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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 7 months ago

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Yandere Silver Headcanons

adhlbfypfqeyvf If you want to know why this is coming out of nowhere... I've been cooking (talking) with friends about this concept for over a month and now I'm going to dump it all onto you 🤡 This interpretation of Yan!Silver is in part based on Elbert Greetia from Ikevil 💀 so uh… be warned…

Regular Silver, staring at this monstrosity: 😨 TRIGGER WARNINGS: (slow burn) yandere themes, (unintended) emotional manipulation, gaslighting, spying/stalking, unhealthy possessiveness and obsession, mentions of blood, (Silver’s) delusions, minor character death

***PLEASE NOTE: writing yandere content is NOT the same as supporting or approving of these behaviors irl. This is also NOT what I believe Silver is canonically like; this is only meant to be a creative reimagining/"what if" scenario.***

Curiouser and Curiouser...

It all starts off like a fairy tale come true. But like Hansel and Gretel stumbling upon the witch’s candy house or a frog set into a simmering pot, the heat—the horror—isn’t fully cranked up in the very beginning. A dream doesn’t start like a nightmare, the nightmare comes later. And you, like the fool you are, were lured in by the promise of sweets and a prince.

The boy you've been crushing on for the last several weeks shyly approaches you and confesses. Handsome, earnest Silver takes your hands in his and gives you that lopsided smile you've been admiring from a distance. He swears himself to you as your loyal partner, vowing to protect you from the things that slither in the dark and prey on the unsuspecting. To keep you from hurt and sadness forever and ever.

You're giddy—positively over the moon and the stars—to finally (and proudly!) call yourself his. Every time you look at him, you swear it feels like a thousand butterflies are fluttering in your chest, or like you’re losing yourself in the aurora of his eyes.

You tell him his eyes are mystifying and unique, that they’re something you could stare at forever. He doesn’t seem to get it at first, but is pleased nevertheless and thanks you for the compliment.

It’s not until a few weeks later that the ramifications come. One day, out of the blue, Silver gifts you with a piece of jewelry (a ring, a necklace, an earring, etc; whatever your preference is!). Embedded in it is a clear gemstone that refracts the light in pastel pink, baby blue, and pale purple… exactly like his eyes.

He helps you secure it on for the first time and oh, how gentle his touch is as his fingers brush against your skin. Silver gives that small smile that melts your heart. “There. This way, you’ll always have ‘me’ watching over you,” he says, lightly tapping the aurora-colored jewel, “even if I am not right at your side.”

Sometimes you feel Silver’s own gaze lingering on you too. You know him to be an airhead or half asleep most of the time, so the thought never occurs to you that this spacey behavior is odd. But once or twice, when you’re stealing glances back at him, you notice a seriousness set in his eyes, a darkness creeping into the light. The same deadset look that scares off children and makes others mistake him for someone far more aggressive than he actually is, you think.

He lingers close when you walk to and class together, his protective instincts sending him into action to catch you if you so much as stumble, and remove errant leaves and petals that tumble onto your hair. “I have you,” he reassures you, oblivious to the electricity in his touch and how it makes you leap. “Don’t worry.”

Silver acts as though you’re as delicate as glass and as pure as freshly fallen snow. It’s not uncommon for him to praise your positive traits (while totally overlooking your flaws) or talk about how good of a person you are—and that also drives him to keep you that way. Untouched, untroubled. He’s so quick to steer you away from stressful situations or charging in to settle an issue himself, typically by talking down the aggressors. That’s thoughtful of him… right?

He has the habit of falling asleep on you when he gets to be comfortable. You usually don’t mind it, but sometimes he gets a little too clingy in his sleep. It’s hard to pry him off when he looks so peaceful and mutters your name under his breath while he has your body in a death grip.

Silver takes you on quiet nature strolls. You often drift off the beaten path and wander deep into the woods behind NRC, far, far away from the other students and staff. The sun sinks and sinister sounds come from the dark—you get nervous and leap into his arms, asking Silver if you should turn back now. He agrees every time, walking you back and wishing you sweet dreams. By the time you collapse into your bed from exhaustion, you don’t realize he has stolen you away for the entire day for himself.

It’s strange. You start to get the sense that you’re seeing Silver in your dreams just as much as you see him in the waking world. Rarely do you fully recall the details of your dreams, but there’s always that vague feeling of catching a flash of silver hair or feeling the heat of his eyes uncomfortably pressing into you when you wake up.

You tell him about this and joke that maybe he’s using his UM to haunt your dreams. “It’s impossible. You’re not Rook-senpai,” you laugh. He chuckles at the idea. But oh, how weird. Somehow the conversation tends to steer toward whatever you happened to recall of last night’s dreams. If Rook appeared in your dream, Silver coincidentally slips him into the discussion. Lightly probing questions like, “What is your opinion of Rook-senpai?” and, “Are you comfortable around him?”

Silver tells you about the stories his father has shared with him from his travels. Many are folklore from different regions in Twisted Wonderland, but more recently he has been fixated on fairy tales from the Shaftlands. “A couple finds true love and live happily ever after, nothing able to tear them apart…” he says dreamily. “It sounds just like us.”

Silver appears stoic on the outside, but you know that’s not the case. A few months into the relationship, you become acutely aware of his insecurities and his low self-worth. Not strong enough, not long-lived enough, not alert enough, not… enough. He will never be able to repay his debt to his father, Silver has confided in you many times.

“It’s okay. You’re here now, and you’re doing your best to keep the people you love safe.” You do your best to soothe him in those moments of weakness, for which he is thankful for. With shining eyes, auroras in the dark, he whispers, “You’re so kind to me.” Raptly, as if beholding a higher being. “What did I do to deserve someone like you…?” And there it is again, that seriousness, the light fleeing from him, as he vows to repay your kindness.

You’re acquainted with Silver’s animal companions and get along with them. Now you’re noticing them everywhere, not just around Silver. In fact, you see them without Silver. Birds in the trees, a rabbit hopping alongside you, the stag poking its head out from the bushes.

Then those animals reappear when you meet up with Silver later, looking all innocent, while Silver asks you about your day. If there’s a slight discrepancy (due to poor memory) or a detail you overlooked, he’ll gently correct you or clarify. “Blueberry muffin? As I recall, you had a cranberry muffin for a midmorning snack.”/“Ah, you forgot to mention you asked Ace if you could borrow a pencil for the exam.” You blink, surprised. How did he come upon all that information? How can he recite your day better than you can? It doesn’t hit you until much later that his animal friends have been serving as his eyes and ears.

He sincerely apologizes to you when you confront him about it. “Please tell them I don’t appreciate them snooping!” you cry out. Silver promises he’ll ask them to curb their curiosity—and while it’s true that you no longer see the animals following you, you can still feel their beady gazes around every bend and corner. Paranoia claws at your scalp, and you try to calm your doubts with one thought: No way would Silver be encouraging this. I must be imagining things.

You try to get your mind off of your worries by hanging out with your classmates. Sebek, ever boisterous and over-the-top, uplifts your mood. Pretty soon, you’re chatting away with him at the lunch table (even if he loudly refers to you as a HUMAN), paying no mind to the shadow that has fallen over it until a deadly quiet voice speaks up.

“Sebek.” It is so cold, so hollow, it startles both you and Sebek when you realize the speaker is Silver. “I don’t like it when you talk with them like that.” Sebek makes to say sorry to his fellow knight—or is it to challenge him? You never find out, for Silver has grabbed you by the wrist and is yanking you away from him.

He doesn’t let go until you’re in a secluded area of the courtyard. There’s a red mark left behind, and it causes tears to well up in him. Silver collapse like a house of cards. He’s extremely apologetic—he has hurt you, hasn’t he? He failed to protect you. How terrible. He shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t have been so petty and jealous.

It breaks your heart to see Silver a mess, blaming himself so profusely for what happened. You do whatever you can to calm him, and eventually the conversation somehow turns to you accepting some fault. It’s not, though, the little nagging voice in your head protests. You silence it, prioritizing the emotionally vulnerable Silver. “I’m sorry, I should have considered your feelings and avoided giving Sebek the wrong message. I’ll avoid getting all buddy-buddy with him in the future, okay?”

And it happens again, again, again. One by one, your friends are cut off from you in a similar manner. It’s always something they do or say that concerns your boyfriend, something that impedes or disrupts that pristine, picturesque fairy tale he has laid out in his head.

Silver’s presence in your life becomes increasingly invasive, like unwanted briars creeping into a garden, thorns cutting off your access to air. He’s soon consuming every second of your day, whether physically beside you or planted in your worried thoughts like a demon disguised as a guardian angel. You can’t do anything anymore without feeling anxious and watched.

He starts to talk about… strange things. Tall towers, glass coffins, the bars of a bird cage. All manner of motifs pulled from fairy tales, items and places meant to keep a character shackled and stowed away from the world. “I feel bad for the person locked up in them,” you’d tell him. “Sometimes,” Silver murmurs mysteriously, “people will take drastic measures to protect the ones they love.” You cannot explain why, but those exchanges leave you feeling immensely uneasy.

You timidly share your experiences with people you think are safe. Silver’s dorm members, his friends, his family. The people who know him best, who can maybe talk some sense into him. To your dismay, your concerns fall upon deaf ears. You earn many blank looks and dismissive comments, all citing Silver’s good nature. (“He loves you very much. This is his way of demonstrating that, he’s just sort of clumsy with it. Give him another chance.”/“That doesn’t sound like him. Are you sure you’re remembering it correctly?”/“You’re overreacting.”)

It beats down your spirit, starts to make you question your own judgment. You second-guess your words and actions. Is your perception of reality right when everyone else is telling you that you’re wrong, that Silver could never harm a fly.

Then comes the guilt like a wave crashing into you as you think about all the good times you’ve had together. Rose-colored days under a balmy blue sky. Your thoughts are like a brewing storm, and every evening when you tuck into bed, dread, unease, and uncertainty follow you.

You’re waking from the lovely dream that was a whirlwind romance, seeing Silver for the imperfect and obsessive person that he is. Unfortunately, you don’t have the heart to bring up the tough subject with him. He looks so darn happy with you, continues to dote on you and act the part of a valiant knight. Your mouth will open, then close again before any words can come out. It hurts, it hurts, and it is eating you up from the inside out.

You bottle it up for Seven knows how long, but it comes torrenting out one night. Silver is walking you home as per usual when you blurt out the suggestion of taking a break from each other. He stills, hurt crumpling his face. And then he has you by the shoulders, softly demanding to know what is wrong, has someone made you feel unwell? You, it’s you, you’re suffocating me, you want to say, but you cannot.

Silver presses and you resist, the two of you taking up the middle of main street with your desperate quarrel. He’s becoming increasingly frantic and desperate, his eyes dark and obsessive. It’s then that a passing mob student angrily speaks up, giving you a rough shove. You meet the hard ground, pain shooting through you. “Move already!” he gruffly stomps by—but he’s caught by Silver, his expression like clouds that have drowned out the moon. “You put your hands on them just now,” he says evenly. “Please apologize.”

“Like hell I will! They shouldn’t have been in my way,” the mob student grumbles. He attempts to leave but to no avail. There’s Silver walling off his escape route, an icy fury overtaking him.

You can’t bring yourself to watch what happens next. Wrenching your face away, you do your best to block out the horrible noises that come. The crunching of bones, the dull thud of flesh against something solid, agonized screaming. And then it’s silent.

You slowly gather the courage to dare a look at the scene. The world tilts, and bile rises in your throat. Silver calmly stands over a fallen figure. The street—and him—are painted in red. The mob student isn’t moving. Not anymore.

He smiles. The small, awkward one that once made your head buzz and cheeks flame. It only yields a gaping hole in your heart now. Silver strolls toward you, caked in blood but acting as though he isn’t.

You’re too paralyzed with fear to attempt backing away or rejecting his advances when Silver tenderly embraces you. You tremble violently, hiccups and tears spilling out.

A hand strokes your hair, his voice a lullaby to soothe you. “Shhh, shhh, shhh, it’s okay. You’re safe. I took care of the big, scary monster. You don’t need to look at it—it’s not fit for your eyes.”

Silver holds you and allows you to sob until you’ve tired yourself out and into a dream. He will carry you home, setting you down on your mattress like laying a corpse in its glass coffin and taking in the sight of you from the foot of the bed.

Not realizing that he, the knight, is the monster that keeps his beloved in a gilded cage. His arms and body, the bars that lock you in. Irony is a cruel mistress, and twisted is the love that it propagates.

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regressionschool · 23 hours ago

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JOBLESS & JUVENILE: A NEW FUTURE FOR THE UNEMPLOYED?

By Emily Dawson, Investigative Reporter

For decades, governments have struggled with rising unemployment. Now, in partnership with Pampers Corporation, a revolutionary solution has emerged—one that provides financial security, housing, and a structured daily routine for those out of work for extended periods.

The "Retraining & Relaxation Program" (RRP) is a bold new initiative that reimagines what it means to be unemployed. Rather than forcing job-seekers to endure endless applications, stress, and uncertainty, RRP offers them something better: a fresh start, free of adult burdens. Enrolled participants receive free housing, nutritious meals, and a basic income—but in exchange, they must embrace the Pampers lifestyle.

For some, it’s a dream come true. For others, it’s a nightmare.

"I Never Want to Grow Up Again!" – A Happy Little Student

At Sunny Steps Learning Center, one of the program's many Retraining Facilities, I meet Steve, 25, who has been enrolled in RRP for four months. The moment I step into the playroom, he rushes up to greet me, his Pampers crinkling loudly beneath his onesie as he bounces on his heels.

“Hi-hi, Miss Emily!” he chirps, his voice light and playful. “Didja come to play too?”

Steve, once a struggling software developer, no longer concerns himself with résumés, bills, or job interviews. Instead, his days are filled with storytime, snack breaks, and supervised play. He eagerly shows off his favorite toys, his plump diaper sagging slightly but still holding strong—a testament to Pampers’ renowned absorbency.

"I used to be sooo stressed all the time," he tells me, plopping onto a soft mat. "Always worried 'bout money, 'bout findin’ work. But now? I just get to be me! No worries, no hard stuff! Just nap, snack, and play!"

I ask if he ever thinks about returning to adulthood. He looks at me like I’ve suggested something completely absurd.

"Nooo way! Big-boy life was way too hard! I like my diapers, I like my nap times, and I LOVE snackies! Who’d wanna give that up?"

It’s difficult to argue with the enthusiasm in his voice, especially when he kicks his feet happily, completely unconcerned as his caretaker comes over to check his Pampers. The program has given him everything he needs—and taken away everything he doesn’t.

A Different Perspective: "I Don't Belong Here!"

Not everyone shares Steve’s enthusiasm. Dana, 29, is in the program as well, but she’s far from thrilled about it. She shifts uncomfortably on the bench where we meet for our interview, the thick pull-ups beneath her skirt crinkling softly with every movement.

"This is humiliating," she huffs, crossing her arms. "I had a career. I just hit a rough patch! How does that mean I should be treated like a preschooler?"

Unlike Steve, Dana is still classified as a “transition student”, meaning she hasn’t yet fully regressed. She is in the pull-up phase of the program—technically given some independence, but still under heavy supervision. She is required to ask permission for bathroom breaks, follow a strict bedtime, and participate in “learning activities” designed for early childhood development.

"I try to use the toilet whenever I can," she insists, glaring at the playroom around us. "But they’re always watching. They say ‘oopsies happen’ and that it’s okay to have accidents, but I don’t want to have accidents! I’m not a baby!"

Before I can respond, Dana suddenly tenses. A blush creeps up her face, and she quickly looks down, her hands clutching the bench. Seconds later, she gasps softly—a nearly inaudible whimper—as a warm, wet patch spreads across the front of her pull-up.

A nearby caretaker notices immediately. "Oh, Dana, honey," she coos, kneeling beside her. "That’s why we wear our special trainers, remember? Let’s get you all dry, sweetheart."

Dana's face burns with shame as she’s gently led away by the caretaker, a visible waddle in her step from the bulky, swollen pull-up sagging between her thighs.

"See? This is what I mean!" she cries, her voice cracking. "They’re MAKING me like this!"

But is she truly being "made" into anything? Or is she simply proving that some people, no matter how much they protest, aren’t quite as ready for adult responsibilities as they believe?

A Program with Results

As more participants enter the Retraining & Relaxation Program, the statistics speak for themselves. Over 97% of enrollees never return to the workforce, choosing instead to remain in the program permanently.

Psychologists point to reduced stress, structured care, and positive reinforcement as the key factors behind its success. Pampers’ high-quality, ultra-absorbent protection ensures that comfort and security are never a concern, allowing participants to focus solely on their retraining.

Despite some criticism, it’s clear that the RRP is achieving what traditional welfare programs never could—not just financial stability, but true, lasting contentment.

“Some people just aren’t built for the pressures of adult life,” says Dr. Amelia Brooks, a behavioral specialist working with the program. “And that’s okay. With the right care, they can live much happier, healthier lives without unnecessary stress.”

Perhaps the only question left is this: Is unemployment truly the problem? Or is adulthood itself?

(Sponsored in part by Pampers Corporation. Because some people were never meant to grow up.)

#ab/dl diaper #diaper stories #ab/dl stories #regression school #diaper captions #ab/dl caption #ab/dl girl #wetting diaper #diaper bulge #ab/dl

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signed-sapphire · 11 months ago

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The Fallen Star ✨ Wish Reimagined

Chapter 3 - The roses

Tw: nightmare, fire, small prick I guess? it's a thorn, swearing as always, it's Asha and by that I mean it's me

Chapter 2

Asha is burning.

She's screaming, she's being crushed. The crackling of fire echoes in her ears, drowning out her own cries.

Everything is bright, but there's a single pair of eyes staring at her from behind the flames.

(Imagine something like this shot from The Owl House)

The creature tilts its head, its expression unreadable. It emits a series of musical tones, like a melody woven from starlight and moonbeams. Asha feels a strange pull, as if the creature is trying to communicate with her through some arcane language she can't quite grasp.

The roof caves in and crashes down, obscuring Asha's view of the figure. The collapse pushes the rubble further into Asha, squeezing the air out of her lungs.

Someone pulls the rubble off her. She wants to yell. Watch out! You'll get crushed too!

They say something. Asha can't hear them. She wants to reach out. Stay with me. The words are on the tip of her tongue. Her throat is parched.

Don't go back in! she wants to cry. Someone's in there!

Why are you leaving me—

She wakes with a gasp, something flat and wet catching the inside of her mouth.

Asha hacks. Valentino had accidentally licked her tongue.

She wipes her tongue and takes a moment so her eyes adjust to the darkness. In the dim light filtering through the curtains, she can make out the familiar details of her bedroom. But with it, she can also see the memories of the dream, crisp and fresh in her mind.

The feeling of panic, of helplessness... she won't be able to fall back asleep, not with the echoes of their screams still haunting her.

This was bullshit. She shouldn't be affected this much by a stupid book. It was just a light.

Asha gets up. She does not tremble.

She unties her hair scarf. Valentino raises his head, his cheek fluff smushed flat from the blanket.

Asha smiles softly and pets his velvety ear. Val bleats quietly, and Asha kisses his forehead.

"Stay here, baby," she whispers, grabbing her cloak. “I’m going for a walk. I'll be back in a bit. Go back to bed, okay?”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The air is cold, but the crispness is a shock to her system that Asha desperately needs. She decides to head to the gardens.

She smiles softly as she remembers the gardens of her childhood. They had roses there, too. Asha used to paint the white ones red.

Red like fire.

Asha hurries on.

She tucks her hands inside her cloak pockets as she walks across the checkered-grass floor. Asha stops at a pocket of daffodils, walking between them and sitting down, careful not to disturb the petals.

Asha watches the flowers dance in the wind, effortless and elegant. She brushes her hand along a row of them.

Right before she reaches the end, she pricks her hand on a thorn. Asha swears under her breath, pushing back the flowers to see a single strewn white rose laying amongst the crowd.

Asha picks it up and stares at it in distain. At a glance one might gloss over it. Even now, a drop of crimson blood painting the petals, the rose blended in quite well with the daffodils.

But up close, it wasn't fooling anyone.

Asha plucks off the petals and tosses away the thorny stem, watching the wind carry the petals... and something else, too. A quiet conversation, approaching Asha's location.

“Baz, I told you, it’s fine, Dahlia just wanted us all there.”

“Argh, but what if we get caught?” came the responding whisper. “Safi, I– I–”

“Hey, breathe,” Safi whispered. “We’re al– a– ACHOO! Why are there so many flowers?”

“Hehe. We’re in a garden…”

“Heh. Made you laugh.”

Asha rolls her eyes and makes her way out of the flowers, making sure her footsteps are heavy enough to catch their attention.

“Eep! Your nose gives away your lies! Hide, Safi!”

“Oof!”

Asha rounds the corner, and Bazeema hides her face as the bush next to her sneezes.

"Ah. Bashful. What are you doing here?” Asha asks, entertaining the other girl’s silly fantasy.

Bazeema peeks open her eyes and lowers her hands. “H-hi, princess. I- I –”

“Speak properly.”

“I–” The girl swallows. “I like to come to the gardens to get inspiration for my designs,” Bazeema squeaks out. “I’m a weaver. My hijab this morning– I made it myself. I’m actually really proud of the design–”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I don’t care,” Asha says. “What are you doing out at this time?”

Bazeema blinks. “I, um… couldn’t sleep. I was worried about Hal.”

“Pfft. Worried?” Asha smirks.

Bazeema looks firmly at the princess. “Yes," she whispers.

Asha frowns. “Right. Uh. Sorry... that your friend is now depressed.”

“Hal has been through a lot, and yet she still smiles. It’s… a trait I admire about her.” Bazeema’s face takes on a wistful look.

Asha is about to respond, but then the bush sneezes again.

“Welp! Time to go, oh I am rather exhausted! Maybe I need that spindle idea of yours!” Bazeema peeps, ushering Asha out of the gardens. “Thank you for gracing me with your presence, princess! Sweet dreams!”

The gates slam in her face.

Asha blinks.

She entertains the idea of throwing Bazeema out the castle windows.

(Can't find the gif, but Bazeema is the old man that Emperor Asha would punish for throwing off her groove)

“So, you admire Hal, huh?”

“Oh, shush, Safi!”

The sound of footsteps retreat. Asha pushes open the gates.

“That was shady,” Asha says, pulling her cloak hood over her hair and shadowing the two teens.

She sneakily follows the two teens to the chicken coop. She peeks around the corner to see the seven teens holding candles and quietly catching Bazeema up to speed.

“I fell asleep in while cleaning my dad’s armour, and I heard something." Sleepy's voice.

“It nearly killed me!” Gabo huffs. “Abuela told me to go see what was causing a ruckus. That could've been the last she saw of me!”

“Baaaaa!”

Asha covers her mouth with her hand to silence her yelp as Valentino pops up beside her. “Jeez, baby! You scared me!” Asha whispers, pulling the goat close.

Dario signs something, not paying attention to the conversation.

“We trapped it inside the coop, but it’s scaring all the chickens,” Safi says worriedly.

I think they're performing an opera, Dario signs, grinning.

Gabo stares in disappointment at his friend, then moves on. “That’s why we sent you to get Bazeema. You’re worrying about the birds too much when you’re here,” he grumbles to Safi. “They’ll be fine.”

“The chickens probably think it’s a fun surprise,” Hal offers. “They sound like they’re having fun.”

“And why wake us all up for this?” Dahlia yawns. “Dario, put the soap down. Where did you even get that?”

It flew out of the coop! Dario grins. He signs with one hand, spelling out some words since the other hand is occupied with holding the bar of soap. I think the chickens laid it. It smells like apple. Hey, do you think this is related to the S-

"Dario, for the last time, spoons cannot be ingested," Dahlia says, massaging her temples while Safi takes the soap from a frowning Dario.

Simon looks nervous. “Well… my papa’s one of the bookkeepers for the castle. I think I know what’s in there—”

Suddenly, Valentino wriggles out of Asha's grasp.

"Valentino!" Asha whisper-shouts as the goat and runs towards the teens. Dario notices the blur of fluff heading towards him and stumbles back, dropping his candle and colliding with Simon, who's already snoring against the wall.

The impact shakes the wooden support beam, and a pile of baskets falls down on Dario’s head. Bazeema yelps and swats at the baskets, crashing into Safi behind her.

The two fall down, almost knocking over Dahlia, but Gabo pulls her out of the way and stomps out the fire Dario's candle lit.

"Okay, spy! Reveal yourself before I do something I won't regret!" Gabo snaps. Dahlia shushes him.

Asha rolls her eyes and pulls down her hood, stepping into the light. The teens' eyes widen, and they scramble up, quickly dropping into a bow.

All except Dario, that is. He was still peering into the chicken coop.

Hal pulls her friend into a bow.

(I can't find a picture but it's like that part in the movie where the seven teens bowed down to Queen Amaya)

"Threatening a royal, Grumpy?" Asha tuts. "Keep it up and I'll have your friend's precious chickens filleted."

Gabo snarls, but stays quiet.

"Now, care to tell me why you stole my goat?" Asha asks. "And what are you doing by the chicken coops when you should be sleeping?"

"None of your royal business," Gabo mutters.

Suddenly, a burst of sparkles poofs out from the crack under the coop's door.

Safi kicks over a pile of baskets. "Whoops! I am so- so-- ACHOO!" The baskets kicked up some hay in the air. "I am so clumsy!" he laughs awkwardly, sniffling.

"What are you hiding?" Asha demands.

"Nothing! And no one!" Safi says quickly.

"Well, we should all head to bed! You too, princess, your otousan would be very cross if he saw you out this late!" Dahlia smiles, moving to direct Asha away.

There's another poof, and a discord of musical instruments.

"Magnus?" Asha scoffs. "I can deal with my adopted father. Now out of the way."

Dahlia looks desperately at her friends. Asha storms past her, shoving away Hal when she tries to stop her.

The princess yanks open the wooden door. Inside the coop is a crazy sight.

Dario smirks, self-satisfied.

Chickens, dancing, doing ballet

Angry chickens in bisexual lighting

Chickens, shooting out eggs out of PG-hidden cloacas

Chickens, juggling their eggs

And in the center, conducting them all...

The thing was round, with eyes shaped like a sparkle and an oval respectively, five points sticking out of it like little limbs.

Exactly like the symbol on the spellbook in Magnifico’s study.

“Oh, fucking hell," Asha swears.

Chapter 4

Author's Notes

UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I hated writing this. I was just stuck, and then I was like, fuck it, I'm posting it because the next chapter I'm really excited to write. Because if I add more, then the cut-off would be... too harsh? I don't know. My phone is broken so I can't create gifs right now akjdkjajksjskjksaj fuck it. Post.

Btw, Star in The Fallen Star looks like this:

With a sparkle on the (our) left and a "regular" oval for the other eye on out right.

GET READY! THIS CHAPTER SUCKED BUT THE NEXT ONE SOMETHING BIG HAPPENS AND IT IS A LONG ONE!

Me to my own writing

#the fallen star au #asha x star #asha #star x asha #disney wish #wish 2023 #human star #princess asha #starsha #the fallen star fic

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checkoutmybookshelf · 2 months ago

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You Have My Attention: The Harwood Spellbook First Lines

Stephanie Burgis's reimagined, magical, and gender role-swapped regency fantasy novella series is honestly one of my favorites. They're sweet and fluffy and a truly delight to read. But as with any author, Burgis has to catch her readers with those first few sentences. So let's see how she does it!

The evening of the Spring Equinox was cool and balmy, just as the weather wizards had--for once!--reliably predicted. The glittering guest list for the Harwoods' annual ball was exactly to Amy Standish's design. As she prepared to descend into the lake that gently rippled, reflecting the full moon and stars, outside the grandeur of Harwood House, Amy knew she had organized the most important night of her life to absolute perfection. The only tiny, insignificant task left to do was to propose marriage to the right man by the end of this evening. Then she would finally win everything she had ever dreamed of, and it would be utterly perfect. She knew it.

-- Spellswept

Of course, a sensible woman would never have accepted the invitation in the first place. To attend a week-long house party filled with bickering gentleman magicians, ruthless cutthroat lady politicians, and worst of all, my own infuriating ex-fiancé? Scarcely two months after I had scandalized all of our most intimate friends by jilting him? Utter madness.

-- Snowspelled

It was bad enough to be deprived of my new husband before our wedding night. It was utterly unjust to be tormented by nightmares weeks afterward as I slept, still alone, in our marital bed. For the ninth morning in a row, I woke up gasping and clawing at my throat, fighting to yank piercing thorns out from my skin...thorns that, of course, existed nowhere but in my dreams.

-- Thornbound

Dressing for a ball would always be a challenge for any lady who found it easier to analyze--from memory--an obscure spell from two centuries ago than to remember which sleeve lengths were currently fashionable across the nation. But dressing for a ball at Angland's first women's college of magic, where at least half the dancers were certain to add competitive spellwork to their costume and the enigmatic local fey were likely to make an appearance? That raised the standards--and the stakes--enormously.

-- Moontangled

There was this much to be said, Honoria supposed, for comprehensive public and personal ruin: once all that she'd ever cared about had been ripped from her grasp, she no longer had anything left to fear.

-- Spellcloaked

There was a fine line between ambition and foolishness, and I had spent most of my life walking it. Still, as looked around the crowded, fey-lit dining tables at Thornfell College of Magic for Young Women on the eve of our second Winter Solstice, I was forced to admit that--just this once--I might have aimed my goals a bit too high.

-- Frostgilded

#stephanie burgis #regency fantasy #feminist fantasy #snowspelled #spellswept #moontangled #thornbound #frostguilded #books #book quotes #books and reading #novellas

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cassidyafton · 3 months ago

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REIMAGINATION: CHAPTER 8

Summary: A dark reinterpretation of the events of the Mr. Hopp's Playhouse series.

Chapter summary: In the midst of all the chaos beginning to take hold at Blacklands Manor, Esther confronts a so-called "friend" for trying to sabotage her.

Esther woke up late from another nightmare again that day. There was no use in being up for breakfast. She wouldn’t be allowed to eat anything after all, not until lunch.

There was a commotion downstairs- those holes and sores on Jackie’s hand had apparently spread all over his body, from the sounds of it- but it only lasted as far as the infirmary. Clearly, they thought everyone was in the dining room, and no one would hear them.

Esther didn’t care. Jackie would surely be fine, it was just some kind of allergic reaction. But she had more to worry about, herself.

Her stomach growled and her face twisted.

Molly.

Molly was so jealous she was able to be nice to people that she was getting Esther in trouble. That she was going to get Esther thrown in the cellar or Mr. Hopp in the trash.

She had awoken cuddling Mr. Hopp tightly so that nothing could take him away again, despite her dreams of a shadowy figure taking his face to haunt her leaving her sweating and shaking. He was her best friend. Her only friend. And Molly was trying to punish her.

She threw on a purple blouse and long denim skirt and stormed down the stairs to the dining room.

“MOLLY ELEANOR CASWELL!”

She spoke it like one of the matrons might, yelling her full name with a power.

“Huh? Esther?” Molly looked up, with the best innocent face she could give Esther, and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Molly, I know you put Mr. Hopp in the kitchen last night and got me in trouble for it! What’s your problem with me now?”

“What?!” Molly’s expression twisted into defensive rage. She’d been caught. Esther wasn’t buying it. “That wasn’t me! Why would I go anywhere near your dumb bunny when I have Miss Bo?!” She scoffed.

“Are you sure you weren’t just sleepwalking, Esther? You’ve been having nightmares, maybe it was just that?” Isaac suggested. She briefly looked his way.

He was looking at her like she was crazy.

And Esther couldn’t hold back that malicious voice in the back of her head any longer.

“You know what, Molly? Maybe you haven’t noticed, but you’re not a princess! You’re dirt poor, stuck in this rotten orphanage with no parents, just like the rest of us! So stop acting like a princess and maybe, if you tried to be nice, you might have friends, and the rest of us might actually like you!”

Isaac’s jaw dropped. Matron Sue shot her a glare. But Esther didn’t take her eyes off Molly.

As the other kids began to snicker and whisper among themselves, Molly’s face burned red with embarrassment, and fat tears welled in her brown eyes.

“Ugh!”

With nothing else to say for herself, Molly grabbed her precious Miss Bo and stormed off.

Then Esther felt a tugging force on her ear.

As Matron Sue grabbed Esther by the ear, the kids went quiet again.

“ESTHER!” She roared. “What has gotten into you?! You used to be so well-behaved and kind and now you’re breaking every rule we set and fighting with the other kids- just what is WRONG with you?!”

“I…”

Suddenly, Molly wasn’t the only one in tears. As she lifted an arm to cover her eyes, Esther began to sob uncontrollably. What was wrong with her? Molly was her friend. They’d been friends since they were four years old, since Molly was the new girl and needed someone to play with and Esther let her sit and play without asking her to share her little wooden doll. They butted heads, yes, but there were lines she would never cross, and one of those, above all else, was ever abandoning Molly, whose family had broken that rule already when she woke up one day and the whole house had been caved in leaving no one but her alive. So why, why was Esther being so mean? Why didn’t she care about anything anymore?

“I don’t know!” She cried. “I’m sorry, I don’t know!”

She heard the scraping of a chair being pushed out, and there was a split second of relief- someone else must've had everyone's eyes on them now- but of course, that didn't fix anything.

"Isaac, c'mon."

She couldn't quite make out the origin of the voice. She only knew that they were coming her way, and based on the second chair moving, that Issac was coming with them.

She felt Desdemona's long braids against her as she wrapped her arms around Esther and began to shush as though she was calming a crying baby, and that told her what was happening.

"It's okay, Esthie," Dessie whispered between breaths. "You tried to warn us."

"I did," Esther whined pathetically. "There's- there's something in this place. I don't know what it's doing to me."

"It's not your fault," Dessie continued. Esther was vaguely aware of the fact that she was shifting her weight from leg to leg, rocking Esther back and forth ever so gently. "The evil lurking in these halls... it's controlling us. You can't help it."

"You should apologize to Molly," Isaac said softly.

"Don't force her," Dessie replied. "She's having a hard enough time as it is."

"No." Esther sniffed, wiping at her eyes. "Isaac's right. I owe her an apology. I was too mean."

"Too mean..." Dessie repeated, with an expression and inflection that made Esther feel like she didn't believe she was capable of being mean. "Alright." She lifted Esther's chin to look at her. Something about the way she moved and handled her reminded Esther of an overly stubborn little sister. Not the worst thing to be, she supposed. "Come find me if you need me, alright?"

"Okay." Esther nodded, and with Mr. Hopp in hand and a smile from Dessie, she headed off to find her friend.

#reimagination #mr hopps playhouse

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smolvenger · 2 years ago

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A Court of Mischief and Purpose, Chapter Four (Loki x fem! Reader, A Court of Thorns and Roses Hiddlesverse AU)

Summary: Sarah J Maas's A Court of Thorns and Roses series reimagined with Tom Hiddleston's various characters. England. 1885. You are dying of tuberculosis right before your upcoming wedding to the Lusty Vicar of Aldwinter, Will Ransome. As you lay on what could be your deathbed, the god of mischief Loki appears before you with a deal. He will heal you in time for the wedding...if you spend a week of every month with him. When the time comes to fulfill your end of the bargain, you are introduced to a world full of more magic and danger than you could possibly imagine...

Content Warnings: LOTS OF ANGST AT THE BEGINNING! Cheating (not Loki, but...* takes a long sip of a fun little drink with a straw*...dealing with Will Ransome's canon actions and portraying them as bad so Will fans and Lusty Vicarettes you have been warned). Y/N going absolutely feral because I support women's wrongs. Hurt/Comfort Elements Period Typical Attitudes. Mentions of sex and religion and drinking. Typical and fixable grammar mistakes.

Chapter Summary: You confront Will about his infidelity.

Chapter Word Count: 6K

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr (special shout out for a suggestion for this chapter that worked well!)

Chapter One//Chapter Two//Chapter Three

There was silence. Pure silence. Will’s jaw unhinged and his mouth opened, but he did not say a word. The last word rang in the air with the heaviness of a bullet being fired.

Whore-Whore-Whore.

You glared at him in his beautiful blue eyes. Feeling everything at once looking at him- hatred and adoration, fury and grief and love.

His eyes glared back. You had done it. You had called Cora a whore. You knew he wouldn’t stand it. You could see him tense up, ready to chastise you for what you did. To stand up for her. You could see it in him, see the words forming. Then his jaw closed. Then he stopped. There was hesitation. You knew he would rush to her defense. And you were ready for a fight. To scold you for what you said- the ugly names you just called his mistress, his real beloved.

But instead, no, what he asked was this in a quiet, calm tone.

“Y/N, why did you call her that?”

A wave of emotion washed over you. You couldn’t take him anymore- playing ignorant. He should know bloody well why you called her that.

Leaning over, in a split second, you raised your hand and slapped him as hard as you could across his face. So hard, you let out a small grunt as you did. It stung from the swift impact of your hand across his cheek. You could feel the tears welling up already in your eyes as you retreated your hand. He nursed the pink spot on the cheek you once kissed with a hand you once loved to hole.

“Do not lie to me- you know exactly what I mean. I should have done that at the wedding. You- are…you’re having an affair with her Will. Don’t deny it- I saw the love letters! I saw you kiss her!”

You were shaking hard. This was too horrible to be real. This had to be a nightmare. You should have seen the inside of his house, his desk, his tall bookshelves on your wedding day when you were to be brought there as Mrs. Ransome. Not as a fiancée betrayed for another like you were just a toy abandoned by a bored child. The tears began to make their trails down your face.

“The bishop would counsel us, I remember. He’d tell us we were already considered married…and You dare to break a sacred vow you made before your own God?” you accused.

He began to blink rapidly. His voice remained low.

“I was so…tormented about it…”

“You think you’re the tormented one?!!” you cried.

He held his hands up and continued.

“Cora has endured more than any woman ever should…the things her husband did to her…he’d strangle her, beat her. I opened up a bit of her collar and saw…saw a bruise, there on her skin. I wanted to…to…comfort her.”

“You could comfort her in ways that don’t involve fucking her in the forest!” you argued, your voice raising.

He kept going on, his voice still quiet.

“She…she…she and I…we are…we are like two bits of one soul…”

“So, which is more important, Will- your cock or my dignity?!” you asked furiously.

He looked up at you. You saw a small flinch from the obscene word, but he remained still. There was another heavy pause.

“Of course, you are more important…” he answered. “Please have pity on Cora. She has…been through much. She focuses on science, not emotions. She told me…She thinks love is a weakness and it’s not!”

“Her love for you?! Her love for you?!” you cried.

You stood up, gripping the table.

“You promised to love me. You said you could be a devoted fiancée, a devoted husband…So the time we spent together was nothing?! The times you danced with me-they were for nothing? My every visit to church and every minute I held my tongue and made myself perfect to become your wife was for nothing!? Your gifts-your kisses and promises and declarations-nothing? What of me! Did you forget- you told me every day you loved me! And I love you, Will! So- is that a weakness? Am I boring?! Am I nothing? Am I nothing to you?! Why is she important and not I? Why is it about her and not I? I’ve known you for years and you now declare to love for a woman you’ve known for four months?! Do you even hear yourself, Will!?”

He frowned and lowered his eyes to the table.

“It wasn’t for nothing, Y/N. I love you…”

You interrupted him.

“Will- you say you love me; you say I am important; you say all of this- but your actions are telling a different story!”

Your voice lowered. You hugged yourself.

“Did you never…. try and resist her? Fight for me? At least try? And did you not think…think to consider…that I’d be hurt?”

This time, he began to tear up a little. But his face remained stoic. He looked off to the side.

“You were dying…. I thought I would lose you forever…and that night, you told me to dance with her.”

Then, suddenly, was a voice in your head. A familiar lilting voice. Too familiar, too like Will’s. But it wasn’t him.

“It’s about time you confronted him, darling.”

You turned around. Was Loki there? Appearing out of the shadows to witness this spectacle? Yet he didn’t appear. Dear God, were you mad?

“No- you’re not mad darling. It’s only your favorite god of mischief here” Loki responded in your head.

“What are you doing?” you thought back.

“Just watching….your thoughts are too loud. Granted, I could be sleeping. But this…this is too interesting.” Loki replied.

You snapped you back to reality, hearing the voice before you.

“You were…you were dying…you were at death’s door…” Will argued.

“But I was still alive, Will! You thought I was implying for you to fuck her?! No! Dancing is not the same as…as…as an affair! How hard is that to understand? I said to dance with her! Nothing more!” you responded.”

Your hands curled into fists. He looked back at you with sad eyes and a clenched jaw.

“Do you…realize what this means? This is more than how you have hurt me-When I marry you, you are my foundation for society. My only means of having the money to survive. You’d be the roof over my head- and for our children if we had them! I cannot scrub floors on my own after I marry you- because every penny and every check they give me will go to you! If you leave me and flee with her, I have nothing to protect me. If you took our children with you- I would never get them back because they’d be your children by law, not mine. I will be dependent on the charity of others all my life, clinging to whatever money you send back. But if you refused to give me one pound to spend it all on Cora-you could legally get away with it! Don’t you realize - this is a threat to my future?!” you cried.

His face softened and he shook his curly head.

“You know I would never do that to you, Y/N…” he replied.

“But you still betrayed me for another woman…is Cora…better than me? Prettier? Superior? What does she have that I lack?” you asked.

He was quiet. He began to blink rapidly.

“You love me…and you told her love isn’t a weakness- so is SHE your weakness?! Or rather-is your love for her your strength and am I the weak one?!” you pressed.

“I…I do love you…but with her I…I…I don’t even have any words to say…” William replied.

You felt your face scrunch up and you felt hot. Then Loki’s Voice rang in your head again.

“You should tell where he could shove his Bible, it would be funny!”

But instead, you took his Bible. You held it, feeling the soft brown cover. It was large and worn from so much use over the years. You then looked at him and the book and back at him.

“One thing disturbs me the most- Do you understand what God himself says about this, Will?! What Jesus said about it? How it’s better to pluck your eye out! It’s a commandment, Will- and you dare break it to sleep with her when you promised yourself to me!? How can you go to the pulpit- how can you represent morality in this town?! How can you look at yourself?!”

You wiped off a tear with your hand and continued.

“I loved you because you were open-minded. You weren’t some fire and brimstone Puritan, but you were kind and spoke of love…now I see you were TOO open-minded if you think this is remotely acceptable!” you cried, the Bible shaking in your grip.

This glass of wine I’m having right now is perfect for this. Maybe I should spare one for you too, hm? Loki quipped.

He eyed the book carefully, then he went up to you.

“I must tell you…I went to church right after this morning and I…I prayed. I prayed in the field too, after… I fell on my knees in the church and prayed to God…”

You felt your mouth curl into a snarl. You then lowered your eyes to the Bible. If this was hysteria, you gave into it.

“You know how I like history. And if I recall correctly-The church of England was started by Henry the Eighth-to throw out his own wife who loved him. His wife of many years. To toss her away like she was dirt for another woman. In that case, you’re a perfect vicar.”

You threw the Bible onto the floor-papers flew out. It broke. William ran over, getting onto his knees on the floor in a hurry. He began to hurriedly pick it back up, putting papers back to where they were.

“Love’s not a weakness, is it Will?!Well- it might not be, but I’m about to make you even weaker!” you snarled.

You gave him a sharp kick to the ribs, and he jumped and groaned in pain from your foot. You wished it was possible to kick his crotch. Yet he still fumbled to get the papers and the Bible.

You then knelt to be on his level, flinging your fists to him. Punching, slapping his beautiful face in a blind fury of the screams and sobs that escaped your throat. He grunted and took some of it, trying to duck what he could while gathering the book. Then he left it and turned to you. Will kept repeating your name, trying to block what hits he could, down on his knees with the floor with you, trying to calm you. It didn’t work.

You glanced at him. The reddish-blonde hair and goatee you once thought- and did think- incredibly handsome. The goatee that tickled the first time he kissed you. The hair that swept in the wind when you walked together. You yanked at his curls to pull it off. He shouted “ah!” and got your arm to stop you. Impulsively, your fingers pinched at the hair of his goatee and plucked at it- trying to rip it out. He let out a cry of pain. Then he grabbed hold of your forearms to keep from attacking him.

“Y/N-Y/N, my love- please!”

“You’re a bastard, Will Ransome! You’re a bastard! A BASTARD!” you shouted.

He finally grabbed your fists. He was so strong, he tried to pull you into an embrace but you pulled away. You felt his large hands become a grip.

“Y/N! I…I love you…I love you so much! Please, Please for-”

He never finished that sentence. You curled up your saliva and spat in his face. He flinched, then released his hand to wipe if off. You jumped up to your feet. You curled your hands into fists as you backed to the door.

“I loved you, William. I-LOVED you. I gave you everything. I was ready to be this perfect, pristine wife for you-your ministry. I was ready to give you my time, the rest of my youth, my energy, my prayers, my devotion, my virginity, my body- everything! Do you know why I made the bargain? So I could live to be with you-to make you happy. I gave you everything. But now I see the truth. …”

“Y/N…darling…I do love you…” he pleaded, still on the floor.

You got closer to the door.

“You don’t want a wife, Will. You want a woman to be a martyr for you. To suck her until she’s dry and has nothing left. All while you won’t give her a drop. No one was forcing you to be with Cora, there was no reason- and you slept with her anyway just because you were bored of me. You were bored. She made your cock hard. And you pitied her little sob story and could think of no alternative of consolation than fucking her. And you never considered, even as I was lying in bed, that I needed you there. That my last moments on Earth could be by you, being loved by you-knowing I Was loved and wanted and valued. It would have been better if I died of consumption, believing you still cared about me enough to put my needs before yours…as I did for you…”

You were crying and you could feel snot running from your nose. Your face was hot. Then you turned and looked into those beautiful blue eyes with an overwhelming fury rising in your voice.

“William, you are a disgrace to the priesthood, to morals, to ethics, to righteousness. You knew very well what your own faith says about this-and you fucked her anyway.”

You turned to open the door. Then returned to look at him as he got up, clinging his Bible and sermon papers.

“Adultery itself is unacceptable But you are more than an adulterer, Will- you’re a hypocrite!”

You slammed the door shut. Then you began running. You knew he’d run after you. You picked up the pace through the dark streets. You were crying. Your lungs burned, but you ran. You never looked at the ocean or the town. Not even a glance to see if he would chase you. You only ran past the streets, right into the forest. Where he couldn’t find you. Where you could be alone.

You heard a bit of his name calling after you, in an echo. You ran to the shadows of the trees. You hid behind a large oak, the sharp bark prickling your fingers. You heard William’s voice.

“Y/N! Y/N! Come back! Y/N! Where are you?!”

Perhaps you should have fled to someone’s house. You should wake up Stella in her bed-for she, best of everyone, would listen more than speak. She would let you cry into her blue shawls. She would hug you and tell you how it would be better. But she was asleep.

You should have ran home. Ran to cry to your parents. Or anyone in town. But you knew what they would say.

“You’re being irrational. Think of how your reputation will be tarnished should you call it off. And what are you thinking? There was no better match for a lady than William Ransome. So, what if he did something? Men are weak to temptation-it’s just the way they are. Don’t make yourself into a martyr!? You should care first for his home and self being peaceful. You must go through with the marriage! It will be a life of stability with a good, moral man. A good, moral man!”

A very good, moral man indeed, you thought.

You sank into the ground. Tears kept pouring out of you. You nestled up against the tree. Trying to savor what warmth you could. Though there was the rustling of leaves and you heard birds and owls. How peaceful it was when your heart was breaking in pieces.

“Please…I need help…I need to get out of here…I can’t face him…I can’t face anyone…I can’t marry this man. I’m trapped, I’m trapped…” you thought.

It became calm. There were crickets in the night. The sound lulled you. Your emptiness from your rage made you exhausted. Before you knew it, it all became black as you curled up in the forest. Leaving all consciousness as you curled up onto the ground by the tree.

Consciousness arrived. It was still dark in your vision. You felt strong arms holding you up against something warm- flesh like. And a voice. A familiar voice.

Had William picked you up and carried you back to town? He would. Damn him, he would. That wonderful, horrible man. You didn’t want to open your eyes to see him. You had no strength. You didn’t feel like fighting back. It was as if the crying had drained you dry. You may as well resolve yourself to your fate. Wife to an unfaithful man. You had nothing in you to fight.

Then you felt movement beneath you- something breathing beneath you. A strong smell. You felt hair bristle you. A brushing of lips- a horse.

But you heard…another voice. Another familiar, light, lilting voice. A woman’s voice.

“Poor Y/N! Thank God! Please…please take care of her! Wherever this Asgard is- take care of her!”

Stella! You realized.

“I shall, fair lady. She will be safe there, you have my honored word she shall,” the male voice holding you replied.

He didn’t talk like Will. Then you realized you did recognize it. Henry the Fifth- or Hal!

“But…why was she here? Poor thing- all alone! Do you know? Did something happen?” Stella asked.

“My lady, I do not know. But you must be glad the god of mischief himself is not here and I am. He is capable of many things. And you understand what his powers could do. Anyone who crosses with him soon regrets it.”

“I...I do…” she agreed.

“Then…then I’m off.”

“Please take care of her!”

“We all shall, dear lady.”

There was a sharp turn, and you heard the whinny of a horse. It began to run beneath you. In only a few seconds, there was a blur of light from your closed eyes. The horse kept running. You weren’t fully there yet, but you could hear things, feel things. It wasn’t time for the bargain yet, but you didn’t care. Darkness overcame you. Before you knew it, it was dark, you felt yourself brought from one pair of arms to another. There was a murmur of voices. Some of them similar. Familiar. Too familiar. An echo. A pebble dropped into the ocean where it rippled. And you were carried.

Finally, you regained enough consciousness to gather that you were in that familiar guest room. You were in Asgard, you realized. In the palace. And right near your bed was Loki. He sat in a chair. A scene you had seen before. The sun was setting there-it was beginning to fall into the purple shadows of night.

“What is it…what’s going on…” you asked.

Loki appeared.

“You ran to the forest and collapsed. You’re in Asgard, Y/N…you’re safe for now…you can process what happened. You can grieve.”

You shook your head.

“You’ll tell me that my grief is excessive…” you said.

“I will say nothing, then.”

“What a challenge for you! But…Will…he…” you began to stutter.

You began blinking. Then you curled up and let the tears fall again.

“He was….everything to me. And now he… My own fiancée. The man I was ready to marry…it’s like he became the serpent and slithered from my side to the bed of another..”

You wiped off tears with your sleeve. You realized you were put into a light nightgown.

“No wonder…Cora’s beautiful and exciting and smart and I’m ugly and boring and nothing…I’m weak compared to her…you can say it, Loki…”

He leaned forward, touching his chin and examining you.

“I will say this- You only look miserable and exhausted…and I did promise you a drink-here. I put the potion mixed with some wine. You need it far more than I right now.”

He handed you the goblet. You took a deep drink. You felt it lull you.

“Get some rest, Y/N. You haven’t slept well in days….”

“H-How…how did you know?” you asked. Taking another sip of the potion.

“Well…in short, darling, I can hear your thoughts. Ever since the bargain, they keep coming to me…”

“Why can’t I hear yours?”

“You should be able to…it’ll take some practice, but you can. But for now…you need to drink your potion and get some sleep, Y/N.”

You cupped both hands around the glass. It was a little bit of red wine, but it was mainly the potion, making the flavor sweeter than normal with some added honey inside. The star marks on your hands seemed a little sore and you rubbed it with your finger. How was it the bargain made you hear each other’s thoughts? Before you could ask, Loki settled the blankets over you. He then walked outside, closing the door with a squeak. As you nestled into the blankets, you heard voices talking in the hallway. Their echoes impossible to ignore.

“So, she’s not a new soldier for this battle? Why her? Wouldn’t the tracker instead be a little more useful?” asked one.

“Don’t be hard on her, Rob. She could be useful. But she should be careful….” Replied another.

“Oh, Jon-don’t push Y/N darling into a battle yet! She fainted in the woods just hours ago! The woman’s distraught!” you heard Loki reply.

“Distraught? What do you mean?” the voice asked.

“Walk down with me, gentlemen, and I’ll explain it in short….” Loki offered.

You heard the footsteps go down the marble hall. Then you could not distinguish any words. The potion lulled you into a deep, blissful sleep.

When you awoke, it was a nice morning. You heard birds- to think you were in a different world and birds still chirruped. Was this the next day? Very likely it was the next day by now in your world, in Midgard. But here, it was morning.

It was Sunday. It would be hard not to think of Will on Sundays.

There was a knock on the door. It was a servant bringing some breakfast. A wooden tray with poached eggs, buttered toast, fresh fruit, and plump sausage links.

“Could I have coffee?” you asked.

The servant blinked.

“What is that?” she asked.

Loki’s voice rang in your head with a sigh.

“Oh, allow me.”

With a whiff of green magic, a blue, porcelain cup with the rich drink appeared on the tray. It warmed your hands as you held it, like a small hug in a cup.

After scarfing it all down, another brought you some clothes. They would be long, flowy robes the blue of a robin’s egg secured with a bronze belt. They were pretty, you had to admit. But you only sat in your room on the chair. Staring out the window. Thinking. Ruminating. Playing the scene that happened last night. Then playing through every memory you had of Will.

There was the time in spring when you played with his dog by throwing sticks for the pet to fetch under the blossoming trees. There was the time he walked around in the muck of the marshes. Mud and dirty got on his clothes and face. So when he returned to town, you cleaned off his face with your handkerchief. The time he proposed, and you through your arms over her broad shoulders and embraced him with a “yes.” Every polite kiss on the hand that scratched from his goatee. Every lovely dance at a party where he looked in your eye as you both moved to swelling string music. Every sermon that you took note of while admiring the grey morning light of the church and on his white robes with green sashes.

Then the letters. The morning in the field. Cora.

Every flash of his black with the small white flap of the collar that made you smile and your heart race with excitement. The sign that he represented God. Now it was something different. Black on white made your insides watery-once he represented God and now, he represented all things bad and wrong with the life. No- not with life-with men.

There was a knock on the door. Loki opened it. You stayed at the chair, turning to him. He was in his usual black and green robes. His blue eyes bright and his face had a gentle frown, rather than the proud, smug smile that was typical of him.

“How are you now? Slept alright?” he asked.

“Hadn’t slept this well in ages….” You answered.

“Do you…need anything, darling?”

“Don’t call me darling. And no.” you replied.

He took a step forward. You feel yourself lean a little back. The sunshine of outside melted its golden light into the room. It illuminated his face. It made the little embellishments on his clothes glow and patches of it warmed your skin.

“If you need anything, let a servant know. Or me.”

“If you can read my thoughts now, why bother asking?” you asked.

“Just to make sure, Y/N,” he said.

You stood up and crossed your arms.

“Why are you even here? Offering all these things, making me coffee in a cup? I know why-only offer nice things to me, so I owe you. To force me to sleep with you. How disappointing-You might be a god, but you’re just like all the other men.”

You turned to look out the window. He let in a deep sigh, his eyebrows briefly shooting up. He didn’t reply at your comment.

“The gardens and libraries and every nook of the library is free for you, should you want them.” He offered. Then he closed the door and left.

You did not feel like talking to Thor. As you passed him, you would only smile in greeting.

“Why-Y/N? What’s the matter?” he asked in his booming voice.

“Nothing, just…leave me alone…” you said, increasing your pace.

You curled up in the library. You grabbed volumes of sad romantic poetry. You read and re-read them to cry and cry your heart out. It was a release. It was something- the sadness that never left you.

I was never enough for Will. I’m not enough for him, for anyone… you kept thinking. When the last rumble of your latest crying session ended, you felt raw. Squeezed out like a wrinkled fruit. You noticed tear stains on the pages of the book. When you looked out the window, you realized how much time had passed. It was either the late afternoon or early evening. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

“I’m not in the mood, Loki!” you dismissed.

“I’m not Loki, my lady…” answered a similar voice.

When you opened the door, you saw Prince Hal. He had two silver glasses of what smelled like wine.

“He told me what happened. And I thought dealing with my father was bad.”

He walked inside. He handed you the wine. It’s dry, rich taste was welcoming. As you wiped your mouth, you noticed the deep red stain on your sleeve. The fireplace to the library crackled with a fresh ember. Both of you sat on the chair and sipped your glasses.

“So, it was you who brought me here?” you asked.

“Yes. Loki said he heard your cry for help. Your pain. He didn’t tell me why at the time, but he insisted I go and fetch you. He used his magic to send me there- said you deserved a ‘handsome prince on a horse’ to help you. But that his kind of prince would not be preferable to you. Hence me.”

You nestled into the chair. Hal cupped his goblet with one hand and began to take big drinks of it down.

“You said Loki…he told you what…what Will did…” you prodded.

Hal nodded, you could see an auburn curl fall free from his head.

“Yes. He did, he confirmed.

“And you saw Stella?” you asked.

He blinked rapidly. His eyes went to the corner and then back to yours in realization.

“Ah! The maid? That was her name? To be honest, I think she saw me. She was the first to find you,” he recalled.

“The First? She was in the forest at night?” you asked.

“Not night- the early morning. She was up early- I saw she had a basket for picking berries, as maids do. I heard her cry for help. Twas how I found you. I watched the maid pitifully try to carry you and fail- her delicacy not strong enough to carry you back to safety. You should have seen her amazement upon my steed. I told her who I was and who sent me, and she believed me. Then I could carry you like a babe and set us both on the horse and away. Her gentle heart fretted over you, my lady. I had to assure you many times you would be safe here in Asgard.”

You nodded. For the first time, you smiled at her. At the memory of your friend.

“Stella’s a good friend of mine. I’m glad she found me…” you responded.

Hal finished his wine with a big gulp. You weren’t even halfway done.

“You…you loved your intended. And he hurt you…I cannot imagine what it is to be hurt like that,” he said.

You made no comment, staring at the dark red of your wine in your cup. So dark, that it almost looked black. Hal then leaned forward, half ready to spring up from his chair.

“Perhaps…we should go to a tavern here. We’ll have another drink or two. I’ll tell you how I once scared an old man robbing a lord-get your mind off!” he offered with a smile and a wink.

A tavern. A place with low-lives, drunkards, and street walkers. A place where he would be emboldened with drinking and partying. Hal would flirt with you and smile at you. And then he would offer a room with one bed for the night. And it would not be for sleeping. Will seemed calm. He seemed chaste and appropriate. He seemed respectful of you. He seemed focused on God and his position. But his shaking cock could not lie. If this was how vicars acted, then how would this wild prince be like? No-no you had no taste. No- that was what Hal was after!

“No thank you, Hal. But…thank you for the wine.”

With that, Hal left.

The next two days followed that pattern. You took long baths full of hot water and scented soaps. You walked in the garden, never wanting to talk to anyone-not even Queen Frigga. You went to the library and curled up on a chair watching the fire, mostly to read the sad love poetry and wallow. You cried in every spot. On the garden bench, on the library rug, by a stone column, and on the long, marble steps. You cried in the morning. You cried in the afternoon. You cried at night. You would wake up late at night and begin crying again. You drank wine and stuffed yourself full of every tray of food. But thankfully, with the potion, your sleeping improved. You would awake to orange morning light and the crisp cool of the air of a new day. Refreshed and feeling new energy in you than the heavy weight of insomnia.

On the third day, Loki knocked on the door again to you. You were just enjoying a cup of coffee (the staff of Asgard figured out how to make some especially for you) and looking over the pages of a book you borrowed from the library.

“Y/N…do you want to return home?”

You shook your head.

“No. I can’t. I’m not ready,” you answered.

“But…anything from your home you would like?” he asked.

“I would like…my clothes. And my journal and embroidery from home.”

“You mean-the bustle and all those heavy skirts?” he asked with a curl of his lips.

You gave him a frown, furrowing your brow.

“Yes, my bustle and skirts!” you insisted.

Loki let out a sigh then tipped his head to the side.

“That can be done.”

“Loki…why are you so kind to me?” you asked, folding your arms in a hug for yourself.

Loki shrugged.

“It’s not a good look on the palace to have a guest be unhappy.”

“You sure do seem a little too grateful just for giving you milk,” you replied.

“I am not an ungrateful man, despite what my father will tell you…” he said. You got up from your chair and took a step closer to him.

“Loki…do you…do you know what’s going on back home? I know Stella saw Hal. And Hal told her I was taken to Asgard.” You asked.

“She’s telling them that you were hurt and was sent to Asgard for help.”

“So, they believe her?”

“Of course, they don’t believe her. They believed in a serpent. Now that they have been proven there is no serpent, but there is me, their imaginations are still running. They keep whispering to each other how you were abducted by the Norse God to be his whore. Doesn’t matter if it’s true or not to them-That’s what they believe. Makes for a good story, don’t you think?”

You decided not to ask about Will.

With a flick of Loki’s hand, out came a dress, corset, bustle, stockings, and petticoats and bustle laid on your bed. The dress was one of your own and a favorite of yours for the day- white with green stripes and pink embellishments. With another snap of his fingers, you saw your old journal and your embroidery, thread, and needles were there on the desk.

You smiled.

“Thank you.”

“Ah- I finally get one from you.”

He went over to the bed, observing the clothes.

“The more I look, the less bad I think they are…. your time’s fashion,” he commented.

“They are mine. They are a part of me- and it’s how I like to dress. I, for one, think your Asgardian dress is strange!” you shot back.

He crossed his arms and then leaned against the wall. You noticed a small laugh escape him in just a exhale. But then he flashed a handsome, winning smile.

“Oh- wait until you meet the others. There’s three- the new one dresses right in your era. But the other two of them are dressed strange, I can tell you that!”

You turned up.

“New men?”

“Yes- the new form. We’re all making a circle of each other for support!”

“For your war!”

“The one from your time is busy right now-so he will very likely be late. But the two others- the ones from the future- they will be here today at breakfast. But…I know that you have been taking your meals alone…I don’t wish to bother you,” Loki shrugged. “Like I said, it’s mainly for a meeting. About this little war. The danger to our worlds and all that. But you might as well distract yourself. Unless you’re not ready…”

You got up.

“No…I’d like to meet them, please. Just let me get dressed.” You insisted.

He smiled and then left to give you privacy.

You sighed with relief putting on your own fashions. It felt like missing a part of your skin. You didn’t feel like a creature in a zoo repeating a mindless pattern. No, you were a person. Once you were done, you opened the door. Loki was pacing about. He stopped and smiled at you.

“Here- allow me to escort you…”

Loki offered his arm. You hesitated, then You took it and began to walk with him. He felt warm from being so close. Even the leather of his sleeve was warm. He did smile a small smile but offered no remarks to you. That is, until you finally walked into the dining room. Of course, Hal was there, running a hand through his hair.

“Ah! My lady! You’re right here! You can meet them!” Hal said with a greeting smile.

“Who’s them?” you asked.

As if on cue, in walked another gentleman. He had the same look as them if you saw his face- cheekbones and blue eyes. But his skin was a bit tan, and his hair was short. Blonder than the others. He wore strange clothes- you could see a white shirt with a blue jacket and blue pants that matched. Though he looked at you. He at once went up and shook his hand and smiled.

“Oh- you are out and ready? Are you a guest here as well? The woman from Aldwinter?” he asked. His voice was formal and his manners proper, despite the oddity of his clothes.

“Yes, I am,” you confirmed. Loki let you go from his arm as you approached the gentleman.

“Pleasure to meet you- my name is Jonathan Pine.”

You curtsied and he looked at you in amusement. His hand reached out to shake yours, then it retreated.

“Pleased to meet you, I’m Y/N,” you replied dutifully.

Loki let out a little laugh. He stayed standing, pulling up a chair intended to be yours.

“Oh, Jonathan! You do have a weakness for beautiful women in need of help!”

Jonathan shot him a look.

“I’m only greeting her, sir,” he said.

“You’re not at work, Jonathan-and no one’s here to watch you. You can finally relax here…” came another voice.

In walked another similar looking fellow. Only he had redder hair that was a touch longer. He wore a white shirt and dark pants and something funny and dark around his neck. His sleeves were rolled up and you saw a watch around his wrist. But something in his pale face and there was a slight sadness in his eye. But he looked up at you and they shone.

“Ah, the new girl!” the stranger said.

He went up and shook your hand. You were a little shocked at the intimacy-touching a man you didn’t know!-but went with it.

“I hear Hal gave you quite a ride the other day. Well, I can give you one too if you like,” he said with a wink.

You felt yourself become hot and flustered and fluttered your eyes down. You even frowned and when your eyes went up you glared at him.

“Sir! Do not speak to me in that way when I don’t even know your name!” you said.

“Oh, please- Robert! You don’t even know her name! Robert, this is Y/N. Y/N- this is Doctor Robert Laing. I promise you, he doesn’t bite!” Loki assured.

“Hard” added Robert with a playful shrug.

With that, the men sat at their seats before the food and you.

Loki swept his arms up. “And now I was told the other would be late- we may begin gentlemen…and lady…”

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the-whispers-of-death · 2 months ago

Text

A Journey Starts

I'm still undecided on whether or not to write Mohandas and Stone in Manhattan and doing their little brother-bonding moments while Stone also deals with the paranoia and impulsive stuff that is him, but I'm going to write them leaving the ranch. Because they refuse to let me not write.

For context, this is happening after @jupiter-reimagined's Arguments & Escalations and my work Done with Your Shit.

So here it is. Stone leaving the ranch to go better himself.

Word Count: 3,121

Vikram stood outside the house he had lived in with his family for a couple months, the original house they started with getting an upgrade due to more and more people being added to it. He was feeling bittersweet, knowing he has leaving his family for an amount of time that made his skin crawl but also knowing it was for a good cause.

He had let paranoia rule over him for far too long and even with all of the work he was doing with his therapist now, it still wasn't enough. He needed a drastic change, he needed to go to the one place he used to call home so, so many years ago.

As he said goodbye to his family, or rather the family that was there at the ranch, his baby brother came with his stuff.

Right, the younger man was coming with, since he knew the Manhattan area better than Vikram ever could. Knowing the other man, he probably was also coming along to bond with Vikram.

Vikram stared at Mohandas, still surprised every time he saw him by just how much they looked alike.

Their father really did manage to get clones out of his children, with the way Vikram only had gotten his mother's nose and nothing else of hers when he was born. Mohandas was worse, since he had gotten nothing from his mother (who was not Vikram's mother) in terms of looks. Still, Mohandas didn't look exactly like their father, as he didn't have any scars on his face unlike Vikram and their father.

It was still uncanny, as it was like looking in the mirror and yet also looking at his worst nightmare.

Mohandas smiled at Vikram upon arrival, coming with enough luggage for their several month-long trip to Manhattan. He frowned as he looked at how little luggage Vikram was carrying, looking more and more like Vikram the more he frowned.

"Aren't you going to pack more stuff?" he asked, staring up at his big brother since Vikram was the tallest. He gestured to the difference in the amount of bags the brothers had. "We're going to be gone for months and yet, it looks like you've barely packed enough clothes to last you a month."

Vikram huffed at that, merely taking his luggage and his baby brother's and putting them in the trunk of his beat-up Jeep. He seemed amused by Mohandas' confusion.

"I can reuse clothes after they're washed," Vikram said, watching in secret delight at the face Mohandas made at him.

He knew that Mohandas hadn't lived the childhood Vikram had, despite them both having the same father. Their father had been kinder to Mohandas, more loving.

Mohandas didn't know what it was like to live with barely anything, with barely enough clothes to wear for a month. He had lived with a father and mother who had given him everything and made him want for nothing. He had gotten so many clothes, he barely wore them. He had so many materialistic things, Vikram was certain at least one of his baby brother's bags wasn't filled with the true bare essentials.

He also didn't know what it was like to fear their father at every waking moment, but that was neither here nor there.

Mohandas didn't seem to want to argue with Vikram, not that he could, and he simply said goodbye to each and every one of Vikram's family members. He promised Vikram's husband, Sylvester, to call as soon as they arrived in Manhattan, since Vikram had no phone of his own to do so.

Vikram couldn't wait until his brother was finished with saying his goodbyes, being too impatient. "Come on, Mohandas," he said, switching to Hindi because he and Mohandas would be alone for a long time and he missed only speaking in his native language.

Mohandas grumbled in Hindi back to the older man, something about how he needed to chill since they were going to be very early for their flight when they arrived. He still finished his goodbyes to Vikram's family quickly, heading to the Jeep before his older brother could get more impatient.

Vikram had to resist the urge to look back at his family when he started the car and started driving, knowing if he looked back then he'd want to forgo this trip entirely. His heart was growing heavier and heavier the farther he drove away from the ranch, from the home he had known for the past decade.

But this was for the good of the family, for the good of him. He needed a drastic change in scenery to change, he needed to go back to the source of all of his trauma and he needed to finally deal with it in a way that didn't hinder his family living their best lives.

Mohandas shifted in his seat, clearly wanting to talk since it would take an hour to get to the airport but he also didn't want to push his big brother to talk. So he kept shifting in his seat, glancing at Vikram every five seconds.

"Mohandas, I swear if you didn't go to the bathroom before we left..." Vikram said with a low growl, thinking his younger brother was shifting in his seat because he needed to use the bathroom. "Do not ask me to pull this car over so you can go in the bushes."

"I don't need to pee!" Mohandas answered, his voice turning into a whine at the end. He grumbled something Vikram couldn't hear before speaking up again. "I just don't know if you'd like to talk or not. We have an hour in the car together. We should bond."

"Bond? Can't we just bond on the plane?"

"Then what are we going to do for the car ride? You don't have a car radio. By the way, why don't you have a car radio?"

"They can track us with it."

Mohandas stared at Vikram with his mouth opened in bewilderment. He blinked for a few seconds before huffing. "Thank God you're going to get your shit together. You need to."

Vikram glared at him out of the corner of his eye before focusing on the road again. They both fell silent, since Vikram was definitely not in the mood to talk.

The hour in the car crept slowly and Mohandas managed to fall asleep during that time. Vikram glanced at him awake one second and then the next time Vikram checked on him, Mohandas' head was against the window and he was quietly sleeping.

"The damn kid is going to get a crick in his neck," Vikram said to no one but himself, trying hard not to think about how trusting Mohandas was to sleep with a man he barely knew driving.

He shook off the unsettling feeling that formed in the pit of his stomach when he thought about whether he could do that or not, his resolve in wanting to change solidifying the more and more he realized he wouldn't be to do it. At least, not now.

Maybe one day.

An hour later, they made it to the airport in one piece. Thankfully, Mohandas had woken up on his own and gotten out to help Vikram with the luggage.

They wheeled their luggage inside, going to the elevator since they had to park their car in the long-term parking lot. Due to them being at the airport so early, there was barely any line to check in and to check their bags in.

After their bags were checked in and they had their boarding passes in hand, they made their way to through security.

"I can't believe we got here so early," Mohandas said as he took off his shoes and put them in a bin on the conveyor belt. He put his phone on top of his shoes. "The sun is just now starting to rise."

Vikram put his shoes in a separate bin, having nothing else to put in the bin. He rolled his eyes at Mohandas' grumbling, hip checking the younger man as gently as he could.

"Do you always complain? You should be glad we don't have to wait long lines to get through security."

Vikram was about to go through the metal detectors, since he was in front of Mohandas, when he got grabbed by the wrist and stopped in his tracks. He turned his head to the side and gave Mohandas a droll look, silently asking him why he stopped him.

Mohandas lowered his voice so no one else could hear him, clearly worrying about what someone else would interpret his words if they heard. As if they could understand Hindi.

"You don't have any sharp objects on you, right?"

Vikram's look turned completely blank and he quickly pulled his wrist out of his brother's grip, using that hand to smack the back of Mohandas' head. "Who the fuck do you think I am?" he asked with a hiss. "I'm not dumb enough to go on a plane with any weapon."

Mohandas put his hands up in the air in surrender, looking cheeky despite having been smacked in the head and forced to take a step backwards from the blow. "Had to ask."

"You're holding up the line, move forward and through the metal detectors!" A TSA agent yelled at Vikram—in English—while gesturing for him to come on through the metal detectors. Despite no one else being in line, none of the TSA agents around were pleased with the hold-up.

Vikram glared at Mohandas one last time before heading through the metal detectors.

Thankfully, both of them went through security with no one being taken aside for "randomized" pat-downs. With the security done, they went to the food court as Mohandas was starving.

"Are you sure you don't want to eat anything?" Mohandas asked after getting what he wanted from the food court. He had switched to English to order and then switched back to Hindi once it was just him and Vikram again. "You should eat, we have time to kill."

"I had breakfast, roughly two hours ago."

"Right, you get up at four every day. Like a weirdo."

Vikram grunted in displeasure at the statement. "You're lucky we're in public, or else I'd kick you."

*************************************************************

Hours later, their plane was ready to board, thankfully. Vikram was getting tired of Mohandas being bored while they waited.

They boarded the plane, finding their seats with ease. Since they were two big men, with Vikram being the tallest on the plane, they had gotten the seats next to the emergency exit since it had way more leg room. It was still cramped horizontally, but at least their legs were able to be stretched out.

Mohandas settled into the seat nicely, seeming very relaxed compared to Vikram who was on edge. He glanced at his older brother who was eyeing everyone who went passed them to get to their own seats.

"You realize you look like a terrorist with the way you're being so fidgety?" he asked Vikram, raising an eyebrow at him. "Stop it, you're drawing attention to yourself."

It was Vikram's turn to grumble as he resolved himself to stop shifting in his seat. "There are so many ways this plane ride can go wrong," he answered, wringing his hands together.

Mohandas hummed in agreement. "Yes, but it will do you no help if you stress about it," he explained, gently slapping Vikram's hands so he'd stop tightly gripping them. "You're going to work yourself up until you throw up. Take a deep breath, do it in time with me."

Despite the paranoia rising in him, Vikram focused on Mohandas. He focused on breathing in time with his younger brother, inhaling and exhaling when he did so. Slowly, he was starting to calm down.

The plane took off and Vikram was as relaxed enough as he could be. He didn't say "thank you", but he patted Mohandas' thigh in appreciation. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mohandas give him a bright smile.

The day passed by in the plane and it was time for the flight attendants to give the passengers dinner, everyone—except Vikram—having had lunch before boarding. Vikram eyed the flight attendant who was rolling the cart of packaged food down the aisle, asking everyone on their side of the plane what they wanted to eat.

"And what will you kind gentlemen have this evening?" they asked in English when they came to Vikram and Mohandas' row.

Mohandas ordered for himself and then turned to Vikram to ask what he wanted.

Vikram shook his head. "I'm not hungry," he said. He was still speaking Hindi, not wanting to speak to the flight attendant directly.

Mohandas' eyebrows furrowed and after a split second decision, he ended up ordering something for Vikram. He smiled and thanked the flight attendant after they gave him the food and left.

"I said I'm not hungry," Vikram murmured, unamused at Mohandas' stunt. He didn't touch the food Mohandas put on his now-opened tray.

Mohandas tsked at him, unwrapping the plastic utensils they were both given with their food. "Don't be like that, Vikram. You haven't eaten anything since four in the morning. You can't eat nothing." he scolded, switching back to speaking Hindi.

He unwrapped Vikram's utensils as well.

"I will take a bite of each food on the tray, so you know it's not poisoned."

Mohandas did exactly that, opening the container of food the meal came with and eating every section. He chewed and swallowed it all, waiting a few minutes so Vikram could really see it wouldn't hurt him.

Someone had told Mohandas exactly how to soothe his paranoia around food. Vikram's bet was on Ashok being the traitor who told on him, since it sounded like an Ashok thing to do.

"There you go. The food is not poisoned." Mohandas went to eat his own food, being hungrier than he thought he was. He gestured for Vikram to start eating. "Come on, you always frown and scold when anyone else is not eating when they should be. Don't be a hypocrite."

Shame ate at Vikram, his brown eyes trained on the plastic utensils that were untouched on his tray. He tried to memorize the way Mohandas was holding his own utensils, but he couldn't figure out the exact placement of his fingers and he just knew he wouldn't be able to emulate it.

"I don't know how to hold utensils."

The words felt bitter on his tongue and he wished he had the ability to make himself smaller in that moment. But no amount of trying to make himself smaller would take away what he had admitted to.

"What?"

Vikram gritted his teeth, feeling the traitorous tears well up in his eyes. His grip on his hands were tight again and if he hadn't had gloves on, his nails would be cutting into his skin.

"I don't know how to hold and use utensils," he repeated, taking a deep breath to try and stop the embarrassment in his voice. "Baba didn't teach me."

Mohandas blinked in confusion, his fork suspended in the air as he had been about to take another bite of his food.

"You didn't learn in the military?" Mohandas' voice—to Vikram's surprise—wasn't mocking or full of laughter. His voice had gone softer, like he was concerned for his big brother.

"I was too paranoid to even eat the food served in the mess hall, much less to eat there."

Mohandas looked around, noting that due to being in an exit row, no one would be able to see them unless they would get up to go to the bathroom. And no one would be going yet because they were too busy eating dinner.

"No one's watching you, just eat with your hands. It's okay."

Vikram didn't look convinced, but Mohandas kept nodding at him to eat. He took off his gloves and ate with his hands, thankful to be given napkins along with the food. He ate quickly, not wanting to be eating too slowly that someone would see him eating with his hands.

As soon as he finished eating, he got up and went to the bathroom. He washed his hands, as if he had done something so reprehensible that he had to wash his hands clean of it.

"You're okay," Mohandas murmured to Vikram when he came back to the bathroom. He settled his hand on Vikram's shoulder, grounding him in reality. "It's alright, it's not something to be ashamed of."

It was morning and thus the next day when they landed in New York City, Mohandas waking up upon the plane touching down. He yawned and stretched, looking at Vikram.

"Did you sleep?" he asked, though he knew the answer.

"Fuck no."

Mohandas found it in him to laugh at the way his brother said the sentence, simply rolling his eyes instead of getting concerned for Vikram. It was getting exhausting for the both of them for him to nag at his big brother constantly.

They deboarded the plane relatively quickly, going to where customs was.

Since Mohandas had only moved to the UK recently, he was technically still a U.S. citizen. This unfortunately left Vikram in a separate line to get through customs because he hadn't been a citizen of the United States in over a decade now.

Vikram hated every single second he had to speak in English to the customs officer, but he managed not to directly insult the person before getting to customs and rejoining Mohandas. There, the two of them made their way to the baggage claim.

"I swear, if our luggage is lost... I'm never coming back to the U.S.," Vikram said as they waited a bit too long for his liking for their luggage. He watched every piece of luggage pass by on conveyor belt, not seeing theirs. "Did we miss it?"

"I don't think we did. Let's just be patient, ours will come." Mohandas was also eyeing every piece of luggage, hoping they truly hadn't missed their luggage.

They both let out a sigh of relief when their bags came a few minutes later and they didn't hesitate to snatch them up before they got out of their reach. With their suitcases in hand, they went outside.

Vikram immediately coughed at the smog around him. "What the fuck?" he asked, feeling like he was dying.

"I guess you've forgotten the smog that encapsulates New York," Mohandas said, chuckling. He took a deep breath, his smile becoming wider.

"This will be home for the next few months."

"What did I get myself into?"

Banners made by @/cafekitsune

This was definitely longer than I thought it would be. 💀

Again, I don't know if we'll see more of Mohandas and Stone's time in Manhattan. I might write a few scenes here and there about them, but no promises.

(BTW, for people who don't/might not know: Manhattan is a borough in New York City. Hence why they flew to NYC. From here, they'll drive to a hotel in the Manhattan borough and then be in Manhattan. Just thought I'd clarify because I mostly just write Manhattan like it's its own city.)

Requests are open!

#task force 141 oc #call of duty oc #cod oc #task force 141 oc: stone #call of duty oc: stone #cod oc: stone #oc: mohandas #ranch au #my writing #:)

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