilling out. You can catch them and try to open the pouch and put them in, but you’d still keep dropping marbles. That’s why you and Bella were around, you caught all of the marbles and put them back in the bag before she ran off to a new idea, leaving her little thoughts behind. Bella sighs herself before finally speaking,
“I want to go.” she lied. Everyone in the car knew that was a blatant lie, but she had said it so often lately, someone who didn’t know her would have believed it. Luckily for you, you had spent the last 15 years with her, you knew your sister and her habits better than she probably did. Your mom looks up to the rear-view again, but you just smile,
“I’m actually excited to go to Forks, mom!” You playfully glare at Bella as you lean towards her shoulder of the seat, “Besides, I’ll consider this making up for Bells throwing a tantrum and keeping me from Charlie’s place for three years.” Bella scoffs as she rolls her eyes, but she can’t keep the smile off her face,
“You say that like I’ve forgiven you for pretending to be ‘Bloody Mary’” she jokes. You laugh. You lean back in your seat, letting the relative silence continue, the only hearing the quiet melodies on the radio and the rushing of wind as you neared your first destination, the airport.
When you had reached the airport and gotten your suitcases out of the back. Even between the two of you, there wasn’t much, only a few bags per person. Due to the near-polar-opposites of your parent’s climates, not much of your wardrobe was suitable for Forks’ usual weather forecasts. You and Bella actually had to go out and buy the warmest clothing possible manufactured in Phoenix, which wasn’t much, due to the near insufferable heat of the summer and mild heat that still hung around in the dead of winter months. Once you both had your bags out of the car, Renne turned to you both, looking equal parts loving and anxious.
“Tell Charlie I said ‘hi’” You smile,
“We will,” You both answer. Your mom grabs one of your and Bella’s hands,
“I’ll see you soon,” she insists, worry burning in her eyes, “You girls can come home whenever you want- I’ll come right back as soon as you need me!” Bella almost noticeably winces, she knows your mom really loved you both, but she was in love and wanted to spend time with your traveling step-father, Phil.
“Don’t worry about us,” She urges, “It’ll be great. I love you, Mom.” You smile and pull your mom into a hug, entrapping Bella into your cocoon of love with you.
“I love you, Mom.” you murmur into her ear.
With that, you and Bella set off into the airport’s main building, taking the path familiar to you, one that you had taken with your sister every summer until three years ago.
Going through customs was easy, the only three carry on items being a pair of cheap earbuds, an iPod mini, and a parka. The parka for the predictable forecast of rainy weather, and the iPod to keep yourself entertained during the 4-hour flight. You were delighted when no one was sitting in the third seat in your row, but it was only to be expected. There weren’t many people coming from the blistering heat of Phoenix willingly leaving for the downcast rain puddle that is Forks, Washington.
Once the plane had landed, you and Bella stepped out into the rainy sky of Port Angeles. Charlie, your father was waiting for you both in the police cruiser, like he had every year you visited before. Charlie, being the Chief of Police in town, only drove the cruiser, instead of getting his own car. It made sense to you, why buy another of something you already have that works perfectly? Bella however did not like the idea of being driven around in it. Something Bella had adamantly refused to endure was riding to school in the cop car, “Nothing slows down traffic like a cop,” she complained. Because of this, she was hellbent on buying her own vehicle to drive to school in, regardless of her smaller-than-desired budget.
Charlie welcomed you both as you boarded off of the plane, well, Bella more stumbled. That’s why you had come off first, grabbing her arm to keep her from having a personal encounter with the asphalt landing beneath you. Charlie awkwardly hugged you both.
“It’s good to see you girls,” he says smiling at you both as he pulls away. “You haven’t changed much, Bells. Y/n, you’ve grown taller, kiddo!” he laughs, “How’s Renee?”
“Mom’s fine, It’s good to see you too, Dad.” Bella answers. Of course, she doesn’t call him Charlie to his face. You smile,
“Mom says ‘Hi’” Charlie nods and helps you both with your luggage. All of Bella’s things fit into the trunk, as well as most of your own, you only needed to put your biggest case of clothing with you in the back. As soon as you all strap into the cruiser, Charlie makes an announcement,
“I found a good car for the two of you, really cheap.” A car?
“What kind of car?” Bella asks suspiciously.
“Well, it’s a truck actually, a Chevy.” Oh, a truck. Maybe then it’d be more durable. God knows you’d need it. You didn’t have your license yet, so Bella was the only option to get you to school. If you didn’t want to be brought to school behind the separation grate of a cop car, that is.
“Where did you find it?” Bella asks.
“Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?” La Push was the little Native-American reservation down at the coast if you remembered right. Billy, Billy… You let out a little “oh!” before Bella can respond.
“He was that guy we’d go fishing with, right?” You remembered him faintly. He lived on the reservation with two, no, three kids. You remembered two sisters, twins, and a little boy. Man, you hadn’t thought about them in years! Of course, that couldn’t be helped, since Bella treated Forks liked it was cursed with the plague for years, enough to stop your summerly visits.
“Yup, that’s him,” your dad confirms, “He’s in a wheelchair now, so he can’t drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap.” Bella, ever suspicious of this vehicle, prods further,
“What year is it?” You can see Charlie make a slight face at Bella’s question,
“Well… Billy’s done some work to the engine- it’s only a few years old really,” he tries vainly.
“When did he buy it?” Bella continues.
“He bought it in 1984, I think.”
“Did he buy it new?” Charlie sighs at the question,
“Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties- or late fifties, at the earliest,” he admits. Bella sigh herself,
“Ch- Dad,” she starts, “Neither Y/N or I know anything about cars! We wouldn’t be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I can’t really afford a mechanic-” she rambles anxiously before Charlie stops her,
“Really, Bella, the thing runs great. They don’t build them like that anymore.” Bella stews in her thoughts for a moment, you break the silence,
“I mean, if anything, I’m more than happy to get to school in something other than the back of a cop car,” you laugh easily, “I mean, can you imagine, coming to school on the first day in the back of the Chief’s cruiser like a criminal? Talk about a first impression!” Charlie is able to laugh at your light humor with you before Bella asks another question,
“How cheap is… cheap?” she asks, quieting your laughter quickly.
“Well, girls, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift.” you can see Charlie peek over at Bella before glancing at you through the rear-view hopefully. Already… wow, was the truck free?
“You didn’t have to do that, Dad, I was going to buy us a car myself,” Bella says. Charlie looks straight ahead at the road before answering, obviously trying to get his emotions out without his usual awkwardness.
“I don’t mind. I want you to be happy here.” His last sentence was obviously more pointed at your sister than you. She had never really hidden her… distaste for Forks. Charlie seemed rather pleased the two of you had willingly decided to come live with him for a more permanent amount of time.
“That’s really nice Dad,” Bella says, looking straight out the front window, just like your dad. “Thanks, I really appreciate it.” You smile at the two in front of you,
“Thanks, Dad!” He makes a gruff sound of affirmation, slightly awkward, but mostly pleased at your positive reaction,
“Well, now, you’re welcome.” You settled against the window and car door and pop your earbuds in their place as you press play on your iPod. You look out through a rain covered window, alternating between watching the terrain run behind you and focusing on the water droplets streaking across the glass, seeing which ones met the bottom first.
Eventually, you made it home. You recognized the curve of the road, seeing a peek of the washed-out color of the white house and dark roof through the brilliant green of the trees. What was the most eye-catching about the scene was the contrasting red truck in the driveway. Bella hopped out of the front with almost excited energy.
“Wow Dad,” she exclaims slightly louder than her usual, quiet volume, “I love it! Thanks!” You climbed out of the back, pausing your music and stuffing the earbuds into your pocket as you made your way beside your sister. Despite being the complementary color of green, the washed-out fade of the red paint made the truck look perfect in the surrounding environment. It was big and old, but it was sturdy looking, like a little tank. This was definitely one of the trucks that could get in a collision and crush the opposing vehicle like an empty soda can. At least if Bella managed to crash the two of you, you’d probably live!
Charlie calls you both to the back of the truck after accepting your thanks and words of appreciation as best as he could, helping you both unpack your luggage from the cruiser. It only took one trip. Bella carried her luggage upstairs with your dad’s help, and you dragged your own into your room on the main floor of the house.
Originally, you and Bella had shared the nursery, but around 11 years old, the two of you convinced (or complained, depends on who you ask) your dad to let you and Bella have separate rooms. Your little room was wedged between the stairs and the living room, the smallest room in the house. It wasn’t bad though. The walls were painted navy blue with old glow in the dark stars stuck all over the popcorn ceiling and tops of the walls. You still had the white garlands of Christmas lights tacked up the to corners of your ceilings, and the lace curtains still hung over the window. Your window faced the back of the house directly into the forest behind. There was enough room for your twin-sized bed and a small desk and bookshelf shoved into one corner, your dresser snug in a corner on one side of your bed, and nightstand on the other. There was an old computer upstairs in Bella’s room, the nursery. Your mom had all but demanded it be there for easy communication. You missed her already.
You didn’t set to really putting your room together, other than putting clothes in drawers and hanging what little you had in the closet. You decided you’d unpack all personal items later, but dug out your backpack. A white canvas backpack with two bottle pockets on the sides and a smaller, extra on the front. You had doodled on it with markers last year, but it hadn’t fallen apart yet so you had been using it this year too. Your now emptied folders and binders took up space in the main pocket; your pencil case and an extra pencil case full of period products housed in the smaller one. Your backpack was set. You decide on what to wear for tomorrow, familiarizing yourself with your new set up in the process. By the time you had busied yourself with the small tasks you could, the sun had fully set behind the cover of clouds.
You made your way upstairs to your sister’s room, peaking your head through the door. Bella had put on her pajamas and was sitting in bed, gazing out into the night. In the low light of the lamp she had on, you could see she wasn’t feeling great about tomorrow.
“Hey Bells,” you call softly. She looks over to you, not bothering to change her expression. She already learned she couldn’t hide how she felt around you, so she stopped trying quite a while ago. “Not excited for tomorrow, huh?” You slide into the room fully, gently closing the door behind you. She sighs as you set down across from her.
“Not really.” She admits. “Forks Highs-school only has three hundred and fifty-seven students,”
“Now fifty-eight,” you interject. She nods and closes her eyes,
“Exactly. Everyone around here has grown up together- their grandparents were toddlers together! We’re the new girls from the big city-”
“A curiosity,” you agree tiredly,
“A freak,” she grumbles pessimistically. “I mean, we don’t look how girls from Phoenix should, I know I don’t. I should be tan, sporty, blonde- a volleyball player, or a cheerleader, perhaps- everything people think about when they think of living in the valley of the sun!”
“You know neither of us should ever be let in a quarter-mile vicinity of a volleyball, first of all-” you joke, “and second, I don’t think being sporty or tan would really help anyway. If Phoenix is the ‘valley of the sun’, then Forks in “the valley of rain clouds’. I don’t think a lot of the other white people here are going to be very tan.” Bella manages a genuine, albeit small, laugh. “I don’t think we’d fit in anywhere, Bells, not unless we find people like us.” She sighs,
“Other people with glitches in their brains.” You shrug,
“I don’t think its a glitch. We’re just wired differently. Besides, our brains are literally meat-jello full of electricity, some of them are bound to work a little strange, right?” She laughs, louder this time. You give her a side hug before standing up. “Alright, I’m heading to bed. See you in the morning.”
“Goodnight,”’ Bella says un-enthusiastically. You exit the room and call down the short hallway to Charlie’s room,
“Night, Dad!” He pokes his head out of the door a moment after,
“Night honey, see you in the morning.” He goes back to his room and closes the door. You trail your way down the stairs and to your room before crawling under the blankets. You were going to need your sleep for tomorrow. After all, you were starting your first day at a new school. Forks High, now at a population of 359.
#jacob black x reader#twilight#twilight fanfiction#twilight x reader#x reader#/reader#I don't know how to write#bad formatring I'm on mobile
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Polaris (Ch.16/?)
Loki x Reader, Pirate!AU
Word Count: 4,466
Warnings: violence, language
Summary: Your life has always been set in stone. Born to a wealthy merchant family in the Caribbean, you’ve spent your years as an heiress in the daytime, escaping at night to wander the streets of St. Thomas. Now, on the eve before your life settles into mundanity for good, you discover someone who could change everything– if you choose to trust him, that is.
A/N: As promised, this chapter is entirely from Loki’s perspective! Don’t worry, we’ll get back to our debutante reader soon. For now, this is his part of the story. Let’s let him tell it.
Chapter One ~ Chapter Two ~ Chapter Three ~ Chapter Four ~ Chapter Five ~ Chapter Six ~ Chapter Seven ~ Chapter Eight ~ Chapter Nine ~ Chapter Ten ~ Chapter Eleven ~ Chapter Twelve ~ Chapter Thirteen ~ Chapter Fourteen ~ Chapter Fifteen
The sun was making its first appearance over the glass sea, turning the sky pink and lighting on the waves with a rosy glow. The clouds were as pale and wispy as stretched cotton. As the sunrise dimmed the map of stars above, it burned bright in the reflection of Loki’s bloodshot eyes, staring out at the waves as they turned to gold.
His hands were already blistered from rowing. The sinew of his muscles had been stretched to their limit a few hours ago, and so he had let go of the oars to hold his head in his hands instead, filled with a despair that felt larger than the ocean around him. Hot, frustrated tears fell from his eyes, more to try and soothe their dryness than to curb the aching in his chest. Perhaps it was a mix of both. It was only in raising his head to dry his eyes, blinking away the water and fatigue, that he saw the merchant ship approaching.
Loki’s brows pulled together. It was a trading company ship; not Odin’s. Rather small. The bell on deck was ringing, signaling a man overboard as they approached, and a few seconds later, a rope landed in Loki’s lap.
Several pairs of hands helped haul him over the side, pulling him onto the deck, but they were quick to leave him; Loki’s reddened eyes and haggard look gave him a frightening aura, one that the men obviously weren’t keen to hang around. He slowly straightened his posture, rolling his sore shoulders and looking down at the Captain, standing in front of him.
Loki gave him a single glance, surveying him without much consideration. He was small and portly with receding hair, hardly intimidating– though clearly he was doing his best to look nonplussed by Loki’s sudden and unexpected arrival.
“Glad to have you aboard, sir,” he greeted, as warmly as he was able. “I’m Cap’n Montgomery, and this’s my ship The Duchess. How’d you wind up all the way out here?”
Loki didn’t answer. He stood still on the rocking deck, his posture stiff, looking out at the pale dawn sky with a hardened expression.
Captain Montgomery waited awkwardly for his response, shifting his posture. Then he cleared his throat. “Perhaps you’d like to talk elsewhere?” He gestured to the doors that led to the Captain’s cabin.
Loki’s eyes trailed to the left, and he nodded. He followed the Captain inside, walking slow and cat-like with a look of apprehension as he stepped over the threshold. His eyes were quick in surveying the small room, unadorned by lavish decor. The only notable object of interest was the mahogany desk that Captain Montgomery sat himself behind, setting his elbows atop its surface and waiting for Loki to close the door.
He did so, and stepped over. The ship’s charter laid open-faced by the Captain’s hand, and Loki’s dark eyebrows pulled together. “Where is this vessel headed?”
Captain Montgomery’s eyebrows raised and he held out his hand in a stopping motion. “Now, hang on a minute. I have some questions to ask you first–”
Loki reached forward and spun the paper to face him, scanning the lines. “Kingston?”
The Captain’s eyes flickered. “Aye, that’s right, sir.”
Loki’s frown deepened. “That is exactly the opposite of where I need to go,” Loki muttered in annoyance.
The man shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable. “Well–”
“What day is it?” Loki interrupted again, looking up at him. His gaze was sharp enough to cut glass. They might have been a different color, but when he wanted them to, Loki’s eyes could hold just as much chill as his father’s.
The Captain blinked. “Uh– the first of August, sir.”
“What was your name again?”
“Mont– Montgomery. Captain Montgomery.”
Loki hummed shortly, leaning on the desk. He glanced back at the closed doors, then returned to the paper in front of him, running a finger over his lip in thought. The captain watched him uneasily as he stood there, still as stone, with nothing but the rocking of the ship to mark the passage of time.
Suddenly Loki reached forward and grabbed the captain by the collar, slamming his face into the mahogany and twisting his arm behind his back in one fluid motion. The Captain shouted in surprised pain, only to be silenced when Loki twisted his arm further, his lips curled in a snarl.
“Listen to me very carefully, Montgomery,” he threatened between his teeth. “It is in our mutual best interests that you take this ship to St. Thomas immediately. One more inch in the wrong direction and this arm will break. If you don’t do as I say, the same thing will happen to your neck.”
The Captain struggled fruitlessly beneath Loki’s grip, his face squashed against the desk in a contorted expression of anger. “You – you bastard!”
“Pirate,” Loki corrected, applying the slightest fraction of pressure. It was enough to make the captain gasp and pant in pain. “Do we understand each other, Montgomery?”
“It’ll–” The Captain wheezed, struggling to speak. “It’ll take more’n three days to get there. The wind… the wind’s against us.”
“Then you should bear a hand and tell your men to come around,” Loki suggested coldly, and let go of him. Captain Montgomery stood up so fast that he stumbled backwards, holding his arm and staring at Loki with frightened eyes. He darted past Loki and out of the cabin, running faster than Loki suspected he ever had in his life. Judging by his portly stature, it was probably a good thing for him. Nothing like a healthy fear of death to keep you fit.
Loki stood in the empty cabin and listened to the muted sounds of the captain shouting orders above, and he tightened his jaw, reaching into his pocket. The cold coin was there, safely stowed away. He rubbed it between his fingers, smoothing over the serpent’s pattern with the pad of his thumb. His eyes drifted to the window. Somewhere, out there, you were being held in a cell – stuck behind rusted bars while the sand in the hourglass slowly sifted through.
August the first. That meant he had until the end of the month to secure your safety, with at least four days already spent by the time he reached St. Thomas. Loki’s grip tightened on the coin. If fate had pushed you together – and he firmly believed that hit had – then fate would keep you from being pulled apart.
~
Nearly a week later, The Duchess floated into the rainy port of St. Thomas. The sun peeked out occasionally behind the clouds while it showered. It was one of those odd, rainy summer days before hurricane season where the weather couldn’t quite whip up enough energy to storm with full rage and intensity; not yet.
The sailors were still tying the small merchant ship to the dock when the gangplank dropped and Loki descended from the ship, running down the slippery wharf so fast that he nearly stumbled. He dodged the men loading crates, ducking underneath a load of lumber carried between two sailors, and climbed the cobble stairs with exhausted determination.
Home was only a few hours away, but Loki wasn’t headed there; not yet. Instead he headed up the street, doing his best to keep his tired legs from giving out underneath him. He made a right and found the corner bar, stumbling inside. This was the place you and Loki had first encountered one another, but also somewhere that he’d frequented long before your fateful meeting. The creaking floorboards beneath his feet were as familiar as the mattress of his own bed, and the heady smells of mahogany and beer reassured his senses that he was safe. Home.
Being the middle of the day, the corner bar was totally devoid of customers. Light streamed in through the fogged windows while the building’s only occupant, the bartender, polished glasses behind the counter with monotonous repetition, glancing up only when Loki pulled himself into one of the barstools and leaned against the counter, his hair and clothes dripping wet. The only sounds were the steady shower of light rain outside and the squeak of fabric rubbed against glass.
“You’re a bit early in the day, young master,” The bartender observed curiously. The man sported a heavy accent behind his mustache, but his tone was good-natured and amiable. He was as much a part of the bar as the polished countertop and neatly lined bottles on the shelves behind him.
“I need a drink,” Loki said hoarsely, dropping his head into one hand and massaging his temples. His whole body ached, inside and out. Beating slow inside his chest, Loki’s heart weighed him down as though it was made of lead.
The glass slid down the counter and Loki caught it with his free hand: cold, polished glass with dark liquor inside. He tilted his head back and downed it in one go, setting the empty cup down on the polished wood. The bartender refilled it without asking, handing it back to him before returning to his former task. He polished the cups until they sparkled like crystal, despite the fact that they were already clean; no doubt it was a soothing, repetitive notion to help the empty afternoon hours pass by. “You ‘ere to talk, or just drink?”
Loki scoffed. “What’s there to talk about?” He asked, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing them tiredly. Dull sparks floated behind his vision, signs of dehydration and an oncoming headache.
“Fair ‘nough, sir. I won’t press you.”
Loki dropped his hand and regarded the man with a flat expression. His mouth pressed into a thin line, and he dropped his gaze, spinning the glass of liquor in his hand. He stared at the distorted wood pattern of the bartop through the brown liquor.
The bartender watched him with soft, dark eyes for a moment longer before he tried again. “Is it a woman?”
“Of course it’s a woman,” Loki snapped, though his words didn’t have much bite; they never did when he was telling the truth. He thumbed the rim of the glass. “It’s the woman,” he admitted, more quietly.
The bartender nodded knowingly, tossing his rag aside and fetching a fresh one. “She leave you?” He asked, his tone conversational and unassuming, from decades of practice with discussions far more delicate than this one.
Loki shook his head. His wet raven hair slipped past his shoulders when he did, falling in gentle waves past his ears and smelling of saltwater. “No. I lost her.” He frowned at the sudden blurriness in his eyes, downing his second glass and setting it down with a gentle thud. He sniffed. Straightened in his seat. “I’m getting her back.” Whether he said this to reassure the bartender or himself, Loki wasn’t entirely sure.
The city bell tolled out the hour, bringing him back to a state of clarity. It was later than he’d thought. Loki reached into his pocket for money to pay – and then realized he didn’t have any, apart from the serpent coin. The coin he couldn’t give away. Loki stalled, his elegant fingers still at his sides while he tried to think of a solution to this sudden dilemma.
The bartender noticed his hesitation and extended his hand with a polite shake of his head. “You’ve been generous in the past, young master,” he stated. “I trust you’ll be back.”
Loki met his eyes. Normally he would take offense to a gesture of charity; Loki had never lacked for money, not once in his life, and he never intended to. But if he’d learnt anything from the past weeks, it was that even his best intentions didn’t guarantee the future. He met the bartender’s eyes and found them to be soft and reassuring. He bowed his head. “Thank you.”
The man shrugged, like it wasn’t any problem to him, taking Loki’s empty glass and polishing it alongside all the rest. “Bring your woman next time.”
Loki laughed once, humorlessly, and stood. “I will,” he promised, with a final nod of thanks before he turned his back to the bartender and walked back out towards the drenched cobblestone street, feeling renewed somehow – perhaps by the drink, though more likely by the man’s kindness. Not everyone in the world was bloodthirsty and rotten.
Not everyone in the world is a pirate, Loki thought. Of course, he considered himself a rare exception: Loki was a pirate, yes, but a reputable one. Honorable, even. However – somewhere deep in his heart – Loki was beginning to come to terms with the fact that getting you back might permanently soil that reputation. He intended to do whatever it took, however foul, even if it meant killing Vane and all his crewmen with his bare hands.
Would you be able to love him, if it came to that? If he became a murderer? Would you let him touch you with bloody hands, or would you turn away in fear and disgust?
The thought disquieted him, and he shook his head to clear the thought. Whether you hated him or not at the end of this didn’t matter, so long as you got out alive. He owed you that much.
His seaglass eyes looked up instinctively towards the road that he knew lead home, but he turned the opposite way instead: there was still one more errand to run.
In order for Loki to both save you and maintain a clear ledger inside his father’s business, he had to find a way to combine the two. That meant enlisting in his family’s help, while simultaneously making it look like he wasn’t involved at all. During his time floating adrift in the waves, waiting for the sunrise, Loki had surmised a plan of action. With some skill, and a great deal of luck, it would prove itself successful.
He hoped his luck hadn’t run out yet.
Loki found himself in a familiar backside alley, the entrance hidden behind empty fruit crates stacked six feet high. He stepped carefully down the narrow cobble path, wrinkling his nose at the stench of city sludge and old bathwater dumped unceremoniously onto the ground. The clotheslines above hung limp in the afternoon, the fabric heavy and wet from the rain – whoever put them out had neglected to retrieve them. He found the heavy wooden door with gold hinges and knocked, twice. Then he stepped back into the rain, no more than a light mist at this point, and waited.
He was considering turning away when it finally opened. The man who answered the door had dark skin and eyes that shimmered like copper. His hair fell over his broad shoulders in locs, decorated with metal clasps. His face wore a stern expression that revealed exactly nothing, and he waited with one hand on the door – prepared to shut it again at a moment’s notice. “Yes?”
“Heimdall,” Loki greeted solemnly, and glanced out at the alley for listening ears.
“You don’t have an appointment.”
“This isn’t my usual business,” he explained, squinting as misty rainwater dripped down his face and clung to his eyelashes. “It’ll be quick. I only need one page; no forgings, no signatures. It just can’t be my hand.”
The dark man hesitated, gripping the door while he considered this. Loki’s clothes stuck to him, and he silently wished that Heimdall would at least let him inside, but he knew not to press the matter. Their relationship was a strictly professional one, and he knew how much he was asking. “I’ll pay twice whatever you ask,” he added.
Heimdall’s copper eyes met Loki’s, his expression still flat, and then he opened the door further. “Come in. Don’t sit. You’ll ruin the chair.”
Loki obliged, stepping in quickly. The room was dark and smelled of leather, lit only by candles and the narrow, cross-hatched windows that lined one wall. The other three sides of the small, square space were lined by bookshelves, lined with bottles, parchment, and bookkeeper’s tools. Less conspicuously, there were a few shelves full of antiquated volumes, which he knew to contain ledgers upon ledgers of signatures and scripts. A forger’s library.
Heimdall sat down at the desk, dipping his quill into the inkwell. “You’re lucky. I’m not busy today.”
Loki nodded in agreement, feeling relieved. “Yes, I know – it’s short notice.”
“So,” Heimdall began without looking, pulling a clean sheet of plain paper from the desk drawer. “This isn’t a false shipping charter, or an inventory log, or a bank note. What is it?”
“A ransom letter.” Loki regretted revealing this information the moment it left his mouth, but he had no choice – better to tell it now, rather than when Heimdall started realizing it halfway through writing and risked blotting a page.
Heimdall’s metallic eyes flitted up and he frowned at Loki, setting the quill down and leaning back in his chair. “Now, why would you want me to write that?”
Loki looked up and set his jaw, shaking his head slightly. “That, I can’t tell you.”
Heimdall regarded him silently. Whether it was judgement, scrutiny, contemplation, Loki couldn’t say for certain. Heimdall’s expression didn’t change. While Loki respected his ability to be discreet, Heimdall’s strong-and-silent personality made reading him nigh impossible. Finally, he raised one eyebrow. “It’ll cost extra.”
Loki’s mouth opened slightly and he nearly rolled his eyes. “I can afford it,” he grated, feeling a flicker of agitation in his chest that the man would even be concerned about such a thing. “This isn’t a fleeting interest. Give me what I want, receipt it under my private catalogue, and I’ll be on my way. ”
Heimdall sighed and picked up his quill again, leaning over the desk. “Fine.”
Loki inhaled deeply, raising his eyebrows and directing his gaze to the ceiling. He’d been devising a speech from memory for a week, running it over his tongue inside his mouth and sounding it out when no one was around. He dropped his eyes and began reciting the words from memory, watching Heimdall’s skilled hand start painting the words on the page almost as soon as he spoke. “To his esteemed grace who receives this note …”
~
“... I hope it finds in a prosperous enough position to enable us both to get what we want,” Thor read aloud, his elegant brow furrowed in both concentration. He unfolded the letter further and skimmed a few more lines silently. Flipped it over, and found no return address. He looked up at the maid standing at the door and held it up in the air. “What is this?”
Her eyes were wide with innocence and confusion. “I – I don’t know, sir, it was delivered with all the rest.”
Loki sat silently at one end of the long table, holding a spoon in his hand and stirring the bowl of soup before him in slow, disinterested circles. Green flecks of some kind of vegetable rose and fell from its cream-colored surface; neat chunks of tomato, too, alongside pale meat cooked to perfection and pulled apart.
It was a favorite of his. He knew this, somewhere in the back of his mind, but even the smell of it wafting up in gentle curls of steam failed to appetize him. Every ounce of his focus was bent on looking unassuming as Thor continued to read the note aloud; the note that he’d carefully hidden amongst the other letters, delivered at breakfast every morning.
“I have in my possession one soon-to-be bride of your eldest son. I understand she means a great deal to you, so let me get to the point: in exchange for 12,000 guineas, I will return her unharmed, so long as the exchange is made at the end of August…” Thor’s brow furrowed further.
Loki had been home for three days– it was the ninth of August now, and an otherwise ordinary Wednesday morning. It felt strange to know the date again after being stuck on an island, where the only sense of time could be ascertained in the rise and set of the sun.
Only last night had he decided to risk delivering the note. Waiting to reveal your situation to Thor and his father was agony, but Loki couldn’t afford to take any kind of risk. The coincidence of his arrival and the note’s arrival on the same day would have been too close for comfort. Loki was cautious to a fault, and he was painfully aware of that fact: he was treading on your borrowed time, after all. His stomach twisted, feeling physically ill, and he abandoned the spoon entirely, staring out the window with a thinly veiled expression of discomfort as Thor finished reading.
“Otherwise, she will die gruesomely, after her usefulness and entertainment to us has been spent. With a letter V as the signit,” he added as an afterthought, setting the letter down carefully, like it might bite him. He reached for the envelope it had been delivered in and tilted it, and the serpent coin fell into his palm. He gazed at it in silence.
Loki was practically crawling out of his skin. “V,” he repeated, breaking the silence with false curiosity and looking between Thor and his father. “Like Charles Vane, perhaps? The pirate?”
“No doubt,” Odin replied amiably, reaching across the table for the letter. Thor handed it to him, his expression stony, waiting while their father read the ransom note over for himself. He let out a derisive scoff and shook his head, letting it drop. “Twelve thousand guineas.”
Thor’s handsome face lit on confusion. “You will pay the ransom, won’t you? Her ship was supposed to arrive in Norway weeks ago. Who knows how long she’s been held captive.”
“That much for one girl?” Odin said skeptically. “A girl who wasn’t keen on marrying you either, I recall. Ungrateful thing. The whole arrangement has been nothing more than a bad business venture.”
Loki’s face was dangerously pale, anger lighting up his veins like fire on alcohol. “But we have the money,” he argued, trying to keep his vocal tone only mildly invested. It cracked. “And you made a deal with her father.”
Thor nodded in agreement, though clearly exhibiting a great deal more patience. “Loki’s right, Father. We have a duty of care–”
“Silence!” He interrupted, and they both shut their mouths. Odin set down his fork to eye both of them with a steely grey stare. “There is nothing we can do.”
“But we can,” Thor argued, leaning against the table on one hand and gesturing with the other. “We’ve seen the bank ledgers – Loki and I both,” he added, nodding to his brother. “Your wealth would hardly be dented. I don’t see why –”
“I will not deal with pirates,” Odin groused firmly, his voice icy and cold.
Something inside Loki snapped. He stood abruptly, turning to Odin. The chair scraped on the ground behind him.
“So that’s it, then,” he began. He was smiling, but in more a baring of teeth than an expression of joy. “You would first resign her to marry a man she doesn’t know, and then let her die when it’s inconvenient to help?” He pointed an accusing finger. “You’re just afraid Vane will slip through your grasp, the same way he did before, and wound your pride more than he ever could your prospects.” Loki realized that he was snarling, his lip curled and tone venomous, cheeks flushed uncharacteristically red but he didn’t care – it was too late now. The man who he called Father stared back with equal animosity, the two of them locked in heated, palpable silence.
Thor excused himself from the dining room with a quiet, grumbling apology, and Loki followed.
When he exited the room and the doors shut behind him, he saw Thor walking down the hall – but his footsteps were slow, and he clearly didn’t know where they intended on taking him. Loki’s eyes flickered, and he sighed, loud enough to draw Thor’s attention and halt his steps.
He turned around and came to Loki’s side. He watched his brother reach up and press at his eyes, rubbing them none-too-gently, and he glanced back at the gilded door. “It sounded like you know a great deal about her,” he stated quietly, breaking the thin silence between them. His large hands were restless at his sides, wanting for actions instead of words.
Loki dropped his hand and cleared his throat, and his eyes were distant. “I spoke with her at the ball before she left. You remember.”
Thor grunted, looking out the window. “I didn’t get the chance. I had business to attend to.”
Loki’s lips upturned in a bitter smirk. “You always do.” His gaze found the window, too, staring out at the palm fronds as they blew in the humid afternoon wind. His chest tightened with the reminder of your island – the trees and the cave, of your smaller body pressed beneath his, smelling sweet and tinged by saltwater. Of feeling complete.
Loki could only guess at how much his father knew. Thanks to his outburst, Odin knew Loki was aware of his true parentage – which meant it would only take one line drawn in the sand between Loki and Vane to connect the dots and undo all his work. Your life and Loki’s livelihood, felled in one devastating blow.
Thor was uncharacteristically still, a sign that he was deep in thought. His wide arms were crossed over his barrel of a chest, brow furrowed, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly, silently dissatisfied. “We have to do something.”
Loki scoffed and rolled his eyes, picking at the dark green fabric of his wide sleeves and spreading his fingers, staring disinterestedly at the faint scars that lined the back of his hand from years of seamanship. “Don’t humor me. You would never act outside father’s orders.”
“I would,” Thor argued, and paused, glancing over his shoulder at Loki. “If I had help.”
Loki’s expression flickered and he looked up, meeting Thor’s gaze. The two of them shared a silent exchange; the same kind that they had since boyhood, a silent discussion and a mutual agreement. Perhaps your cause wasn’t lost after all.
The corner of Thor’s mouth turned up in a smile, and he shrugged his broad shoulders, returning his gaze to the window. “Besides,” he added, “What kind of husband would I be if I couldn’t keep her alive?”
At the same time as a humoring chuckle left his lips, Loki’s breath was punched from his lungs. Realization hit him like a hollow bell – something he had forgotten to consider when he decided to enlist Thor’s help. The two of you were, by all accounts, still engaged. If Thor and Loki succeeded in rescuing you, you would wed him all the same, hopelessly stuck in the same trap as before. His mind searched frantically for an easy solution, some weakness in this sudden and unexpected obstacle, but to his growing panic he found none, and a feeling of utter hopelessness rooted inside his chest that was too deep to claw out.
Loki might yet be able to save your life. But it wouldn’t be a life with him that you’d return to.
~~~
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#loki#marvel#loki fanfic#loki laufeyson#loki odinson#loki x reader#loki x you#loki x ofc#pirate!loki#pirate!au#au#fanfic#fanfiction#loki x reader angst#loki x reader fluff#loki x reader smut#angst#fluff#smut#slow burn#tom hiddleston#tom hiddleston fanfic
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Autumn came to Hallownest fast this year. It went from the blistering heat to cold, rainy weather in a matter of days. While the Grimmkin where battening down the tents; pulling over heavier fabric to keep in the warmth, an nearly forgotten sound as echoing throughout the grounds. Almost giving the Grimmkin a moment to pause in their work.
Drake was wailing in Sweets arms. The poor batbug clung to her fur and sobbed. The Wyrm rubbed his back as she walked around her new bed chamber in Grimm's tent.
It was not uncommon for Grimmchildren to cry. Even expected in a rain storm. Most children feared the thunder. Grimmchildren feared the very rain itself. Flame always feared water after all.
What was so unexpected was the sound that accompanied the cries. A gentle, lilting tone drifted throughout the chamber as Sweets sang to her little Drake. A voice that had not been heard in resent memory.
"Little child
Be not afraid
The storm clouds mask your beloved moon
And its candlelight beams
Still keep pleasant dreams
I am here tonight
Little child
Be not afraid
Though wind makes creatures of our trees
And their branches to hands
They're not real, understand
And I am here tonight
And someday you'll know
That nature is so
This same rain that draws you near me
Falls on rivers and land
On forest and sand
Makes the beautiful world that you see
In the morning..."
#hollow knight oc#hollow knight#the grimm troupe#grimmchild#sweets#drake#lullaby for a stormy night#vienna tang
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I suggest the song "Where the Shadow Ends" by Banners for your mixtape fic. It's beautiful and melancholic, but also hopeful. It's given me a lot of inspiration for WandaVision fics lately.
Ahh thank you so much for this song!! I totally get what you mean with it being kinda sombre but also hopeful! It’s captured so perfectly in the lyrics too. Sorry it took me a while to get around to this - but better late than never ✨
Track #12: Where The Shadow Ends by BANNERS
| read on AO3 here | mixtape playlist | send me an ask with your song/prompt request |
synopsis: Wanda falls ill at the compound and Vision panics. Surprisingly, her illness gives them an opportunity to talk about their feelings. Wanda comes to terms with putting faith in her feelings and in Vision.
All things considered; Wanda probably shouldn’t have gone to the gym when she did. But Steve had offered to help her with some of the new equipment the compound had ordered in and Wanda knew she pushed herself harder when faced with his superhuman training schedule.
She didn’t feel too bad at the beginning of the work out, going through the motions of warming up. She worked out most days because if she didn’t her body suffered after missions. So, she persisted even when she was tired and her muscles were sore, and apparently, even when it was pouring with rain. She’d quickly regretted her decision to go on a run despite the threatening grey sky. By the time the rain had started Wanda was too far into her run to turn back and had stubbornly refused to call anyone at the compound to come pick her up, instead walking all the way back as her wet shoes started to rub blisters into her heels. Thanks to an hour in sopping wet clothes, battling a harsh wind all the way home she’d woken up with a temperature the past two mornings.
But when she’d checked her temperature a few hours ago it seemed the fever had finally broken, and she was so restless that she didn’t hesitate to accept Steve’s invitation. A mistake she was going to pay for.
The warmup had her feeling a little woozy and lightheaded but not terrible. Things quickly went downhill as she started her usual activities. Just as she picked the dumbbells up to start on her triceps a sudden wave of dizziness hit her full force. Wanda vaguely remembered Steve calling her name as the dumbbells hit the floor with two resounding thuds and she promptly passed out.
Vision was stuck in a research spiral when he distantly heard the Compound AI say his name.
“Currently fetching recent message from Steve Rogers,” the robotic voice said from the speaker in the ceiling and Vision tilted his head as he listened. “Wanda has passed out in the gym, please prepare first aid.”
Vision didn’t give the AI the chance to repeat itself, launching himself out of his seat and phasing through the wall. He was used to quick thinking, easily able to make split second decisions based on a variety of possibilities, but this was something different. He didn’t thinkhe just moved. Within seconds he was phasing through the floors of the compound arriving in the basement with such force that his feet split the tiled floor on impact.
“What happened?” Vision asked with such fervour that he might have reprimanded himself for snapping, were he not so taken aback by the sight of Wanda’s limp body in the Captain’s arms.
“We were ten minutes into our workout and she just dropped to the floor,” Steve explained not hesitating to hand Wanda over to Vision’s waiting arms.
“She has a fever,” Vision said as he gathered Wanda up, holding her close so he could support her head against his chest. She was burning up, her breaths coming in short bursts that concerned him. How had her temperature gotten so high and why hadn’t any of them noticed her getting ill? Most of all, how had he let it slip his attention?
“You get her upstairs while I get a drip.”
They both started up the stairs, Vision trying not to jostle his unconscious cargo, too concerned to try phasing, even if the stairs were frustratingly slower. They parted ways at the ground floor as Steve hurried to the med bay and Vision continued to Wanda’s bedroom.
He kicked her door open with his foot and brought her over to the bed. As he set her down atop the navy covers, lifting her up to slip another pillow under her head, Vision wondered if it might have been better to just take her straight to the infirmary, or better yet, the hospital. But Wanda was notoriously unpredictable when it came to waking up in unfamiliar environments and had taken out a wall the last time she had passed out and woken up in the infirmary. Her own space was better, for now. Vision brushed her hair off her sweating forehead and Wanda groaned softly, shivering in her feverish state and reaching for the bed covers.
“No, no,” Vision murmured pulling Wanda’s hands away as she attempted to pull her covers up over her. She might be feeling cold, but Vision estimated her temperature was nearing 39C. While he waited for Cap to return with the drip Vision hurried to and from the kitchen and her bedroom, carrying with him a bowl of water and a cloth. Distracted, he managed to spill about a quarter of it along the hallway. He was just laying the cloth gently atop her forehead when Steve arrived in the doorway, IV equipment in hand.
“How did she get this fever?” Vision asked as Steve set down the mobile frame and hung the bag of liquid from the top. It was rare for illness to travel around the compound when so many of them were unable to fall sick, though there were far more serious conditions that could cause fever.
“She got caught in the rain on Wednesday, must have caught a cold from that,” Steve replied connecting the tubing and handing the other end to Vision as he prepared the needle. “She didn’t tell you?”
“No, she didn’t tell me,” Vision murmured, stoutly ignoring the little part of him that disliked Steve knowing something about her that he didn’t. He instead focused on finishing the IV, taking a little bit of tape from the first aid kit to secure the tubing to Wanda’s bare arm.
It wasn’t really a surprise that he hadn’t known of her rainy run. In the last week Vision had barely seen Wanda, something he found absurd because he lived just down the hall from the room they were currently in. And, well, the rest of the team often described them as being ‘attached at the hip’. Unfortunately, it seemed Wanda was excellent at making herself scarce when Vision tried to be near her these days. She was clearly trying to set a boundary, which Vision would understandably accept, if only he could understand what it was for. There had been no big change between them that he could identify, if anything they’d been getting closer, but it was as though she’d decided she didn’t like spending time with him anymore.
“I should have told her to go easy with the exercise,” Steve said, more to himself than anything, but Vision silently agreed.
Vision sighed quietly and perched himself next to the unconscious Wanda, removing the cloth from her head and submerging it in the basin once more. “She needs to look after herself,” he murmured, “or at least let someone else help her.” Vision avoided meeting Steve’s eyes following this admission, knowing that behind thissomeone else meant himself.
He wrung the cloth out and returned it to her scorching skin, delicately wiping at her cheeks and neck. Though she seemed more peaceful now and her breathing more regular, he was still on edge. Hopefully the fluids would start to do their job and her temperature would come down, but if this continued through the night, he’d call a doctor.
“And are you alright?” Steve asked, he’d retreated to the wall and was leaning against it now with his arms folded. “You were fairly shaken up down there.”
“Yes,” Vision replied quietly, not wanting to speak too loudly lest they wake her up before her body was ready. “I don’t like seeing her like this.”
Steve hummed thoughtfully. “And everything is alright between you two, other than this? It’s like she runs out of the room whenever she sees you these days.”
“I do not know if everything is alright, I thought things were maybe changing between us, but then she began avoiding me,” Vision sighed, tucking Wanda’s hair back from her face. As he did so she stirred slightly, her head tilting into his touch. She mumbled something incoherent.
“She’s been through a lot. A connection like the one you two seem to have,” Steve cleared his throat, “uh this intimacy I suppose, could be scary and unfamiliar. I could be wrong, of course, I’m just speaking to what I’ve seen in the last few months.”
Vision didn’t reply and continued wiping at her forehead. He often spent more time watching than talking, he spoke when it was of value and only with Wanda did he find himself speaking freely. To have Steve identify this insight about their relationship made him realise that he wasn’t the only one monitoring the interpersonal connections of his teammates.
When he didn’t reply Steve pushed himself off the wall and headed for the door. “She’ll probably be hungry when she wakes up, and you know what they say about chicken soup and the flu. I’ll go to the store.”
“Good idea,” Vision said absentmindedly.
He sat with Wanda quietly for another half hour, replacing the basin of water once and continuing to cool her forehead down. At one point he had to stand to put the blinds down as the late afternoon sun started to hit the side of the compound and streamed through her windows, casting them in a golden light. Otherwise, he was simply content to sit by her side for the first time in a week without her scurrying out of the room or pretending like he wasn’t here.
He rested his chin on his hand and gazed at Wanda’s shelves and the growing collection of items she’d collected on their travels to personalise her room. A snow globe from Atlanta, a framed picture of the team from their first big mission together, a newspaper clipping, one of the few that spoke kindly of her.
“Was I wrong,” he murmured to the air, “to think we were becoming something more?”
“Vis?” Came Wanda’s quiet voice and Vision was surprised to feel her fingers brushing his knee. He turned to her to see she was blinking blearily up at him.
“You’re ok,” Vision assured her instinctively, moving closer to lift the cloth from her forehead. “How are you feeling?”
“Like crap,” she muttered thickly. “Can I have some water?”
“Just a moment.” Vision stood and sped out the room and to the kitchen where he hurriedly filled up a glass and was back at her side in seconds. She managed a soft smile when he reappeared, the first smile he’d seen in a week, which almost had him stumbling as he returned.
He offered his hand to steady her as she sat up a little and took the water from him. When she leant back once more, her eyes were on him darting about his face and he quickly schooled his expression to be free of the worry nagging his heart.
“Is there anything else you need?” Vision asked.
“No,” Wanda sighed sleepily, “just rest I think.”
“Would you like me to leave?” Vision nearly kicked himself for saying what he feared out loud, for providing such an easy opportunity to let her push him away again.
“No.”
“You don’t sound sure.”
In silent response Wanda turned her head away from him and bit her lip.
“You’re ill and tired, we shouldn’t have this conversation right now,” Vision said, aware of the fact that he was buying time for himself before she could give him the answer he feared.
“Please don’t be angry,” Wanda said and then so quietly, Vision thought he had imagined it, “it’s for the best.”
He’d been ready to stand and leave the room but at this took one of her hands in his, squeezing it in what he hoped she took as reassurance. “I am not angry at you, I could never be angry at you. I am worried.”
“But I’ve been avoiding you without explanation,” Wanda huffed raising her free hand to rub the sleep from her eyes.
“Well, I suppose there is that,” Vision relented, “but please know I would never be angry at you for wanting space, I admit I was hurt but if you could explain things to me, if there’s anything I’ve done that you haven’t liked—”
Wanda laughed, or it sounded like something close to a laugh, coarse and cynical more than anything. Vision stopped mid-sentence and looked down at his hands. Distantly, he registered the sound of the front door opening and closing – Steve was back just in time.
“I should go,” Vision said sadly, standing up to leave, “Steve will bring you some soup.”
“Wait no,” Wanda said sitting up and her hands flying out for him. “I wasn’t laughing at you, I swear.”
He could tell she wasn’t lying and slowly let her pull him back down to the bed. Wanda slowly leant against the pillows once more, this moment of exertion had evidently taken it out of her. She closed her eyes even as her hands remained tight on his arm. “The fact that you think you could ever do something I don’t like, is ironic, that’s why I laughed.”
“Ironic?” Vision asked.
Wanda sighed quietly and moved her hands from his arm to his hands, holding them tightly as though prepared to stop him from walking out again. “You want me to spell it out, huh?”
He said nothing.
“I owe you an explanation I suppose,” Wanda said and despite how peaky the sickness was making her look, her cheeks gained a little more colour as she spoke. “You’ve been too good to me, the best part of my days is when I’m with you, I pulled away to see if what I was feeling was real. I thought if I could go a little bit without you then maybe what I was feeling wasn’t that serious,” she jerked her chin to the IV stand next to her, “but my assumptions were correct.”
“So,” Vision began raising his eyes to meet her unwavering gaze, “what you’re saying is…”
“I’m falling for you and I’m scared about what that means for us,” she said and took a deep breath, “and of losing you.”
“You cannot lose me if you don’t have me,” Vision replied, “and perhaps youcan put aside your feelings. I, however, cannot.” It was true, if this week had taught him anything it was that he needed her in his life, by his side and if she let him, as something more.
Wanda’s eyes shone happily for a moment before she seemed to reign herself in. “I thought I could stop how I’m feeling,” she murmured, “I thought it was for the best, I thought I could protect myself.”
“We could protect each other.”
“Until one of us isn’t there,” Wanda said cynically, “I know this isn’t the kind of job we get to retire from.”
“Is that not more reason to pursue this, while we can?” Vision asked leaning closer.
Wanda didn’t have an answer to this, and Vision felt as though he had said enough for her to think about. He stood up, keeping a hold of her hands for as long as he could before he was forced to let go, stepping away.
“I will go and see if your soup is ready.”
Steve sat with Wanda while she ate the soup, her mind doing backflips over her conversation with Vision.
She wasn’t expecting Steve to be so forthright with his questioning, but he asked her as soon as she finished eating. “Have you fixed things between you and Vision?”
Wanda tried not to let her mouth hang open in surprise. “Not yet,” she muttered letting her spoon drop against the bowl and pushing it towards him.
“I’ve never seen him scared before today, you really gave him a fright.”
Wanda didn’t reply, letting the information sit with her even as the guilt began to fester.
“I don’t say that to make you feel bad,” Steve said, as though reading her mind, “I’m telling you so you know how much he cares about you. I mean he’s a synthezoid, Wanda, we used to worry he wouldn’t feel things and now the problem is him feeling too much? Do you not feel the same?”
Wanda stealthily avoided this question, she hadn’t even confessed the full extent of her emotions to Vis, she wasn’t about to let Steve in on her closely guarded heart just yet. No matter how much his counsel usually helped her. “I just feel this great wave of darkness waiting just beyond our horizon,” she said quietly, afraid to admit the brewing shadows she’d been feeling for months now. “Like something big is on the way, something we can’t stop.”
Steve’s brows furrowed at this, but he persisted. “Wanda, you of all people know how much your own mind can be your biggest enemy,” he said, “so is that really reason enough to ignore the light? Avoiding sad emotions doesn’t necessarily make us feel happy, so what makes you think running from happiness will stop you ever being sad?”
When she was still quiet, he pushed further. “You’ve had more darkness in your life than anyone should, but here’s an opportunity to add a bit of light to those shadows, are you really going to say no?”
She opened her mouth to answer but this time didn’t have the opportunity as Vision phased through the wall, pausing when he saw he’d caught the pair deep in conversation.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said quickly, but Cap was standing up, taking the empty soup bowl with him.
“It’s ok, I was just leaving.”
Vision pressed his hands together as he walked around her bed hesitantly, keeping his distance. “I wanted to check in on you before bed, are you feeling better?”
“Much better,” Wanda said, but she still felt a little feverish and like she might need to sleep for a week.
“I am glad to hear that,” he murmured, rubbing at the back of his neck, “if you need anything in the night I’m just down the hall.”
“Can’t you stay?” Wanda blurted out before she could lose her nerve again. “Please?”
“If that would help,” Vision replied, and Wanda swore he turned away to hide a smile. When he looked back at her she patted the bed, gesturing for him to join her.
He was careful not to jostle her as he laid down, and Wanda openly admired his grace even as he shyly avoided her gaze.
“I admit I probably wouldn’t have slept tonight; I’d just keep coming in to check your temperature,” Vision conceded as he lay his head against the pillow and Wanda turned to face him. Then, more hesitantly, “Please don’t push me away without warning again.”
“I promise,” she replied without hesitation. “Perhaps I wasn’t sick because of the rain, maybe it was more complicated, like my heart giving up a little when I stubbornly tried not to listen to it.”
Vision chuckled. “I think the rain definitely didn’t help, but your heart makes a good point.”
Wanda smiled tugging the pillow further under her head and placing a hand under her cheek. She scrunched her nose at Vision, unable to stop smiling and extended her hand in invitation. He accepted, bringing one of his own hands up and intertwining their fingers, kissing the back of her hand tenderly.
“And have you decided to listen to your heart?” He murmured, kissing her hand to punctuate the question.
“I have a very stubborn heart,” she relented, “I couldn’t ignore it even if I tried.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Vision said smiling at her and shuffling closer.
Wanda pushed back against his chest and Vision immediately halted. “Wait.”
“What’s wrong?”
“You’ll get sick.”
Vision laughed. “Wanda, dear, I am a synthezoid, you couldn’t pass your illness onto me even if you wanted to.”
Wanda tilted her chin up at the challenge. “Well in that case.” She pulled him close and pressed her mouth to his as she’d wanted to hundreds of times. As though in celebration, the lights flickered out and the door slammed shut, submerging them in darkness that had Wanda laughing in embarrassment at her magic’s overreaction. Now cast in shadow, the only light was the soft glow of the mind stone atop Vision’s head, and the faint gleam of his eyes in the night. She used them as guidance to kiss him again, and again, and again. Finding no reason to stop until she felt him smile against her mouth, pulling back a little so that their noses were still brushing and the breath between them was shared. She was done with running from this, not quite sure how they had ever been able to hold themselves back from each other.
#wandavision#scarletvision#Wandavision fanfiction#wanda maximoff#scarletwitch#wanda x vision#concerned vision is a sweetheart#wanda feels too much#and fears too much lol#visionsofusfics
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