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screpdoodle · 3 years ago

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Duality - Chapter Two (The Idiosyncrasies Caused by the Troll Agenda)

"Settle down, settle down!" The com system of the ship crackled to life, a heavy Irish accent coming through, rising Kaos from his rest. "We'll be nearing the school in under an hour! Get ye stuff together and be ready to disembark!" None of the kids seemed to notice, or at least register they had heard the announcement. They were too involved with their own petty little lives. Kaos sighed, putting his backpack back on and getting to his feet. The ship wasn't descending quite yet, but he could see a few other islands and vessels speckling the sky. Oh, how he yearned to know their stories, the mysteries each and every one held. He leaned against the railing, resting his head in his hands, watching the sights slowly flow past. The sky was now an unfamiliar powdery blue, as opposed to the faint reds he was used to back home. Both were intriguing in their own rights, of course, but he had yet to grow used to the blue that the rest of Skylands apparently held as a usual sight. Kaos sighed, reaching his hand out, feeling the wind flowing over his fingertips. The cool fall breeze, carrying with it the magic that made Skylands what it is. If he focused, he could almost feel it, the pure energy. Or maybe that was just him losing circulation to his extended digits. Kaos chuckled to himself, pulling his hand back, the sensation of his fingers falling asleep setting in. It had most definitely been the latter. Kaos slipped his hands into his pockets, took a step away from his corner, and froze.

BANG!

There it was again. The engine misfiring. But this time, Kaos swore the sound was coming from directly below him. He knelt down, placing his hand on the boards of the deck, raising an eyebrow. He could feel the vibrations of people's footsteps, their voices all swarming together into a mess of gibberish he couldn't make out, until he heard it again, cutting through the slurry of noise. BANG!! This time, other people seemed to hear it too, judging by how they began looking around, but like before they seemed to brush it off. Just assuming the old ship was just doing its usual old ship thing. But this, Kaos knew, this was far from its usual. The old barge may have been made from shoddy craftsmanship, but this didn't just seem like its usual nonsense. This was something foreign. This was something… new. The talking had grown quieter, or maybe he had just become more focused, but whichever it may had been, Kaos needed to know what was happening. He looked around quickly, making his way to the staircase that lead down below deck. He pushed the door open, blatantly ignoring the "Staff Only" sign taped to its rusted surface, before he darted down the stairs. He took two at a time, his heart racing, feet barely touching the ground as he scrambled around the corner and into the room below deck. He pushed the door open, then skidded to a complete stop.

"PUT YOUR BACKS INTO IT BOYS!" BANG! Kaos held onto the door frame as the ship lurched to the side, a tree trunk sized battering ram getting lodged in the hull of the ship. The three creatures that were holding onto it wrenching the battering ram out of the dent they had made, readying for another strike. Kaos recognized them almost immediately, from their stout figures to their green skin. Kaos has read about them many times, but had never seen one in person. Let alone a whole group of them. Trolls. Five trolls, to be exact. Three of them were the typical image you'd see, stout bodies and long, muscular limbs, their caricature-esque faces twisted into grimaces as they wound up for another hit before ultimately dropping the battering ram, the noise it caused just as earsplitting. The fourth was bigger, about the size of the other three if they were mashed all together into one massive mega-troll. A long nose took up most of his face, paired with beady eyes (hidden within a mop of ginger hair) and a wide, snarling mouth. His floppy ears hung at the sides of its head, framing the monstrous mess perfectly. But the one that caught Kaos' attention the most was the fifth troll. Kaos knew quite a bit about trolls. He knew that their idea of fun was shoving lit dynamite down each other's pants. Their day job was oppressing smaller Mabu towns, and their favorite pastime was making faux paintings and ancient relics that would normally explode before you even got home with them. All of this added up with the first four, but the fifth troll seemed far from what Kaos understood trolls to act like. He sat off to the side on one of the crates, his face hidden in his green hands. He was a gangly thing, with slender limbs and a mess of curly, ginger hair sprouting from his head. His clothes were a lot neater than the others, actually looking like they had been washed within the last week. Nothing added up about him.

"Come on you idiots!! Get off your lazy butts and get back to work!!" The fourth troll snarled, flecks of yellowish spit flying from his mouth. His voice was sour enough to curdle milk.

The other trolls hoisted the battering ram up once again, then charged at the hull, lodging it into the same dent once again. Kaos stumbled back, nearly falling flat on his back. The ship may have been rickety, but that battering ram wasn't going to get through any time soon. Especially on the section they were working at. Before the thought crossed his mind that announcing himself was probably a bad idea, Kaos cleared his throat.

"By the Ancients, what do you think you're doing??" His shrill voice cut through the air, drawing the attention of the trolls all at once. Even the one in the corner. The main four exchanged glances, then dropped the battering ram onto the uneven flooring. "I've heard trolls are dull, but honestly. Did you really think that twig was gonna buckle the hull? You'd need something at least twice as dense. Or maybe even something less primitive. Like a flamethrower."

The trolls exchanged glances, before the biggest troll pushed past the others, towering over Kaos. Kaos did his best to maintain his cool composure, crossing his arms across his puffed-out chest. Too late to back out now. He needed to think of an actual plan, quickly.

"Well well well," the main troll snarled, crouching down. "What do we have here?"

"A human that seems to know more about demolition than you do." Kaos spoke back.

The troll's amused grin twisted itself into a frown, his yellowed teeth showing through his parted lips. "A human."

Kaos felt his breath catch in his throat as a large, meaty hand grabbed him by the collar of his coat, lifting him up off of the ground.

"A puny thing like you. Is a human," the troll scoffed. From where he was holding him, Kaos could smell his pungent breath. It reeked of rattail stew and week old sheep wool pie.

"N-Not just a mere human!" Kaos squirmed in the troll's grasp, his mind running a thousand miles a minute. "I, Kaos, am a Portal Master!!"

That grabbed their attention. Kaos could see the gears in the biggest troll's head grinding, his beady yellow eyes peering out from beneath his untamed mop. Despite dangling in the air, and being not even half of the troll's size, Kaos tried his best to look imposing. Trolls were supposed to be dumb, their intellect only comparable to things like Greebles or the common Chompy. So of course they'd buy such a clear fib, right? Kaos wasn't a Portal Master. He was the farthest thing from one. Even if they weren't simply a myth parents told their kids so they would behave, Mother being one of them, Kaos was far from magical. He was intellectual, not mythical. But hopefully these trolls were dense enough to believe the tales. And that he was one of them. As the seconds ticked past, Kaos began growing more and more proud of this fib he had concocted, seeing as it had seemed to stop the trolls in their tracks as they worked their brains around it. That feeling was quickly snuffed, though, as the main troll burst into laughter, the other three following suit.

"Oh my Ancients, this twerp is hilarious!!" He cackled, tossing Kaos to the ground, at the feet of the others.

"Listen, 'Kaos'." He knelt down, coming face to face with him. Kaos had to do his best not to hurl at the stench of the troll's breath. "You're funny, mini-human. But that's quickly getting on my nerves. So why don't you get out of our way and bear witness to the greatest family of trolls to ever grace the Umbra Isles!"

"The 'greatest family of trolls' uses a battering ram to try to sink a reinforced school ship?" Kaos raised an eyebrow, sneering. He couldn't help himself. He knew he was actively digging his own grave, but he just didn't know when to stop.

The troll paused, then looked to the three behind Kaos. "...Ascral, you told me this was a cargo transport ship!!" He stepped over Kaos, the troll's bare foot nearly colliding with Kaos' skull.

"I-It is!!" One of the three, Ascral, stammered, putting his hands up in defense. "It- It transports people!"

"People aren't cargo!! We were supposed to sink the ship and take the cargo back as proof!! We can't bring back a boatload of kids!!"

Kaos rolled his eyes, ignoring the fact that his hands were shaking as he started crawling back towards the staircase. If he could get out while they were bickering amongst each other, hopefully the ship would dock and he would be able to get away scott-free. For a split second, Kaos looked over to the troll in the corner. He had looked up, his warm grey eyes meeting Kaos' for only a moment. Kaos felt his heart skip a beat, then stop altogether when he heard one of the other trolls shout: "Thropp!! The human's getting away!!"

Kaos screamed as he was wrenched up off of the ground, a sweaty hand clamping down over his mouth.

"And where do you think you're going, maggot," Thropp spat, eyeing Kaos through his shaggy hair. "We're not letting you get away that easily."

Kaos kicked his legs trying to writhe out of the goliath troll's grasp. In a panic, he sunk his teeth into Thropp's hand, ignoring the putrid taste of sweat and blood that filled his mouth. Thropp reeled back, squealing like a little girl as he dropped Kaos to the ground. He stumbled back, tripping over the other trolls in the process. Kaos spit out a mouthful of olive green blood, then broke into a mad dash for the door.

"Glumshanks!! Stop the human!!" He heard Thropp shout, looking back over his shoulder. The gangly troll had gotten up off of his crate, glancing from Kaos to the other trolls in a panic before a loud CLANG filled the room and Kaos fell back, his head hitting the metal flooring. The room spun, his ears ringing. He looked up to see the doorframe he had collided with, his vision soon filled with the silhouette of the goliath troll he had been trying to get away from. The last thing he heard was Thropp's slimy voice cutting through the ringing in his head.

"Zhoarc, Haldir, Ascral! Grab the rope. We have to make sure this maggot doesn't get in our way again."

The troll, who Kaos had deduced to be Glumshanks, was supposed to be keeping a close eye on him; despite the fact that he was practically hogtied, trapped in the corner between the wall and a stack of crates. Kaos had only been out cold for a few minutes, he assumed, though thinking with a splitting headache was growing to be quite cumbersome so he couldn't tell for certain. He had tried explaining to the trolls that he wouldn't have gone squealing to the adults, that just wasn't how he worked, but they clearly didn't trust him. Which was fair. Kaos squirmed against the shaggy rope that was wrapped around his limbs, muttering to himself. He could hear the other trolls bickering, but he couldn't make out the words. Not that it would have helped him. He needed to think of a plan, some way he could get out of this situation, but his mind kept drawing blanks. For once in his life, Kaos felt stuck. That was, until he noticed Glumshanks.

The lanky troll was back on his crate, chin resting in his hands, watching the other trolls as they finally decided to get back to work. His grey eyes were full of longing, his mouth bent into a small frown. He looked complacent. He looked… useful. Kaos shifted his way over to the troll best he could, using his shoulder to nudge the troll's leg. Glumshanks jumped slightly, then looked down, as if just remembering Kaos was there.

"Oh… hello," he sighed. He had a low, melancholy voice. "If you want me to move, I don't think I'm allowed. But believe me, I'd love to as much as the next-"

"No, fool!" Kaos interrupted, his voice barely above a whisper, "I want you to untie me. But make sure that ugly oaf over there doesn't see you, or we're both in a boatload of trouble."

Glumshanks blinked slowly, then looked away. Kaos looked incredulously up at him, frustration bubbling up in the back of his throat.

"Did you not hear me-"

"I heard you," Glumshanks glanced back down. "But for one, I don't appreciate that tone of voice. Two, that 'ugly oaf' is my brother. Three, I don't feel like risking my well-being for a human I just met."

"...that's your brother," Kaos raised an eyebrow.

"Did you not hear him shouting about the 'greatest family of trolls in the umbra isles'? That includes me. The runt of the litter."

Glumshanks gave a drawn out sigh, looking away again. Kaos furrowed his brow, lingering on the last part of the sentence. Runt of the litter. While Glumshanks was nowhere close to being a 'runt', Kaos understood what he meant. Compared to the others, Glumshanks definitely looked weaker. Nothing about his demeanor screamed 'troll' (aside from the obvious physical attributes) whereas the others, well, you'd know from a mile away what they were. Kaos sighed, then nudged Glumshanks' leg once more.

"Hey, I'm, uh…" He faltered, trying to hide the small twinge of guilt he actually felt. "I'm sorry, mkay? I didn't mean to call your brother ugly-"

"He is."

"...what."

"He's definitely hard on the eyes, you weren't wrong. But go on."

Kaos exhaled through his nose, now even more confused than before. "If you agree with me, why in Skylands did you get all uppity??"

"It's the principle of the-" Glumshanks flinched as the sound of wood splintering against metal filled the room, "of the situation."

"Okay, well, whatever," Kaos' eyes trailed back over to the other trolls, watching as Thropp slammed his foot against the ground and the three others charged at the hull. "...why aren't you helping them?"

"I'd slow them down. Besides, it's not really my scene. They handle the action, I handle the paperwork."

"If they do succeed," Kaos carried on, as much as the concept of a troll doing paperwork intrigued him, "how're you all going to get away? If you manage to sink the ship, well, I don't see any other vessel you can use to get away on."

Glumshanks was silent, his ears twitching as the battering ram made contact with the wall once more. "...they didn't think that far ahead. All that matters is we get an A on the project."

"Did you? Think ahead, I mean."

The troll looked over, the two locking eyes once again. Kaos understood what it was like, to be the odd one out. Of course, he wouldn't admit it, but maybe he could use that to his advantage.

"Listen, troll-"

"Glumshanks."

"Yes, right, whatever. If you help untie me, I can help you with this little… situation."

"...how?"

"Untie me, then we can discuss details."

"...fine. But only because I'm tired of being here."

Kaos could have sworn he noticed the corners of the troll's mouth twitch into a smile, his gaze softening, but it was gone quickly. The gangly troll looked back to his brothers, then slid off of the crate, coming to crouch beside Kaos. He felt Glumshanks tug on the ropes, then begin going to work. Before long, the ropes slid to the ground with a dull thud, leaving Kaos to readjust and reassess. He rubbed his wrists where the ropes had cut into them, then looked back to Glumshanks. He could run. Glumshanks clearly wasn't strong enough to stop him if he did, and the other trolls were too busy with their idiotic plan to notice him. He could leave and just continue on with his life like nothing had happened. But as Kaos moved to stand up, something stopped him. Whether it was the look on Glumshanks' face, or the fact that this troll was an anomaly Kaos desperately wanted to know more about, or maybe even the fact that he related to him on some microscopic level. Kaos shifted around to face Glumshanks, managing a smile.

"Alright, troll. Let's get this show on the road."

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your-highnessmarvel · 7 years ago

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California ~part two

Summary: She had always wanted a future of power and fulfillment. She’d always imagined she would be a woman of conviction, a woman to choose how her life would lay ahead of her. Yet sometimes, things are arranged for you, and there is nothing to be done but to go gentle into the night.

A/N: Sorry this is late. I am currently handling the roughest cold I’ve ever had. I hope you enjoy this bit. Establishing more characterization and plot foreshadowing. Feedback is always appreciated! I promise there will be more smut and nasty things to come.

Parings: Loki x OC, mentions of Thor x Sif

Word count: 3643

Warnings: language (LATER IN THIS STORY, IT WILL BECOME DUBCON/NONCON. If it is not your thing, I will label those chapters accordingly and you can skip them)

TAG LIST IS OPEN

There was no point in arguing; she would be married off to Prince Loki of Asgard. No matter how many times she yelled at the top of her lungs, crying out in shame and anger, her parents shut her out like a switch. Cali felt betrayed to the point of no return. Her own parents had signed a contract marriage without her consent; without ever consulting her. It was as if she was too clueless and naïve to understand the cogs and machinery behind an arranged marriage. They were treating her like a child, like a stupid girl.

Tonight had been reserved for dinner with the royal family and yours. It was a façade for the under works of the machine again. It was a mocking picture; Cali and Loki sharing a fancy dinner that is supposed to be their first official royal appearance together. Yet underneath all those white-toothed smiles and waving, there are contracts being signed and conditions being met and discussed.

Handmaidens had brought in a dark green silky gown that reached way beyond Cali’s ankles. Meddled into the green were grey undertones, making the gown look like a tormented sea of emerald and smoke. The brunette let out a disgusted grunt when she noticed how the cleavage left way less to the imagination than it should. Her wavy locks tumbled over her shoulders, framing a pale face and a saddened smile. Her eyes bore the deception she felt, veins red with exhaustion, her lazy orbs proof of her sleepless nights.

“Almost ready, Cali?” Rona, her mother, appeared behind Cali in the reflection in the mirror. There they were, mother and daughter, standing one behind the other. The mother with the expecting and glorifying smile, wishing that her daughter would just see that everything she’d ever done was in her baby girl’s interest. Yet Cali wore an angry turn on her brows and a sad twist on her lip.

Cali rose a brow and grasped her clutch bag, turning to face her mother with a sigh. “Sure,” she huffed. “I’m ready to live a life that’s not mine.”

“I know this isn’t completely what you wanted,” Rona muttered, her eyes vicious, yet she was holding back venom in her words. “But you agreed to-“

“I only agreed to this horrible wedding arrangement because you forced me to,” Cali interrupted, pointing at her mother accusingly. Then the brunette brushed by her mother, angry footfalls echoing in the hall as she made her way down the stairs and out into the chilly air.

Her father was waiting by the door of the chariot, holding it open with a bashful smile. Cali strode down the stairs, hating the fake and unresentful smile on her father’s face. “You look…” he trailed off, looking at his daughter with a sour look on his darkened features.

“Ridiculous?” Cali suggested as she came to the final step. “Outrageous? Maybe you’re going to want to try slutty?” Cali climbed into the chariot, giving a hard and snarky look to her father.

“Don’t be like this, Cali,” he muttered, climbing in beside his daughter. Soon after, the chariot rocked with the weight of Rona climbing in as well, making her feelings acutely felt by sighing heavily with each bump.

The horse pulled through the town, carrying one jolly unhappy family.

The castle had been arranged to appear welcoming and warm, but as the trio climbed out of the chariot, Cali got a wrong feeling within her tummy. There were chandeliers seen from outside and handmaidens waiting to take her into the jaws of the castle. Glittering lights danced off the echoing colors of Cali’s dress, making the waves of crashing grey seem darker. The main hall was illuminated and cozy, everyone who was curious enough to gather around was smiling at Cali, pointing at the future princess.

“Welcome friends!” Thor boomed as he entered the hall, arms outstretched and a goofy, playful grin on his lips. “Cali, darling, always a pleasure.” He gave the brunette a sloppy curtsey that made her chuckle slightly.

“Thor,” Rona purred. “How lovely of you to greet us.” Cali could feel the bile rising in her throat at the tone her mother was using.

“Please, follow me into the dinning hall,” Thor announced, gesturing elegantly towards the end of the main hall. Ragnar and Rona were quick to take the lead, leaving Cali to walk behind with Thor on her heels.

“My lady,” the latter whispered. “My lady, please, a word?” His hand wrapped around the brunette’s arm, pulling her to a stop.

“Is there a problem?” she asked bitterly. The events of the past days and the emotions she had been feeling were making her pungent.

Thor leaned in slightly, so he could lower his tone, leaving Cali’s parents in the dark of what was being exchanged. “My brother is in a foul state tonight,” he whispered. “I would advise you be careful of the words you use around him.”

Although Cali was not one to normally search or entice conflict, the mere idea of irking Loki made the insides of her stomach squirm. “Thank you, Thor, you are kind,” she said, her tone laced with venom, “but I think I can handle myself around angry little boys.” Dramatically, the girl gathered her gown in her right hand and stomped off after her parents.

The dinning hall was illuminated by chandeliers, glittering utensils and cutlery, and the glinting jewelry of everyone gathered. The marble floor reflected the glistening lights, leading to the long table hoisted on an altar at the far end of the hall. The white clothed table was garnished with many plates and wine glasses, yet only Odin and Frigga sat at the table, admiring the little crowd of people amassed.

There came a breathy voice at Cali’s side just as she was spotting her parents greeting the royal couple. “Well you look dashing.” Cali’s skin crawled, goosebumps rising on her flesh in the wake of the husky tone. Her eyes darted to the tall man looming by her side, snuffed out in the shadows, leaning against the wall. A look of mischief and tension bore in his emerald orbs. His lips were pulled in a cunning smile, making his features look almost cruel. Dark locks were swept behind his ears, exposing his pearly white flesh and his long neck.

“Loki,” she greeted, raising her chin, remaining as cold as she could possibly be. He was wearing a dark crimson suit that, in the right light, looked almost black.

His hand extended, gentle fingers twitching. “Shall we?” She knew this is what they had to do, not what they wanted to do. They were expected to stroll through the crowd and smile sweetly, showing off the upcoming allegiance. Cali would have to show herself off both physically and intellectually, while Loki would have to show appreciation and affection; as if he was capable of both anyway.

And that is exactly what they did.

With his hand in hers, the heat of his body radiating into hers, she presented herself to the court with a genuine full-tooth smile and squared shoulders.

She could feel the tension in her partner’s hand. He was gripping her digits painfully, squeezing until her knuckles felt like they were cracking under the skin. Delicacy was not his forte, yet he was making it apparent that she should not and would not disobey or ruin the royal image.

Loki was a man cloaked in darkness. He’d let his demons permanently reside within his soul; giving them an all access pass to his decisions. His eyes held an insidious undertone, as if his entire being was caught between right and wrong, darkness and light, love and hate.

Loki carried her across the room, the heavy stares of her soon-to-be people burdensome on the pair.

He sat her between her mother and himself, squeezing her among two people she held animus feelings for. Green orbs reeked of cruel pleasure; the kind that you get after you’ve made someone suffer.

Cali’s mouth was thick with venomous words as she watched servants lay the appetizers before her. Onion soup and bite-sized snail snacks. The tips of her fingers itched to hit Loki or her mother or even the King for having so little reconnaissance for her feelings.

“You look like you just swallowed a hundred knives, my lady.” His mouth was next to her, lips grazing the shell of her ear. An unpleasant shiver sliced down her spine, an undesirable warmth spreading down her body.

“And you look like it is your name day,” she gritted between clenched teeth. When she turned her hazel gaze upon his pale face, the God was smiling devilishly, looking at her from under his long lashes. She was surprised by how unintimate his lack of preservation was. He was making no effort to hide the fact that he was relishing in her discomfort and her anger towards the arrangement. He was totally and utterly enjoying himself. “This isn’t a game, Loki,” the girl added. “This isn’t some joy ride we can get off of afterwards.”

“But I’m totally enjoying myself.”

How could that be possible? Two days before, he’d been acting like this whole arranged marriage idea was splitting him in half; as if the mere idea of wedding her would bring his dark career to a clambering end.

And now he was smiling, cheeks pink, eyes rotten with pure malice and sadistic joy.

“How can you say that?” she murmured. He ignored her, instead locking eyes with the servant who filled his wine glass. He gave her a quick wink, almost unnoticeable, expect to Cali, who’d been rained to observe such behavior.

Still with his steel gaze locked on the servant, he brought the glass to his lips and bottomed-up. The maid giggled and scurried off, leaving Cali feeling disgusting and ashamed.

She would be married to a womanizer; a man with no care about women but for the sensual pleasures they could bring him. She would be the ridiculed wife. She would be that woman who says nothing about her husband’s nightly adventures with the whole cast of the castle’s handmaidens. As sad as it was for her to admit, she would be judged by what her husband would do; by his horrific, insidious, and sexual desires.

After the appetizers came the lamb, complete with ringolo potatoes and thick stew. Cali pretended to enjoy herself, plastering smiles for everyone, Lords and Ladies, who came to wish the couple fertility and longitude. She had to bite back snarky remarks, resisting the urge to comment on the fact that, no, this marriage was not her idea and yes, any chance she got, she’d end it.

The annoying clinking of silver utensils against glass broke her from her train of thoughts as she was thinking of ways she could manipulate her mother into giving this idea of marriage up. Odin had risen from his chair, the golden eyepatch on his eye reflecting the million of candles hanging from the chandeliers. The Allfather was dressed in an all-gold suit, his breast plate the only silver aspect on his clothing.

“My Lords and Ladies,” he boomed, small smile gracing his lips as he spread his arms. “I invite you to the dance floor, where my sons and their accompanists will lead.” What froze the girl to her seat was not the cold digits of Loki on her knee, but the piercing gaze that she received from Odin as he regained his chair. It was not heart-warming or even insistent. It was torrential and audacious, piercing her, daring her to make one wrong move. He knew she was not pleased, but he was viciously reminding her that she sat beneath him, and that Loki, the prince, was the only thing that gave her importance.

He’d managed to blackmail her, to leave her trembling and following after Loki, with just one fucking eye.

Cali tried not to trip on her heels as she followed Loki, his hand now delicately grazing hers in a show of manners and glamour. Leading her into the center of the dancefloor, he made sure that they were the apex of attention. Anyone could see them. After all, this night had been arranged to show off the couple, to entice the whole high society of Asgard that these were to be the next and first royal couple.

The God of Mischief lay one hand on the small of her back, his skin searing through her dress. Her arm was parallel to his, fingers skimming his shoulders, free hand now caught in his. He was freakishly tall, yet lean and elegant in the way he moved with her to the music. The haunting hum of the violins filled the hall, the low groans of the cello not far behind. In her chest, the music reverberated, her heartbeat lost within the echoes of the notes.

This would have been a wonderful night for a girl not like her. If she’d been more like her mother, more like the rest of the girls in the hall who were fawning over Loki, she would have been utterly content. But she hated it.

“I wonder what your face will look like on our wedding night,” Loki grumbled, making her look up into the swirl of green, moving along with her on the dance floor.

“What?”

“You look like you’re being punished,” he explained, “like dancing with me is so horrifying.”

“I still hope that this whole arranged marriage is a joke,” Cali answered. She didn’t miss how the hand on her back twitched.

“Do you even know why we are being brought within the warm union of husband and wife?” His voice was treacherous. Although he wanted to seem careless and comedic, she could hear the anger and discontent in his tone.

“I assume there is a reason,” she answered, “but I’m afraid I don’t care to hear it.”

“Your father is the officer in charge of the Royal Bank,” Loki said. “But he came from one of the poorest families in Vanaheim. His immigration here is still known, which doesn’t quite make him one of us. As for your mother, oh well, she’s a gem.” Cali could feel her insides boiling by his sarcastic tone. “Rona who started off as a low born daughter of a whorehouse owner. Ran off at the age of sixteen, right into the arms of a Vanaheim immigrant. Now what would that make you?”

“If I had the sense in me right now, Loki, I would slit your throat,” Cali growled, her cheeks blooming with red, anger evident in the dark color of her eyes.

He smiled. “Right in front of the royal court?” he asked sarcastically. “That would only prove my point. You’re a little savage girl born from two big savage parents. But here’s the thing now. Vanaheim and Asgard are on terms of agreement, of peace. After uprisings and wars, we are finally discussing fealty between the two realms. And like every other treaty in history, the deal must be sealed with something permanent. With something that will breed new life.”

Although he was a man of manipulation and lies, Cali couldn’t help but hear the truth beneath his dark tone. “With marriage,” she whispered, eyes round and staring into the void.

Loki huffed. “Your father is now one of the richest Vanaheim immigrants to ever step and live in Asgard. Odin refused every other girl from Vanaheim, even some of the wealthiest and well-respected girls. Odin is smart. He knows he could never fully trust them, so he chooses the only person for whom he has the tiniest of trust in.”

“My father,” she says, snapping her eyes back to his, seeing the malice.

“He’s wealthy and he’s assimilated into the Asgardian way of life.” Loki’s hand on hers squeezed as he spun her around, the rhythm of the violins picking up. “He’s the perfect match. Vanaheim rulers accepted the deal; that you, the only daughter of Ragnar and Rona, marry into the royal family. This appeased them and sealed the treaty.”

Her brow creased, the hand on his shoulder slipping. “But why marry you?” she asked, her tone, for once, not at all angry. “If Vanaheim wanted to seal the treaty, why give me to you and not the future king?”

“Thor?” Loki shook his head. “Because Thor has Sif, and Thor get’s whatever he wants. The population of Asgard would go mad if those two did not wed.” He was being dismissive, but the brunette that was now completely enveloped in his arms could see that he was truly affected by the whole ordeal.

“So I’m just a tool,” Cali said. “I’m just a means to an end.” Loki’s hands fell away from her as he became utterly still. His eyes bore into hers, like he was searching for any sense in what she’d just said.

“Typical of you to only think of yourself.” He spun on his heel, pushing through the crowd of dancing people, swallowed by the mass.

Cali, despite herself, found her feet moving to follow the dark prince. She didn’t know why, but she was then pushing through the same people, muttering excuses, trying to find Loki. Following him to the outskirts of the dancefloor, she found him stomping out into the hall, his back tensed, hands clenched.

She wanted to hit herself as she followed him, banging the door shut behind him, the sound echoing in the darkness of the hall.

“Loki!” She called after him, making him freeze, his back to her. His head slowly turned, revealing the slender profile of his intricate face; long, straight nose, thin lips, round chin, and Adam’s apple.

“You think you’re the only one who’s displeased by this whole thing?” he asked, and she could tell by his tone that he was fighting to stay calm.

“Since the beginning of this night, you’ve been acting like this is a joke,” she said. “You haven’t treated it or me with seriousness.”

He turned to face her, green gems shining with anger and betrayal. “My own father and mother sealed my faith with a girl that I don’t even like, without ever considering me. They conspired behind my back.” He was taking dangerous steps towards her, lips tight with every word that left his mouth. “They gave me no choice. It was you or the cold desserts of Jottunheim.”

She’d heard about his past; how he was adopted from the coldest planet in the nine realms. He was the son of the king of Jottunheim, yet here, he had been nothing but the back-up.

“But that’s not the worst,” he continued, chilling her bones with his vicious tone. “After the wedding, when I am sealed forever to you, they will expect things from me.”

“They will of me as-“

“Shut up!” he shouted, making her jump, his proximity now awaking her fight or flight reflexes. “I know, oh I know how hard it will be for you to have to kiss me and pretend to love me,” he cooed in a fake tone. “But they will expect us to always appear as a team; to be enamored with each other. They will expect us to rule as Duke and Duchess. They will expect me to put children in you.”

His last words stung. Albeit everything he’d just said, the pretending and the arduous decision making as a pair, that was the thing that stung. Was she that horrible that he dreaded the idea of bedding her?

“Even if we pretend, at one point, they will notice,” he continued, his tone low and menacing. His hands came to rest on her cheeks, his cold digits searing her skin. She was mesmerized by his words, glued to the spot by the truth, the cruel truth, of his statement. “Even if we kiss in front of them, if we hold hands and laugh together, they will notice the frigidness of our affection. They will notice how distant we are. They are a people of love. You and I don’t understand. You are part Vanaheim and I am completely Jottun. Asgardian citizens are beings of love, and they will notice how ours is faked. They will notice that our touches don’t linger and how your belly remains flat.”

She didn’t want that. Yet she knew the repercussions if she didn’t sell the show of her love for the prince. Loki didn’t have to say it. Her father would be exiled back to Vanaheim, her family losing all their wealth and prestige. They’d tumble down from the ladder they’d climbed. Odin would blacklist her, sending them back to their homeland, where even there, her family would be blasphemed for breaking the treaty. She had to chose between her own comfort and sanity, or her family’s welfare and reputation.

“I don’t… I don’t-” she stammered, shaking her head between his hands, tears threatening to fall.

“I know you don’t want,” he hushed, bringing her cheek to lay flat on his chest, his hand patting her hair. Although the act was comforting, there was nothing remotely soothing about it. “But you will have to take it. You will have to obey. You will be a Duchess, filled with richness and titles and anything you’ve ever wanted.” His tone then became abhorrent and petty. “You will have to let me touch you, kiss you. You’ll have to let me fuck you.”

With a quick jab, she’d pushed him off of her, eyes red and round with anger. Her bottom lip was quivering, watching as his faux-sad eyes turned into malicious content. His words, those nasty and horrid words, burned bright in her ears. He’d played with her, like a toy, like he did with every other subject on the receiving end of his cruelty.

He’d destroy her.

Tags: @shieldgirl95 @loki-god-of-my-life @fluasch @spudsandbandit

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3one3 · 7 years ago

Text

The Sequel - 887

An Hour And Two Halves

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“Show you what I can do, and you know it’s true, when I dance with you,” Christina sang along quietly with the song on the radio while she chopped carrots for her stew. It was a Joe Jonas song she didn’t even particularly like, but it was upbeat and bouncy and she was in a great mood. The vibe got bigger and louder as the chorus approached, and she was so ready for it. The rider dropped her knife on the plastic cutting board and dramatically flung her hand out at her sous chef, who was cutting green beans. “”Oh-oh-oh-oh, give me your haaaaand,” she sang loud and proud and with a silly face. “Oh-oh-oh-oh, I’ll be who I aaaaam. Oh-oh-oh-oh I ain’t no...Michael Jackson, but give me one chance, one chance to daaaance. Give me, one chance, one chance, to daaaance.” Juan didn’t offer his hand, so she just hopped around him in her energetic, extremely-non-Michael-Jackson-esque way. Her stew-making process was riddled with work interruptions for dancing and animated singing. Despite the midfielder’s disinterest in letting her drag him around his kitchen dancing to Top 40, he found her behavior amusing, and hilarious even at times. Her dramatic and extremely relevant interpretation of Justin Bieber’s “Friends” had him doubled over laughing. When it was over, they agreed that they were evidence for broken up couples everywhere that they can’t still be friends. Christina stopped singing and dancing to make out with him after the third “But we had something so good” line, so it really was pretty self-evident.

“What’s next, cariña?” Juan asked when her dancing took her back to her knife work and he was finished with his.

“Nada. Everything is finished. We put the potatoes in in an hour, and then the rest of the veggies half an hour after that, and then half an hour after that, we eat.” The beef was already simmering away in a big pot of stock, wine, herbs, and onions. He laughed at the chef when her eyes had the typically bad reaction to chopping all the onions too. Their whole cooking project was mostly Juan laughing at Christina, and Christina loving it.

“What do you want to do for an hour and two halves?”

“I’m not really sure, but I know I want to go for a walk after dinner. I miss the smell of London on a fall night sooooooo bad.” She turned her bottom lip over in an exaggerated pout and used her big knife to slide the carrots into the bowl with the beans. “Do you have any ideas?” The Spaniard took both the knife and the small cutting board to rinse in the sink with the ones he used.

“One.”

“Your penis is never going to be in my colon.”

“I want to read a poem to you, from the book.”

“Oh jesus,” the Olympic medalist groaned at the Olympic failure whose token of failure she kept in her book as a reminder of his belief in her ability to avoid failure. There was an unrealized connection between all of those things. The two athletes borrowed a variety of types of strength from each other, and they cultivated that borrowable strength in their own ways- alike, but different. The rider collected takeaways from her history books, and fed her imagination with her mysteries. The footballer collected food for thought from more abstract texts, like the collection of poems she gave him. Books and mutual intellectual stimulus would always bind them.

“It’s very good and you’ll really...relate to it.”

“Is it going to take an hour and two halves?” Christina asked, reluctantly consenting with her body language if not her actual language.

“No.”

“Fiiiiine. I want to hear the end of this Mikky Ekko song though.” She turned around and backed herself up to the small island counter, preparing to hoist herself up on it. Sometimes she was too lazy or tired to do it all on her own, and opened up a big bottom cabinet to step into for a boost. Then she could use her foot to close it again once seated. Juan always complimented her creativity in the matter. She intended to do it on her own on Sunday, and clamped her hands on the counter. He noticed as he was drying his hands, and dropped the towel to lend some help. His hands grasped her waist and lifted her the extra couple of inches she needed on top of her little hop, and he kept them there even after her butt landed safely. He held onto her to keep her from sliding back, so that she had to spread her legs to make space for him in between, and so that she was right up close to his body.

“I lied before.”

“Bout what?”

“I have two ideas for the hour and two halves.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I hope the second idea involves dragons,” the girl in leggings deadpanned to the boy between her legs. She also casually hung her wrists over his shoulders and passively kicked the backs of his thighs with her heels.

“I can’t wait for your birthday. I’m going to give you the biggest dragon-themed party anyone has ever seen,” the Spanish player laughed, with the same delight in the glint in his eye that had been there all through her dance-cooking. “Every little boy will be jealous.”

“Can it be a costume party? Will you be dressed as a knight? Or is this a Thrones-type dragon party? You would totally be a Stark.”

“We’ll have to see. I have some time to plan.”

“What’s your other idea for an hour and two halves?”

“I want to photograph you- exactly like this,” Juan hastened to add the second Christina’s face turned disapproving. “Exactly the way you’ve been here all afternoon. Just for myself, not the walls, or your Instagram, or a magazine.”

“Aww.” Spanish Teddy Bear is the sweetest, she cooed to herself. I thought he meant naked, and that he was going to try to say he wanted to do a “tasteful” thing instead of something pornographic, which is just what dudes say when they want you to feel classy and glamorous about being pornographic. It’s nice of him too to acknowledge that he recognizes how done I am with being photographed for other people right now, and even for my own social media. I haven’t posed anything with myself in a couple of weeks, because I’m sick of looking at myself, to be honest. I’m sick of hearing about myself too. One of the nice things about weeks and weeks without horse shows is not having to hear about me. I’m so fucking sick of me. Last night was too much about me. I want to crawl back under my rock until Doha. But I can be photographed for him, because that’s adorable. Especially since I don’t even look cute right now, I don’t think.

“Hopefully you don’t think too hard after I read the poem,” he snorted. “That would ruin the picture.”

“Ugh, do we have to?”

“Yes. I’ll go get the book.”

Juan didn’t have far to go. Much to Christina’s surprise, her gift to him was right on the footstool-table next to the chaise by the window. That meant he was actively reading it, at least part-time. That was where he kept the current book when it wasn’t traveling with him for a match, or when he wasn’t reading it in bed. She figured he was reading a novel that he would have taken to Chelsea Harbour with him on Friday night since she didn’t notice him put the Frank Bidart poems in his reading nook after the game on Saturday. On occasion, she had a “travel” read and a “home” read going on at the same time too- a practice she learned from the player. He said it helped him get his head into the right lane. The “travel” read, regardless of type, was for shifting focus away from everyday life to the match. He told Christina that it was especially helpful during the busy parts of the season when the team played every 3 or 4 days. The “home” read signaled the shutoff of football and the time to relax and recharge. The first kind tended to be more inspirational, like an autobiography, and the second variety was most often a work of fiction.

They met in the middle. Christina sat sideways on the sofa, Indian-style, and then collapsed backward to enjoy the stretching that position provided and also the offered focal point- the ceiling. Looking at the matte white ceiling was definitely preferable to making her expression available for his purposes during or after the reading of the poem. He sat by her legs and put his socked feet up on the coffee table. Without preamble, he began the poem.

“Advice to the Players. There is something missing in our definition, vision of a human being: the need to make. We are creatures who need to make. Because existence is willy-nilly thrust into our hands, our fate is to make something- if nothing else, the shape cut by the arc of our lives. My parents saw corrosively the arc of their lives. Making is the mirror in which we see ourselves. But being is making: not only large things, a family, a book, a business: but the shape we give this afternoon, a conversation between two friends, a meal. Or mis-shape. Without clarity about what we make, and the choices that underlie it, the need to make is a curse, a misfortune. The culture in which we live honors specific kinds of making (shaping or mis-shaping a business, a family) but does not understand how central making itself is as manifestation and mirror of the self, fundamental as eating or sleeping. In the images with which our culture incessantly teaches us, the cessation of labor is the beginning of pleasure; the goal of work is to cease working, an endless paradise of unending diversion. In the United States at the end of the twentieth century, the greatest luxury is to live a life in which the work that one does to earn a living, and what one has the appetite to make, coincide- by a kind of grace are the same, one. Without clarity, a curse, a misfortune. My intuition about what is of course un-provable comes, I’m sure, from observing, absorbing as a child the lives of my parents: the dilemmas, contradictions, chaos as they lived out their own often unacknowledged, barely examined desires to makes. They saw corrosively the shape cut by the arc of their lives. My parents never made something commensurate to their will to make, which I take to be, in varying degrees, the general human condition- as it is my own. Making is the mirror in which we see ourselves. Without clarity, a curse, a misfortune. Horrible the fate of the advice-giver in our culture: to repeat oneself in a thousand contexts until death, or irrelevance. I abjure advice-giver. Go make you ready.”

“It’s remarkable how you managed to conjure a poem that hits on me missing my family at the same time as my need to figure out what’s next in my life and then also the way you’re “making” with the mirror, with Common Goal,” the very impressed rider commented after giving all the words a moment to land. Every stanza felt immediately relevant to her, and she wanted to make sure Juan understood that she got it all. “My parents were the work to not work people, and they tried to make a business and a family, and never made their own likeness, or what they truky wanted to make. Like, I think my mom would rather have owned her own knitting store than been who she was. You and I are the lucky ones who get paid to make the thing we want to make, or our likeness, mirror image, whatever. But then we kind of grow out of that and we realize what we need to make is actually bigger than football and riding. For you, it’s Common Goal. And the weirdness and equilibrium I experience on and off right now is me trying to figure out what exactly it is I want to make next. And at the same time, I think you and I are kind of making our combined mirror reflection together too...” It all came out so quickly as her mind linked the ideas for the second time, and as she got more excited about them. “Did you think of those things when you first read it, or did it stay with you for a little while and the relevance came later?”

“Right away. From the title, I thought, “This is an important thing for me to read. This is about me, in some ways,” and then I read on and I thought, “This is Chris’ parents, and this is why their relationship was how it was, and why her mum resents her so much. Chris makes the thing she needs to make from inside. Mrs. Martin made the thing she thought she was supposed to.” And I liked the repetitive lines. “Without clarity, a curse, a misfortune.” I try now to have clarity when I make decisions. No lies, no confusion. You’re right,” he smiled as his friend peeked over at him from the flat of her back. “I do feel like I’m making the right thing now, besides football. I like this poem very much.”

“Thank you for sharing it,” she smiled back. “Sorry I objected. I should know to trust you by now,” she chuckled. He grabbed her wrist when she lifted it for help, and pulled her back up and forward so that she could reward him with a sweet kiss in the middle of his lips. They could have dissected the poem together, quite happily, for the two hours before dinner. It just wasn’t necessary. They didn’t need to talk each other into believing their take, or dissect it. Knowing that was sort of novel. Christina appreciated it.

“I have enjoyed the book a lot. It was a good choice, cariña.”

“I enjoy your face a lot.” She put her hands around the back of the player’s neck, paused to watch for the flattery’s impact to arrive in his beautiful blues, and then pulled on him until he got the message that she wanted him to lie beside her, not just be annoying and hang on his neck. He went pretty willingly, and she got more of her arms around his head when they found a comfortable spot together, and she rubbed her right leg on his bare ones until it pushed her leggings up her calf a little. “I know you want to take pictures of me acting like I live here,” she teased knowingly. “But I’d rather be a lazy bum on the couch.” Juan’s nose was captured playfully between her teeth until he kissed her chin. He found an unexpectedly ticklish spot, and took advantage when Christina’s shiver-like reaction brought her midsection even closer to him. He hugged her waist tight with one arm.

“We’re getting closer to the part of the season when I’m a lazy bum on the couch a lot,” he told her while she played absently with the hair at the back of his head, well below the thinning spot. “I hope you’re joining often.”

“I want to stay here for most of the week of the horse show. Schü and Lukas are coming for the Sunday and Monday, and Tuesday, after, so we’ll stay at a hotel, but I’ll be here for 6 days before that. I don’t know if you want an extra bum on your couch for that long.”

“It’s a sexy bum, so I want,” the Chelsea man smiled, squeezing her butt.

“I might want to come for New Year’s too, but I dunno yet. I have no idea, really.” I also kind of want some magical night with Schü. I owe him that, and I want it anyway. I want special with him. We never have that anymore. We have nice nights ended early because of dead goldfish, and then two nights of crying until midnight because of the dead goldfish. How dare the goldfish go and die when it knew Lukas liked to watch him in the light from his nightlight when he wakes up in the night and can’t sleep? How dare he leave him with no soothing thing to watch. IIIIII didn’t know he did that, but surely the goldfish knew.

“You’re always welcome with me, baby girl.” Juan rubbed his nose on the rider’s and then kissed her, long and low-energy, and perfect for the moment. He was finally able to shed the longstanding feeling that their time together was limited, so he was no longer hastening to get his fill of her, and get “through” everything he wanted with her before her next departure. There was a new calmness- a change in behavior dictated by the realization that the clock wasn’t running anymore. Christina was always coming back to him. They didn’t need to have sex in 6 different positions on the first night, or hurry to get from couch-cuddle-flirting to more serious foreplay to actual sex. “Hurry” was relative, of course, because the player’s imperative was subtle, but it was noteworthy by its absence. She watched him for a second, the side of her thumb resting lightly on his cheek, and reflected on that change. I wish I had his ability to settle down in something and believe it’s going the way I want even when I know it will probably change. Thinking too hard about anything was unpalatable in that moment of closeness, and shared breath, and soft pads of fingers on highly personal skin. The equestrian star took her turn to kiss her favorite Blue, mostly on just one side of his mouth because getting to the whole thing would have required her to move her head a little and that was too much. The exact position she was in- literally and figuratively, physically and emotionally- was too perfect to alter either by movement or consideration. His lips were perfect- warm, unblemished by dryness or cracking or even a wrinkle, tense just enough to hold the kiss together, still enough not to interrupt the transfer of love and comfort through that most import line of communication. A kiss like that was practically nothing and almost everything simultaneously. And it was, afterward, symbolic of a cornerstone in recent memory.

“I think I want to tell you something,” Christina whispered after her smooch. Her regular conversational voice was small enough to fit in the very small space between them without even breathing too much air in Juan’s face- something she often took into consideration when snuggling close with anyone- but that voice came with full conviction and confidence and those weren’t the preconditions for what she wanted to say, so all that came out when she opened her mouth was a sweet whisper.

“What?” the Spaniard whispered back teasingly, with a grin, almost like stage-whispering.

“I used to really hate the person I was with you- like because you made me want to do things that hurt Schü, and our relationship has, at times, made it very difficult for me to look after my responsibilities and ride my best, and do the right thing. I loved being with you, but I hated who I was for that,” she explained with a bit more surety. “Now I feel like I’m actually growing and improving myself- I don’t want to say because of you- but with you, together. I’m making decisions that feel good, and I’m finding it easier to be happy and content wherever I am, physically and in a moment. I don’t know- Maybe it’s because the Olympic hurdle is in the rearview now. Maybe that was the big difference. I just don’t think it was. I think it’s you. I’ve said in the past that we are the worst thing for each other. I don’t think so anymore. I think you’re the best thing for me right now.” I didn’t really mean to get so into this, the rider realized, pointer finger on Juan’s chin, which she was staring at instead of the receptive blues she looked into while she talked. I wasn’t going to say that much. I hate when I start trying to tell someone a small thing, or a short thing, and it gets me thinking, and then I can’t stop talking. Now I’m rambling to myself because...who knows. Anyway. “I’m glad you’re coming to Doha too,” she finished after reaching for some kind of period for the declaration, or something to take up some more airtime since Juan wasn’t saying anything.

“I told you we could be happy together and that we can do more than be miserable together. Not miserable together because we’re together, but be together because one or both is miserable about other things. You know what I mean,” the footballer laughed. He was recalling a conversation they fought through years back, right after Lukas was born. Christina didn’t think they could ever be a couple because all of their experience together was when one or both of them was in bad shape because of their other relationships. They were always closest when their lives were the most tumultuous and generally unhappy. “And now you understand how I feel with you,” he added, more sincerely. “I feel good about myself, and happy with myself, with you. I always have, more or less.”

“I think it’s more for you now though. Ever since we stopped lying.”

“That could be.”

“Okay I feel too grown up and in touch with my feelings now. Give me something stupid and immature to talk about.”

“Can I tickle you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Can I go get the camera and take pictures of you?”

“Can I do goofy poses?”

“Yes.”

“K. I need another kiss first though.”

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