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daydream-cement · 2 years ago

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First Kiss

College!Miranda Hilmarson x College!Reader

Synopsis: You had a habit of watching a DnD group meet in your dorm basement. Never did you expect to build a relationship with the beautiful blonde of the group. After weeks of getting to know one another, you share your first kiss.

Authors Note: Thank you so much to @bri-sonat and @alexusonfire (who are the best Gwen writers in my humble opinion) for reading over this story and helping me with my DnD accuracy as well as structuring issues!

The first semester at university was going as well as you expected. You had made enough friends to get you by in your classes, but currently you were enjoying the new sense of freedom that came with college. While most didn’t appreciate it, a favorite part of your day was having to cook in the large shared kitchen tucked away in the basement of your dormitory. The cooking itself wasn’t the best part. Instead it was the biweekly DnD game which met in the common area adjacent to the kitchen. There was no participation on your behalf. Simply, you watched through the interior window.

Particularly, you would watch the tall blonde who always wore a wide grin. She was the only woman in the group of five, and all of the others seemed to embrace her presence. They all called her ‘Andy’, but you were positive it was a nickname. Andy’s accent was hard to place, but you were sure she grew up somewhere in the United Kingdom.

In all the weeks you watched the group from the kitchen, Andy never seemed to catch you staring; well that was until you were dumping the water off your boiled noodles and you heard her booming laugh, causing your head to snap up to gaze at her. Not often did she laugh like that with the boys. You thought she was incredibly cute, perhaps a little serious for your taste. You had become so distracted by the beautiful girl the pot began slipping from your hand. Thoughtless instincts kicked in and you put your hand on the bottom of the pot, your brain registering the burning sensation immediately.

With a curse you drop the pot into the sink, earning a stare from all of the DnD players. Trying to stave off any undue attention, you duck your head low and run cold water over your hand, hoping they would just go back to their game. As you observe the reddening of your palm and fingertips, you hear an aussie voice over your shoulder, “Are you alright?”

You glance over your shoulder and see the blonde standing in the doorway to the kitchen. The sight of her made your heart stop. You shut off the water and turn around, holding your aching hand in the other. When you turn to gaze up at her, your mind went blank, “I-I-”

“Did you burn yourself? You should keep it under the cool water.” Andy began to smile as she approached you. The accent you heard her use must have been a part of the game. The closer she was, the more you realized how tall she really was. Once in reach, she grabbed your burnt hand by the wrist and pushed it back under the faucet, beginning to run the water once more.

With a wave of your other hand, you attempt to feign a lack of pain, “Oh, I’ll be alright...”

“Are you sure?” Andy’s hand turns your palm upright into the running water and her large thumb swept over the throbbing heel of your palm. Her eyes narrowed as she focused on the spot where the water hit your skin.

“Oh, yes. Go back to your game. I didn’t mean to interrupt...” Your cheeks felt as warm as your burning flesh. All of this was incredibly embarrassing and you would have preferred to meet under more flattering circumstances. Andy wasn’t all that convinced, but when you tugged your hand away from hers, she finally let go.

“No worries!” She only shrugged as she shifted away from you. Her eyes peered through the window out to where all the boys sat watching her. You didn’t see one of the boys flicking his hand at her to ‘go on’ and talk to you. Miranda leaned against the counter’s edge, continuing her conversation, “What’s your name again?”

“Oh, I’m Y/n... I live down the hall from you...” You pull the pot from the sink and set it back to the stove top. Typically, you never found yourself to be a shy person but the butterflies swirling around your stomach dampened the volume of your voice and made your hands shake.

“My name is Miranda. Miranda Hilmarson. I’m studying criminal justice... What are you studying?”

You paused and glanced up at her. That was unexpected. Andy was just a nickname from her friends and there was a little piece of you that hoped you could grow close enough to use it yourself.

You weren't complaining, but it was hard not to wonder why she had stopped to talk to you instead of returning to her friends. Her eyes were studying your face, and the interest she had in you put you at ease. You share your intended field of study and watch her eyes light up at the mention of it. Those blue eyes. You would love to look into them from a much closer proximity.

“Haven’t we been in class together? General world history? You sat a few rows behind me...” The way she beamed at you made you forget about the first degree burn. You wouldn’t have known how nervous she was to be talking to you if it wasn’t for the gentle shifting back and forth from one foot to the other.

You turn from your dinner, hoping you can put her nervous shifting at ease by teasing her, “I think I watched you fall asleep once or twice in that class..”

-------

You wove through the sea of college students, dodging bodies of those going too slow and those who trudged in the opposite direction. A hand on your shoulder slowed you of your rapid pace and a familiar voice made your head turn, “Y/n! Wait up!”

Miranda.

It had only been two weeks since she formally introduced herself and since then you made it a point to keep your dorm room door open in case Miranda were to wander past. Coincidentally, Miranda always seemed to drop in for a few minutes. Those few minutes built until she was hanging out for a few hours. From observation and Miranda’s passionate chatter, you learned she wasn’t as serious as you anticipated. Andy and her stoic behavior was all a part of her “wood-elf rogue” persona (or at least that’s what you ascertained from your discussions).

Last night, Miranda and you had been watching Star Trek reruns accompanied by a bag of chips. She may not have realized it, but her inherent nature of offering physical touch as she sat with you on the couch made your stomach swirl. Miranda had her head on your shoulder as she spoke wildly about her own personal theories regarding Q and his ridiculous antics. The feeling of her pressed into the side was more comforting than any weighted blanket.

Miranda, now walking with you through the science building, wound her arm through yours, her long strides shortening to match your pace, “I was thinking tonight we could watch Deep Space Nine. I have the episodes on DVD and I want to show you this episode where-”

“I’m not opposed, but I thought it was DnD night?” You cock your head in confusion. You didn’t have alternative plans and you would love to watch more Star Trek with your new friend, but her sudden change in schedule was odd.

“Oh... uhm... Eric canceled at the last minute and we can’t play without him...” Miranda wasn’t telling the whole truth, rather, she had been the one to cancel tonight's meeting in hopes of spending more time with you. The boys had been teasing her about whether or not she had asked you on a real date yet. Knowing she couldn’t lie if you asked the right questions, Miranda changed the subject, “Where’s your next class?”

“Bard Hall.”

“I’ll walk you there.” Miranda was done with her classes for the day and Bard was in the opposite direction from your dorm. She could care less. At this point, she would do anything just to spend a little more time with you.

-------

You kept glancing out of the corner of your eye at Miranda. The room had gone painfully silent, a stark difference to Miranda’s usual commentary throughout most of the episodes. Just as planned, you were watching Deep Space Nine, but the fifth episode of season four had created an absurd amount of tension between the two of you. Lenara and Jadzia were now kissing on the small tv screen before you.

You were acutely aware of Miranda’s proximity. Typically, Miranda was touching you in some manner, whether it was your arms pressed together, her feet tucked under your thigh, or her head on your shoulder. Now there was a foot gap between the two of you with your hand resting in the space inbetween.

Miranda’s back was ramrod straight, hands folded in her lap, and her knee was bouncing up and down, her eyes never leaving the screen. The two characters parted and Miranda’s eyes fell, her voice quiet, “Have you ever...?”

“Not with.. No.. I haven’t...” You were making assumptions about the rest of her question from the scene you had just watched. With a deep breath, you turn to look at her and you see her looking at you from the corner of her eye. The room is filled with the sound of the episode continuing on in the background, but neither of you were watching.

Miranda hesitated for a moment before turning herself to you. She gaped for words, but for the first time in your friendship, she seemed to be at a loss for them. You wondered how this conversation was carrying on so easily with neither of you speaking in full sentences. Miranda brought her knee up onto her bed, positioning her body to face you. She leaned towards you, pausing every inch which made you wonder if she was nervous about your reaction or if she was unsure if she wanted to go through with the kiss.

“Would you like to?” Miranda’s voice was almost inaudible. Her eyes were wide, begging you to say yes. You were so anxious, you felt as though you were about to be sick. If you weren’t so smitten and inexperienced, perhaps you would have jumped into her arms and kissed her silly. You lick your lips and position your body towards her, nodding as you stare down at your bedsheets.

You had been thinking of kissing her since Miranda fell asleep in your lap Saturday night. She looked so at peace and she had been teasing you about how the boys in her DnD group all found you to be quite attractive. They were all jealous she had been able to develop such a close friendship with you. Two of the boys even asked Miranda to give you their numbers to which you politely declined. Eric and Theo had actually helped Miranda fashion this ruse as an attempt to see if you would be interested in the attention of a guy. While Miranda didn’t particularly trust her guy friends for the best girl advice, the way you gazed down at her while you rejected their advances made her heart soar.

But you hadn’t kissed her that night, and now your heart was aching from the anxiety and want building in your chest. You lean forward, staring at her lips. At the end of the way, you weren't sure what exactly you should do, but you assumed you had seen enough movies and tv to make an educated guess.

Both of you held your breath as you moved within mere centimeters of one another. There was so much hesitation on both of your parts. You would lean in a little, feeling her breath across your lips, but she would pull away. When she would move in more, your lips would brush before you yourself pulled away. This tango of doubt grew tiresome when her lips brushed yours for the third time.

You thrust forward and plant your lips against hers firmly, ending the teasing altogether. There was an ache between your legs, much more intense than anything you had experienced in the past. Her lips were soft, exactly as you imagined. You could taste a hint of strawberry chapstick and toothpaste. Had she planned for this and came prepared?

After a few seconds you pull away, opening your eyes to gaze into hers. The kiss left you hungry for more. Her mouth was open slightly, her tongue sweeping across her bottom lip to savor the last taste of you. Miranda’s gaze fell and her face began to turn bright red, “Y/n, I’m sorry...”

“Please don’t be...” You put a hand to her cheek, ushering her face to look back up at you. All you wanted was to feel her lips pressed to yours once more, “Mir... Kiss me again?”

She didn’t need to be asked twice. Her lips were back on yours as soon as the last syllable left your lips. You couldn’t resist parting your lips, swiping a tongue across her bottom lip. Miranda responded by opening her mouth and deepening the kiss. You had given into your instincts when you shifted on the bed, moving to rest on your knees. She adored how you towered over her now.

Her hands initially rested on your hips, but as the kissing progressed, her arm encircled your waist to pull you flush against her. You wondered how much practice Miranda had at his as you found her to know exactly when to tilt her head one way or use her tongue.

-----

It was quarter to midnight when you heard your roommate jingling her keys outside the dormroom. Typically she stayed with her boyfriend, but occasionally she would come back for fresh clothes or a different textbook. Miranda and you separated quickly, straightening your clothes and wiping your mouths. The DVD was replaying on the homescreen and had been for nearly an half hour, but you hadn’t turned the tv off as your hands were full due to you fondling Miranda over her shirt. You did the math quickly in your head. Two forty minute episodes and an additional half hour had passed. You didn’t feel the passage of time, but the disheveled look of both you and Miranda gave away how you had been enthralled with one another.

When your roommate entered, she greeted you warmly, but only seemed to be popping by for fresh clothes. As your roommate packed in silence, Miranda glanced at you, her lips attempting to hide a smirk. Her smile made you giggle, drawing your roommate’s attention to your bed, “What have you guys been up to? I can’t believe you’re still awake.”

“We were watching Star Trek... Nothing crazy.”

“Well, don’t stay up too late having too much fun. Tomorrow is only Wednesday.” Your roommate pulled food from her shelf in the minifridge. You could have been mistaken, but she seemed to have given Miranda a knowing smile and a wink, “Either way. Want me to turn off the lights when I leave?”

You glance at Miranda, watching her bite her tongue and her eyes glancing down to your lips. After the initial kiss, there was a weight lifted from the two of you, allowing you both to become far more comfortable in the other's presence. During your make-out, Miranda had been teasing you with her hands pushing up your shirt, her hands grazing every inch of exposed skin as she went. You wanted her back under your touch as soon as your roommate left, “Yes, please.”

“Goodnight! See you tomorrow for class!” Your roommate tossed her overnight bag over her shoulder and flicked off the lights. There was a very good chance that your roommate would be questioning you about this tomorrow.

“See ya’!” Once the door was shut and you heard the lock turn over, Miranda was back on you once more. Her lips made contact with your collarbone and she pulled you back down atop of her. A soft sigh escaped your lips before you were able to get your question out, “Want to spend the night?”

#miranda hilmarson x reader #miranda hilmarson #top of the lake #gwendoline christie #fanfic #oneshot #gwen christie #college au

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burningvelvet · 1 year ago

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Some of Mary Shelley’s journal entries from late July 1816 when she, Percy, and Claire toured the Valley of Chamounix and visited the Mer de Glace (Montanvert). The scenery inspired Frankenstein and Percy Shelley’s poem Mont Blanc:

“Tuesday, July 23 (Chamounix). — In the morning, after breakfast, we mount our mules to see the source of the Arveiron. When we had gone about three parts of the way, we descended and continued our route on foot, over loose stones, many of which were an enormous size. We came to the source, which lies (like a stage) surrounded on the three sides by mountains and glaciers. We sat on a rock, which formed the fourth, gazing on the scene before us. An immense glacier was on our left, which continually rolled stones to its[Pg 145] foot. It is very dangerous to be directly under this. Our guide told us a story of two Hollanders who went, without any guide, into a cavern of the glacier, and fired a pistol there, which drew down a large piece on them. We see several avalanches, some very small, others of great magnitude, which roared and smoked, overwhelming everything as it passed along, and precipitating great pieces of ice into the valley below. This glacier is increasing every day a foot, closing up the valley. We drink some water of the Arveiron and return. After dinner think it will rain, and Shelley goes alone to the glacier of Boison. I stay at home. Read several tales of Voltaire. In the evening I copy Shelley’s letter to Peacock.”

“Wednesday, July 24. — To-day is rainy; therefore we cannot go to Col de Balme. About 10 the weather appears clearing up. Shelley and I begin our journey to Montanvert. Nothing can be more desolate than the ascent of this mountain; the trees in many places having been torn away by avalanches, and some half leaning over others, intermingled with stones, present the appearance of vast and dreadful desolation. It began to rain almost as soon as we left our inn. When we had mounted considerably we turned to look on the scene. A dense white mist covered the vale, and tops of scattered pines peeping above were the only objects that presented themselves. The rain continued in torrents. We were wetted to the skin; so that, when we had ascended halfway, we resolved to turn back. As we descended, Shelley went before, and, tripping up, fell upon his knee. This added to the weakness occasioned by a blow on his ascent; he fainted, and was for some minutes incapacitated from continuing his route.

We arrived wet to the skin. I read Nouvelles Nouvelles, and write my story. Shelley writes part of letter.”

Excerpts from Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein:

“At length I arrived at the village of Chamounix. Exhaustion succeeded to the extreme fatigue both of body and of mind which I had endured. For a short space of time I remained at the window watching the pallid lightnings that played above Mont Blanc and listening to the rushing of the Arve, which pursued its noisy way beneath. The same lulling sounds acted as a lullaby to my too keen sensations; when I placed my head upon my pillow, sleep crept over me; I felt it as it came and blessed the giver of oblivion.”

“These sublime and magnificent scenes afforded me the greatest consolation that I was capable of receiving. They elevated me from all littleness of feeling, and although they did not remove my grief, they subdued and tranquillised it. In some degree, also, they diverted my mind from the thoughts over which it had brooded for the last month. I retired to rest at night; my slumbers, as it were, waited on and ministered to by the assemblance of grand shapes which I had contemplated during the day. They congregated round me; the unstained snowy mountain-top, the glittering pinnacle, the pine woods, and ragged bare ravine, the eagle, soaring amidst the clouds—they all gathered round me and bade me be at peace.”

“Where had they fled when the next morning I awoke? All of soul-inspiriting fled with sleep, and dark melancholy clouded every thought. The rain was pouring in torrents, and thick mists hid the summits of the mountains, so that I even saw not the faces of those mighty friends. Still I would penetrate their misty veil and seek them in their cloudy retreats. What were rain and storm to me? My mule was brought to the door, and I resolved to ascend to the summit of Montanvert. I remembered the effect that the view of the tremendous and ever-moving glacier had produced upon my mind when I first saw it. It had then filled me with a sublime ecstasy that gave wings to the soul and allowed it to soar from the obscure world to light and joy. The sight of the awful and majestic in nature had indeed always the effect of solemnising my mind and causing me to forget the passing cares of life. I determined to go without a guide, for I was well acquainted with the path, and the presence of another would destroy the solitary grandeur of the scene.”

Mary used some of Percy’s poetry in Frankenstein. Here’s an excerpt from one of Percy Shelley’s most famous poems, Mont Blanc: Lines Written in the Vale of Chamouni:

“Some say that gleams of a remoter world

Visit the soul in sleep, that death is slumber,

And that its shapes the busy thoughts outnumber

Of those who wake and live.—I look on high;

Has some unknown omnipotence unfurl'd

The veil of life and death? or do I lie

In dream, and does the mightier world of sleep

Spread far around and inaccessibly

Its circles? For the very spirit fails,

Driven like a homeless cloud from steep to steep

That vanishes among the viewless gales!

Far, far above, piercing the infinite sky,

Mont Blanc appears—still, snowy, and serene;

Its subject mountains their unearthly forms

Pile around it, ice and rock; broad vales between

Of frozen floods, unfathomable deeps,

Blue as the overhanging heaven, that spread

And wind among the accumulated steeps;

A desert peopled by the storms alone,

Save when the eagle brings some hunter's bone,

And the wolf tracks her there—how hideously

Its shapes are heap'd around! rude, bare, and high,

Ghastly, and scarr'd, and riven.—Is this the scene

Where the old Earthquake-daemon taught her young

Ruin? Were these their toys? or did a sea

Of fire envelop once this silent snow?

None can reply—all seems eternal now.

The wilderness has a mysterious tongue

Which teaches awful doubt, or faith so mild,

So solemn, so serene, that man may be,

But for such faith, with Nature reconcil'd;

Thou hast a voice, great Mountain, to repeal

Large codes of fraud and woe; not understood

By all, but which the wise, and great, and good

Interpret, or make felt, or deeply feel.”

Excerpt of a letter from Percy Shelley to his friend Thomas Love Peacock, July 25th:

“We have returned from visiting the glacier of Montanvert, or as it is called the Sea of Ice, a scene in truth of dizzying wonder. The path that winds to it along the side of a mountain, now clothed with pines, now intersected with snowy hollows, is wide and steep. The cabin of Montanvert is three leagues from Chamouni, half of which distance is performed on mules, not so sure-footed but that on the first day the one which I rode fell in what the guides call a mauvais pas, so that I narrowly escaped being precipitated down the mountain. We passed over a hollow covered with snow, down which vast stones are accustomed to roll. One had fallen the preceding day, a little time after we had returned: our guides desired us to pass quickly, for it is said that sometimes the least sound will accelerate their descent. We arrived at Montanvert, however, safe.

On all sides precipitous mountains, the abodes of unrelenting frost, surround this vale: their sides are banked up with ice and snow, broken, heaped high, and exhibiting terrific chasms. The summits are sharp and naked pin-nacles, whose overhanging steepness will not even permit snow to rest upon them. Lines of dazzling ice occupy here and there their perpendicular rifts, and shine through the driving vapours with inexpressible brilliance: they pierce the clouds like things not belonging to this earth.

The vale itself is filled with a mass of undulating ice, and has an ascent sufficiently gradual even to the remotest abysses of these horrible deserts. It is only half a league (about two miles) in breadth, and seems much less. It exhibits an appearance as if frost had suddenly bound up the waves and whirlpools of a mighty torrent. We walked some distance upon its surface. The waves are elevated about twelve or fifteen feet from the surface of the mass, which is intersected by long gaps of unfathomable depth, the ice of whose sides is more beautifully azure than the sky. In these regions everything changes, and is in motion.

This vast mass of ice has one general progress, which ceases neither day nor night; it breaks and bursts for ever: some undulations sink while others rise; it is never the same. The echo of rocks, or of the ice and snow which fall from their overhanging precipices, or roll from their aerial summits, scarcely ceases for one moment. One would think that Mont Blanc, like the god of the Stoics, was a vast animal, and that the frozen blood for ever circulated through his stony veins.

We dined (M[ary], C[lare], and I) on the grass, in the open air, surrounded by this scene. The air is piercing and clear. We returned down the mountain sometimes encompassed by the driving vapours, sometimes cheered by the sunbeams, and arrived at our inn by seven o'clock.”

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