#seemed a God given balance to all my peculiarities

[magpie-trove]

there are a lot of worthwhile things to do in the world there are a lot of things there are a lot of other things

[gazeofseer]

☘️Happy Ganesh🌸

🌸Chaturthi ☘️

For those who are unaware 'Ganpathi' means a God with elephant head and all the qualities of an elephant and human transcending into a divine being by balancing, embracing, and growing the intellect he endeared yet evolved all kinds of contrasts and contradictions ina state where better solutions and vigilance strives for the well being of all.

We in India celebrate his Idol by placing it out house to bring his divine presence to be with for a couple of days and when we send off the idol we make sure all things during these days we felt is rest assured with him and we as a life are under his grace of love.

After a sail through the starting months of energetic shifts and transformation that has shaped us to walk through this new space during the starting off September there calls for new opportunities, new prosperity, new fortunes and much more what is store in for you find out.

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Pick one of the piles from the above pictures

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Pile 1.

There is some kind of despair you are not sad about not ungrateful touchwood not anything seems horrible out there but something feels unsettled, unclear and more of hopeless inside, peculiar of a situation replay, an emotional skit, a thought came but never made it till throat, something which is holding you back seems to root within.

Signs : You are punishing yourself sub consciously for everything you did like why, what, when and how, the question you presume to be someone's opinion but what if I say it is your very own voice? Being your own worst hater where you keep questioning your existence again and again leaves you despair.

Messages from Lord Ganesha :

- Stop questioning and start accepting

- Hate is just the thing least loved love it more and you see the embrace.

- It's okay sorrow is not to cut off it is to settle in well somewhere it hurts the least.

- Eat well, drink well, well being lies in action not in ideas.

Blessings :

'I am always with you, one day away the faith in you is me I lie in there no need to preach my way to temple, look one I gave you to live in' 🛕✨

- Justice will be served you would be given a chance to express your feelings to more people through blog, article.

- It will be unexpected because it has to do with your career.

- I feel you are working media some or the other where fingers are at work.

- The exhaustion is coming from a place where you are thinking of yourself as an weight.

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Pile.2

You are very good at trying to be happy, and I really really appreciate your effort even after the disgrace, or disappointment no fake laughs you actually learned the hard way to get up and move to a pace where it feels natural for you to laugh better boundaries allow you to make greater choices for yourself.

Signs : Okay, you have accepted this that people are going to be upset no matter how much you love or be kind to them you realised they got a excuse to point your flaws then to find a way to love it, you chose yourself with scars instead of expecting from people to accept yours and badge that for you.

Messages from Lord Ganesha :

- Your nerve hurts especially when it hurts and you behave like it doesn't is good but sometimes take it maybe it's something not hurt but important for you to address.

- You are sometimes prone to autopilot and see it as a go with the flow but no there is a difference in one you are dead walking to the ways, to find something new while the other is being awake when you are new yourself.

Blessings :

- It will break with a tower moment you are going to vent to yourself or to someone about the above mentioned issue because it is causing some severe headaches and it drops.

- Elephant has a restless mind, hence it is playful you must learn to give in, live where and with hat you are and still not get restless with why it is longer? Or settle around it as an end.

- There no end await, and what awaits is another beginning so walk in..walk in with your life.

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Pile.3

Yearning? For what..I started with questions because you seem to have a lot but somewhere don't you know the answers? I see you have to make some decisions and you are clear but things around you seems to fall to you but what if they fall into their reality, yes some people around are trying to intervene and interfere more obviously making them special to you on their own but you know they are not.

Signs : Cold shoulders, Feminine..glares, something eyes, did you stalked and done some research around? Good! You are a good spy in real life.

Messages from Lord Ganesha :

- Do not worry about the fall, you have to fly because I am here by your side to make sure everything is fine.

- Justice is what you seek but make sure it is never settled at cost of injustice make sure hurt is fine harm is not.

- Be careful with your words, somebody is here good at word play and what they say still use your words carefully especially about yourself.

Blessings :

- You will come out of the situation, but the hangover is needed for you to learn why all this happened for, so learn that and move on.

- You may shift, physically or your mental perception and state of being which will envelope you in the best possible way that will ground you so you can work through your fears.

- Foster new connections, network carefully, with people have a distant approach not everybody is second thinking about you not everyone is too concerned but when you are..it takes their attention towards you and you attract the drain cut this pattern.

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May God really bless you with grace and faith 🙏🏽

DM for Paid Readings 💝🌸

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[nowis-scales]

Haha, yeah, Celica… so very kind… The statue may be lying. Can't say for sure because I don't actually know the context behind the second picture, I have just seen it before.

Leave you behind, Genny? Never

“Whatever, Professor Funslayer” has, ironically, become my favourite screenshot to send my friend Anthony, with whom I have a very Mae & Boey relationship

Minus the potential paired ending, that is

Oh goddammit, not the Cantor again. I was warned you would be back, you bastard!

Oooh, is this Celica lore? They’ve been kinda stingy with it so far, so I’m kinda interested in the drop. So they’re after Celica for some reason. I figure it has to do with her being Lima’s daughter and all, but I wonder the connection. The gods in Echoes, to my knowledge, are pretty balanced in terms of each having their good and bad side… but if it were Lima’s people who longed for Duma’s reign, which I didn’t think it would be, does that mean Alm’s enemies are more centred around Mila?

Honestly, it might not even be a question of the gods at this point, but that’s the fun part about playing (mostly) blind. I don’t know. The most I can make is an educated guess that it probably will, given what I know about SOV.

My brain, knowing full-well that this guy’s name is Conrad: CLIVE!

No, brain, Clive is Clair’s brother

WHAT DO YOU MEAN I ONLY GET TWO UNITS

Every day I thank the gods that cheese has healing powers in this game

OH WAIT, YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW CELICA?

I kinda just thought she was holding out on it for the plot, but she seems to have just like, rolled a 20 on her insight check in knowing that the guys were after her, and not known anything else. That’s interesting. Now I’m even more intrigued.

I wonder… if they’re not Desaix’s men, certainly she could be used as some kind of a bargaining chip with someone. Does it go higher up than Desaix, to Rudolf or Berkut? The latter would certainly make sense, given that from what I know, he’s not particularly excited about Alm… and the “using a woman as a bargaining chip” thing would fit with SOV’s sexism problems… It’s certainly peculiar, to say the least.

[thecorpseswallower]

IV. Ulfr

In the dim light of siege fires and a small glowing orb of his own conjuration, Ulfr attempted to steady his hand.

As their cart rumbled away from Ys, he sat boxed in on every side by his possessions. His penmanship would appear to anyone else to have suffered little under the conditions, but the way his ink blotted and smeared when the cart hit an ill-placed rock bothered him. Instinctively, he thought to reach for another page— but stopped, remembered the situation at hand, and kept writing.

The main body of the note was penned upon the night of Yesenia’s Conveyance. He had left blank spaces to fill in as needed; a very peculiar and direct instruction of hers, and those gaps had seemed an ominous threat ever since he put them to the paper. The words surrounding them teemed with terrible possibilities, as the proverbial coin flip of the world cartwheeled through the air that night.

Though, even given all the pieces, he doubted that he would have ever put them together to form this picture

There was nothing Yesenia— this Yesenia, the one that sat before him with her head in her paws— could have done to lessen the sting of their loss. He knew that this pain was as fresh and raw in her heart as it was his own. There would be no use raging against the injustice of it all to a woman who had even less forewarning than himself. Thus was the nature of time travel; that those who came back to foretell the worst would always still be blindsided by it in the moment.

The letter read:

Lady Siobhán,

I am writing to inform you of our current situation. The exact nature of our location and the circumstances surrounding this event cannot be disclosed at the present time. When such information is available, and Gods willing I am alive to report upon it, I will personally advise you in detail of these events.

I am                to inform you that your children, young Lord Alphonse and Lady Medb Ivars, are                  

The city of Ys has been                 . I will seek some means for us to communicate in greater detail soon. This is my last correspondence from Ys. My sincerest apologies for the obscure nature of this letter. Our enemies are upon our heels, as always. I know these words may not bring much comfort to a mother's heart, but know that we are doing all we can for the care of your children.

Is mise, le meas,

Ulfr.

Though it lightened his heart to write words such as ‘glad’ and ‘alive’ in those hollow spaces, knowing that the fate of the twins balanced upon such a precarious ledge that night made him wonder about the world that had not been. What would have led him to penning a death notice instead of a cautiously hopeful missive? Would saving the city from a siege result in their death— and what of Magnolia's demise? Would one have to fall regardless of how the cards shuffled?

Yesenia talked about the universe like a sheet of fabric on a loom. Snapping just one thread could disrupt the pattern throughout countless generations of weft. What pattern did this weave, then?

As he considered how best to describe the fate of Ys while remaining diplomatic, Ulfr became increasingly aware of Marciano's unease. The man had not spoken a single word since leaving the city’s borders, but the fury that seethed from him hung in the air like a choking miasma.

It was unclear what had happened at the moment of Magnolia’s demise. The Words she had spoken had been strange to even Ulfr’s ears. What had become of her body was also uncertain, as they had fled too quickly to retrieve her. He knew her to be dead, as questing towards her mind felt like reaching into a hole much deeper and more cavernous than he anticipated— but beyond that, who could say.

“Stop the cart,” Marciano demanded.

No one acknowledged him.

Ulfr put his stick to parchment again;

The city of Ys has been compromised. I will seek some means for us to communicate—

“Stop the damned cart!” Marciano shouted, rising to his feet.

Lorna pulled up on the reigns, jostling their belongings as their horse, Aonbharr, came to a whinnying halt. She looked back at him, incredulous.

“What?” She demanded.

“I’m going back."

“The fuck you are.” Lorna passed the reins to Talfryn as she twisted at the waist, placing an elbow atop the crates behind her. Aonbharr resumed her trot cautiously. “What could you possibly get out of going back in there?”

“Marciano…” Medb’s voice broke on his name.

She and Emil were squeezed into the open space near the end of the cart. The Scholars had arrived at the palace just in time to see Azar speeding away on horseback, and Alphonse just barely able to keep his seat behind him, clinging to the Mau’s shirt with a terrified expression. The other two had also acquired steeds, though the horses were unruly and looked too expensive to steal. They had let the beasts go and settled for the slow, plodding cart instead, following in the wake of Llamrei’s furious charge north.

"It's suicide to go back in there now," Medb pleaded. "Why not wait until—"

"Why not wait? Why head north at all?" He snapped back. "Without her, what are we doing this for? We have no stake in Asgard's war, so why should they open their doors to us now?"

Lorna said, "So you want to fight Arcadia, then? Muster our forces, turn around and reduce Ys to a crater? For what?"

"I don't give a damn about Ys, nor Arcadia. They sought the boy and his whore, not us. She should've never—"

"Mind your words," Lorna warned.

“She died for nothing! This entire damned continent has been nothing but hostile to us, and now she’s dead. And for what, Lorna? For an accusation that’s damned reasonable I’d say, considering the circumstances.”

“She died protecting us!” Lorna erupted, thumping a fist against the wagon. “To protect two innocent boys! You want to spit on that by going back in there?”

"Of course not!”

“Then why—”

“I want to bring her back!” Marciano declared. After a breath, he added, “To Scholomance. To the Isle. She deserves that much.”

The squeaking of wagon wheels filled the silence.

Yesenia broke their stalemate not with a shout, but a whisper. “He does have a point… Returning to Scholomance.” She lifted her head. “Or to Cockaigne. And Raetia. We should alert Tartessos’ neighbours.”

“I don’t give a damn about—”

“And I don’t care,” Yesenia stressed, “What you feel about this situation. They need to know. They are still our allies, and Ys’ allies besides. We must get a message to them, and it must be through our words over those of Arcadia. After that, you may fuck off to wherever you like.”

The Empire would be glad to bend the ear of anyone with a less-than-favourable impression of the Scholars already. Having those few but powerful nations on their side could help box Arcadia in; Cockaigne was o the west of Tartessos, capping off the coastline, Raetia to the south, and Andlangr to the north.

“You would have to go through Cockaigne anyway,” she went on to reason. Scholomance was far beyond the western borders of any extant nation, beyond even the wastes of Víðbláinn. Voyages by ship were still perilous, but Cockaigne was the closest port, and She regularly saw their vessels docking there to ferry prospective mages to the Isle. “I could head to Raetia, since I’m on good terms with their Council.”

Ulfr stilled his stylus.

“It would be wise to go now, before we pass into northern lands. And I might join you.”

Talfryn shouted at him; Medb and Yesenia spoke over each other, one urging him not to go and the other accepting his aid. Marciano seemed relieved, but his expression shifted to panic as the cart was pulled to yet another swift stop and he was thrown forward, barely catching himself on the railing.

Ulfr’s bats chittered in distress. He put a hand atop their covered cage.

“You’re sure that’s a good idea?” Lorna asked him, leaning close so they could speak privately.

He nodded. “I’m sure. Take care of my things in the meanwhile; you are to be the Master of Scrolls in my absence.”

“Oh… A promotion.” She smiled warmly, her head pillowed on folded arms. “Not exactly how I would’ve liked it to happen, though. What are you planning?”

“I can’t tell you now, but later, I swear it.”

He took a small cloth from his writing bag, wiped down the stylus, and capped the ink bottle. After rolling the letter and tying it shut with a length of waxed twine, he handed it to Lorna.

“Later.” She affirmed, slipping the letter into her shift.

She then stood to address the others; “Right— he’s going with you. Yesenia needs someone to be her eyes if you’re cutting through the forest. I am Master of Scrolls, effective immediately; Talfryn, Medb, Emil, we are continuing north. Marci—” she looked at him, her expression stern, “Don’t get yourself killed. She might not even be there. Head to Cockaigne when you’re done and tell them only what we know to be true. Rest assured, I will find out if you didn’t.”

He dipped his head, a gesture somewhere between a nod and a bow. “Yes my Lady. Thank you.”

“Talfryn and I will Convey to the three of you in about a week to get abreast of the situation. If something changes, reach out to either of us first.”

Yesenia reached to her side for the Morning Star which typically sat there, and, not finding it, patted blindly at the seat beside her.

Medb spotted it within a pile of boxes and dug it out, then handed it over. “You’re really leaving?” The girl asked.

“Temporarily.” Yesenia stood and affixed the weapon to her side. Ulfr slung his writing bag over his shoulders, pocketed a few more vials of ink, and joined her. “We will be back. Get yourselves settled in Asgard, and do your best to get them on our side. I’m counting on you, okay? Be my replacement.”

Medb’s voice was small, but she replied with a nod, “Okay.”

The three of them departed from the cart, waiting in the road and watching as Talfryn waved goodbye. They stood there until her visage was eclipsed by the night, and they were alone.

Wordlessly, Marciano turned on his heels and jogged back in the direction of Ys.

Ulfr, offering his arm to Yesenia, led her deeper into the shadows of the forest.

“You did not need to come with me,” She stated. “You know what I am planning to do.”

“I do. Careful, there’s a large root here.” Ulfr let her feel out the obstacle on her own, then took her paw once they were past it. “That is why I came. Hesperides is too far for me to travel without a horse, and too dangerous to approach from the gates.”

“I see,” said the blind woman. “It’s dangerous, you know.”

“What part of this isn’t?”

“True enough. How far are we from the standing stone?”

Ulfr looked behind him, then in front, seeing nothing but trees and blackness in every direction. His meagre mage-light was no brighter than a candle’s flame against the darkness. There was no moon in the sky that night, and glow of Ys aflame had been eclipsed by the trees.

“It’s hard to say,” he admitted.

“And you do remember where it was, yes?”

“Yes, I…” He did, but could not picture how to get there from this path. The road north was not one he had travelled in his own skin, and the eyes of a bat or a deer were altogether much different than his own. “I think we are headed the right way. Yes.”

If Yesenia had eyes to roll, she likely would’ve done so. Instead, she squeezed his hand and said, “Do not be frightened. I will protect you from the dark. Lead on.”

Ulfr allowed himself a short laugh. “I have no doubt of that.”

-- Next ->

[sarangbe]

he's only spent mere minutes in kou's presence, but sarang can tell that there's something a little peculiar about him. not in a bad way, no. he isn't creepy or anything like that. he's just... somewhat strange. affectionately so. honestly, it brings a smile to sarang's face; one that's warm and inviting like a summer day.

clutching onto the band-aid that he was given, he nods and stows it away in his pocket; scrunching his nose toward his new friend. "thank you—you're sweet!" he chimes, letting out a content sigh. turns out, all he needed was a little bit of attention in order to feel a little better. he wonders if that's sad or not, and he wonders what that fact says about him as a person, but he chooses not to psychoanalyze himself.

he's got more important things to worry about.

"ah, well, i would hope that i'm good at this sort of thing. between you and me, i get so tempted to just leave the trainee life behind and ask the company to hire me as a stylist or a makeup artist." that idea has been heavy on his mind lately, especially with how unhappy he's been. "for what it's worth, you really do look beautiful. they did a great job on your face, and your clothes. you're giving me a run for my money..." sarang teases, winking to emphasize playfulness.

though, when he's on the receiving end of the compliments, he grins; knowing that kou means what he says. he doesn't seem the type that would lie or scheme. "you really are sweet, gosh—thank you!" he lilts, smitten. "painting and makeup artistry are basically the same thing. yeah, the techniques can be different, and there's a lot of blending with makeup, but a bare face makes for a great canvas. maybe i'll let you do my makeup someday..." the idea of that seems fun, and could do well for them as far as in-company bonding is concerned.

agreeing with kou when he describes their vibes, sarang nods along, but pauses when his new friend doesn't seem to know who hiraeth are. "i—... well, they're our seniors, so you may want to learn about them, even if it's the bare minimum to save face. their concept is cool, it's like... they're all basically in love with one another." it's the best, simplest way he knows how to describe it. hopefully it suffices.

setting himself up for the photos, he poses alongside kou; curling into him a little bit. "hmm..." sarang ponders, biting down on his bottom lip. "why don't we take a few test shots to see what we're working with? then, we can work on different poses!" stepping a little closer to kou, sarang drapes one of his arms around his waist; ensuring he's balanced while he gets more into frame. he enjoys the closeness. it slightly dulls the loneliness he's been feeling.

"god, it's gonna be so hard for me not to turn this into the set of a hiraeth music video. i know you don't know what that means, but i'll try my best!" sarang laughs, angling his face toward the lens. "go ahead; snap a few!"

at the very least, kou is glad that sarang isn't hurt. it isn't as though kou himself had been terribly injured, but a cut is still a cut, and it had stung just a bit. he glances down to his bandage, decorated with cats. something he'd decided to pick up when he'd seen it in the nearby convenience store. "ah... i carry these around," kou digs into his pocket and pulls out two more cat patterned bandages, before passing one to sarang. "just in case," he says. it's important to be careful after all, with all these props around. and kou had always been a little bit of a klutz, prone to falling down and hitting things.

without much thought, his hands reach out to touch his own face. oh was that it? kou doesn't know much about makeup, had simply sat in a chair and allowed for the makeup artistes to do whatever they wanted to his face. "you're really good at this stuff," he comments, slightly awed. "i just let them do whatever they want to my face," which is true. he'd never been the type to put up much of a fight either way.

he takes a look at sarang, and hums a little under his breath. "yours too. it came out well," he gestures to sarang's face, the makeup that he'd gotten done ( of which, kou doesn't know the specifics of ). "it suits you. i like the way the makeup blends. it's lively. i don't know much about makeup, but i like painting," close enough, kou thinks. both were art forms in a way, weren't they?

"oh sure," he takes a step closer to sarang, realizing now the slight difference in size and vibes that they gave off. "we both sort of give off ... a different aura? i think we'll compliment each other," he comments off-handedly. kou, again, isn't too familiar with modelling, but he's been a trainee long enough to know what works and what doesn't – and he thinks pairing up with sarang for this workshop works.

"is hiraeth the name of a bl drama...?" kou asks, his confusion and poor korean peeking through. "i'll be careful. you should too," he pulls out his phone, swiping to the camera app, before bending slightly to make sure both him and sarang are in frame. "what sort of pose should we do? ah, the lighting here is nice, it compliments our eyes," he glances over to sarang, and decides to put into use what he'd just learnt. what was it again? "and... your blush too... sun-kissed, right? that's what you said."

[sarcastic-sketches]

From what I understand of your Force Anakin AU (the one where the Order catches his peculiarities early), would it be wrong to think that they'd try to get him what are essentially Force ADHD toys? Something to keep his hands and/or Force powers occupied when they want to do something? I can imagine him casually having a sort of toy Holocron floating around him when he walks around the Temple.

In relation to this post

Oh my god, I want to say that the Jedi would reiterate the notion that he just needs to center himself and find balance within the Force, but then the medical team come in like 'No, no, this ... this isn't something he can just will away. It's out of his control.'

The whole Adult with ADHD realising everything has been so much harder than it needed to be because they were surrounded by people that just didn't get it. The Jedi almost folding with relief when Anakin's chaos actually seems to be settling when he's given the necessary accomodations. The man couldn't even get his own brain to behave, let alone with any outside influence getting in the way.

The toy Holocron sounds really cute actually, constantly shifting the pieces around as it opens and closes like a rubiks cube. Or hell just a couple of ball bearings orbiting around his hand (like Magneto when he escapes his plastic prison). It takes a lot of precision Force use and dexterity to do such a thing and he's doing it to keep himself centered? Unbelievable. This would also double up and help with the overabundance of Force energy he has. A passive outlet and focus for his energy to be used and get his mind the stimulation it needs so he can think through the fuzz.

Or he finds a butterfly-knife from somewhere to flick around with. He probably has that for all of a week before Obi-Wan just quietly confiscates it and gives him something else less sharp.

Anakin: Really?

Obi-Wan: I've already had to watch you lose a limb, I'd rather you didn't lose a figner or two as well

But the real result of this is the Jedi looking at their other members, especially their younglings and going 'how many others have we missed...?' They only noticed in Skywalker because his Force connection is batshit and it excerbates everything apparently.

Imagine younglings learning that one Anakin Skywalker, famed General, also has trouble calming himself on demand (in fact that often makes it worse) but not through lack of trying and relating. It's not a failure on their part it's just because they got dealt a different set of cards to other people and no-one knew. Let alone them. Then the Jedi in turn help him to find other ways to manage this. It certainly helps open Anakin's eyes to the fact that they actually do care and casts just a bit more doubt into a certain Chancellors words against the Order.

[cherrywoes]

liar's dice. (gojo x f!reader)

title: liar's dice.

pairing: gojo x f!reader

rating: nsfw (18+)

a/n: nie! i did my best! i hope you like it! <3 i struggled a bit but i think it turned out okay. :) @sixeyesgojo

GOJO NEVER STAYED—not like he was now, indulgently tracing tiny little circles over your abdomen. Circles that turned into letters that turned into numbers that turned into words that turned into phrases; ones you couldn’t read, because he was perceptive, and ones you could only guess at the meaning of. He was tender, soft, casual where he normally wasn’t; bruises littered your throat and body as proof, rough imprints of his fingers into your soft skin, livid and visible, deep from the force. Not even your legs had escaped his destruction, teeth marks and the crescent indents of fingernails in your calves, your knees carpet burned to hell, and your scalp aching pleasantly from where he had wrapped those long fingers in the hair at the base of your neck and pulled, the agony oh so pleasant. He never paused to give you a tender embrace, like he was now, nor did he ever stop to lie with you and bask in the afterglow that you usually experienced alone. You didn’t think he knew the gentleness he was showing you, not with the way your jaw still ached and your core throbbed to the point of unpleasantness.

“What’s changed?” you asked him quietly, voice hoarse and cracking from overuse. You didn’t dare turn your head to look at him, wary to catch those gorgeous blue eyes filled with emotion—or anything at all that wasn’t pure lust. You weren’t sure if you could handle that. “Why are you staying?”

His fingers followed a sinuous path over your hip bone. “Is it bad of me to want to stay with you, [Name]?”

Not [Name]-chan, [Name]-san, or even [Surname]—just… [Name]. It sounded so strange, so wonderfully odd coming out of his mouth without an honorific. You twisted in his grip, sitting up, the sheet you’d thrown over yourself falling to your hips. Gojo’s fingers fell to your thigh, questing, and squeezed your knee in inquiry; once, twice, thrice, a queue he hadn’t used since you’d first started hooking up with him. A queue to feel you out, gauge your emotions when you couldn’t speak.

Cautiously, you reached down and covered his hand with yours, lips twisting, working out the right way to tell him that you didn’t trust this.

“Yes.” Your [color] eyes, red and swollen from tears of ecstasy and overstimulation, darted to him, something fierce and angry within. “Yes, it is bad—because you never stay, Gojo. You always leave and it’s cruel of you to stay, knowing that you’ll leave anyway for someone else—that I can never be good enough for you, not completely, because you go to others! And yes, I know it’s shitty of me to back out on an agreement I proposed, but I—if you do this, I can’t deal with it anymore. I just can’t. Lingering, staying, making me think you might have a smidge of something in that heart of yours for me, and just crushing me when I realize you never felt anything at all. That I’m a convenience when you want to get your dick wet.”

Tears, hot and stinging, welled up in your eyes unbidden and you brushed them away with a harsh stroke of your hand. Your mouth quivered and a knot formed in your throat; your lungs constricted; your chest felt heavy. You wanted to take an inhale, but you knew it would only produce a choked up sob, so you smothered it as far down as it would go, pressing your lips together so hard between your teeth that you knew they had to be bleeding.

“Oh.”

You scoffed, feeling a bead of blood dribble down your chin when your lips parted. “‘Oh’ is right.”

Unable to bear his touch, the firm hand on your knee, you swung your legs over the edge of your bed and ripped the sheet off of your body. You trembled, but you didn’t fall, the muscles in your legs reliable after a moment’s rest. Not waiting to see if he reached out to you, you slung on a vintage silk robe you’d picked up at an estate sale, tying it into a hasty knot around your waist. You didn’t want him seeing you naked again, so vulnerable after that confession, even though he had seen you nude beneath him just half an hour ago, writhing in the throes of your orgasm. You felt that if he said the words to break your heart, you might just shatter to his feet.

Your balcony had a perfect view of the city, and you used it to your advantage, picking out the silhouettes of those still awake even in the early hours, walking past the windows, either on the phone or cleaning. You tried and failed to swallow the knot in your throat as sheets rustled behind you and Gojo stepped behind you, never touching but hovering, his very aura an oppressive presence crawling over your skin. You were tempted to press yourself against the tempered glass to get away from it.

“I can’t lose you, [Name].” His fingers touched the back of your elbow gently, testing. When you didn’t pull away like he expected, he carefully slid his palms up to your shoulders, following the subtle curve of your collarbone. You closed your eyes, squeezed them tight, as his fingers moved over your pulse and rested there. “I realized it a few days ago, because in every girl I slept with, I looked for you in them. It also probably didn’t help I said your name instead of theirs, but… Besides the point! I’m not leaving you, [Name]. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Right.” You gently wormed out of his grip and stepped around him. The truth of the matter was, you didn’t believe him—not one bit. Not with how he was. To be so flippant, so ridiculous about something so serious to you… It was like him. But you didn’t appreciate it. You padded towards the kitchen, reaching for the doorknob to escape the confined space you both stood in. You twisted, hearing the click of the lock. “Whatever you say, Gojo—”

You were ripped away from the doorknob so quickly you had whiplash. Your mind spun as you were pressed against a wall opposite your bed, quite harshly, the back of your neck and shoulderblades digging into hardened plaster. Gojo placed a hand beside your head, the other palm pressed flat against your stomach, pinning you to the wall with nowhere to go. You knew what he was capable of; you had even witnessed in on one occasion when you were stupid enough to get too close to a curse.

“I’m not lying.” His breath crested over your face and throat, a warm wave as he exhaled. “[Name]... You have to believe me.”

“I believe you.” Your eyes narrowed dangerously. You were tempted to punch him, kick him, something to get him to stop pinning you down like this. “The fact is I don’t trust you, Gojo. You’ve given me no proof—”

A kiss, harsh and splitting your lips more than they had been, blood smearing across your mouth, silenced the growing argument brewing in your lungs. You felt him swipe his tongue over the laceration when he tasted blood, pulling his head back and regarding you with pleading eyes.

“You’ve never given me a chance to try,” he whispered, reaching over and wiping a bead of blood from your bottom lip. You allowed him to do so, resisting the urge to bite down and sink your teeth into his skin for causing you so much heartache. He’d probably enjoy it, knowing him as you did. “Let me try.”

He was unraveling your robe tie before you could say no, pushing the silk off of your shoulders. It slipped down your arms and body and puddled at your feet, leaving you feeling raw, exposed, and vulnerable in a way you had never felt before. He had cut a lamp on somehow, exposing the flaws of your body and skin to him even more prominently, even the wicked bruises and bites he had left on you—you immediately went to sweep the robe back into your arms, but he stopped you, knocking your arm away.

“Stop fighting it,” Gojo advised, slowly settling down to his knees. You watched the muscles in his legs and abdomen twitch and quiver, balancing his weight out, and the peculiar way he almost seemed reverent as he knelt at your feet, palm sliding up from your belly to grip your chin, forcing you to look down at him like an indolent god. “Let. Me. Try.”

The words shriveled up and died in your throat as he lifted your leg over his shoulder, pushing the rest of your weight against the wall, and pressed his lips to your thigh, feeling out the pulse there with his mouth. You flushed fresh with heat, new coils winding around in your abdomen despite your anger, and watched as he trailed his lips up your leg towards the apex of your thighs, never breaking eye contact with you.

He waited for you to stop him, breath cresting over your swollen lips, but you never did.

Your hands came down into his hair, already mused and messy, as his tongue slid across abused flesh. Slow and with no immediate goal in mind, he enclosed his mouth over the slick folds already growing wet for him, and gave gentle nips and licks to already sensitive and overused flesh. Each time he passed over a tiny bruise, your breath hitched, and he moved on, fingers pushing up and spreading you apart for his pleasure. You felt a well of embarrassment come up as he admired you in the light of the tiny lamp by your bed, but before you could manage a biting quip, he was pushing his tongue between his fingers and sucking your clit into his mouth. Tired and wrung out, you could barely produce more than a breathy moan, but for Gojo, that was perfect—he moved his fingers in perfect strokes to accommodate the harsh attention he gave your clit, feeling the muscles inside your pussy clench around air as you grew closer and closer to your peak. He could pick up on the little halts in your breath, the way you tensed and froze up, hips pushing against his face, and before you could release on his tongue, he parted from you, a string of spit and your wetness webbing between you.

“Gojo,” you hissed, watching him rise from his knees and hook a hand behind your head, supporting your neck. He was always like this, teasing you; but something felt different, something had… changed. “Why’d you do that?”

“I wanted to.” He pressed a kiss to your mouth and you were helpless but to return it, tasting yourself on his tongue. “Legs up, [Name].”

[Name] again—no variation. You were a lost cause, complying easily, sliding your legs up and around his hips. His length pressed against you, hard and leaking already, as he pushed you further into the wall until he was flush against you, staring into your eyes as if he could drown in them.

“Gojo,” you whispered, partly a whine, tightening your legs and simultaneously grinding your pussy against the length of his shaft, hot white heat jumping up your belly at the sensation. “Please…”

He reached down and, in one smooth motion, entered you at your plea. You moaned at the stretch, fingers digging into his shoulders, and he was torturous as he set a slow pace, intentionally hitting every spot you could think of with each stroke; you could feel another orgasm building behind your navel, faster than you had ever had before, and you wanted to close your eyes, but found yourself mesmerised by his instead, the blue jewels riveted upon your face in fascinated observation.

You realized, belatedly, that you could actually see how he looked at you in the dark because the lights were on. And he could see you, in full form—and somehow, not even your orgasm could rip the intense focus between you apart, though you tried, your exhaustion catching up with you.

“You’re not leaving,” you affirmed, barely a whisper.

“I’m not,” he affirmed.

And so, from then on—he stayed. Just like he promised.

[yourwildsimp]

Typically

This makes many references to No Regrets (an insight on Levi before he enrolled in the Scouts.) I also tried a new writing style, so please, give me feedback!

includes: Erwin, Levi

warnings: alcoholic themes, depression, PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder), mentions of suicidal thoughts/actions

length: 2,028 words

•°•°•°•

Erwin Smith was typically content in his mattress by 10:30, praying to whatever gods that may (or may not) be out there that his slumber would be blissful and refreshing. He typically knew of his subordinates' locations and their relative mental states this late into any given night. He typically had most of his paperwork signed and stacked into a neat, organized pile.

Though tonight, as trepidation rolled over him in slow, progressing waves, Erwin Smith was neither content nor situated in a well-put-together office. He did not know where the Captain was or when the elusive man would return. He did not know beforehand that multiple contracts would need the Captain's signature. Hell, Erwin did not know if Levi could even write in cursive. At the moment, he did not know a lot of things.

Erwin wasn't exactly enthusiastic about experiencing these feelings of troubling uncertainty.

The dense thud of staggering boots on the half-rotted wooden flooring impeded Erwin's vexing thoughts. Moving from his spot by the window that overlooked the training grounds, he hastily stalked towards his office door. Yet as his fingertips were mere inches from the handle, the door slammed open, catching the Commander off guard.

Erwin back-stepped as no one other than Levi himself lost his footing from kicking the door open. The door frame was the only thing that aided Levi's attempt at steadying his balance; Erwin was far too focused on darting his bewildered eyes over Levi's condition.

Was the blunt and foul-mouthed Levi Ackerman. . . Drunk?

No, that couldn't be right. The man despised everything about alcohol: the lasting effects, the heavy smell, the noxious health problems. Every time the Corps tried to get Levi to drink, he had remarked about booze being nothing more than poison marketed as a miracle tonic. But, what else could explain the unfocused eyes that were typically sharp and observant or the swaying small frame that was typically nimble and composed?

"Have you been drinking, Levi? You look terrible."

The vicious scowl Erwin received told him that the way he worded his concern was extremely misinterpreted.

"Oh, fuck you, jackass. Not everyone can look like a shining star, Smith." Levi's words were unnaturally slurred, further proving what Erwin refused to accept. "Get outta my way and let me in."

Erwin cautiously stepped to the side- as he'd rather keep this peculiar sight to himself and spare the Captain's dignity. Levi's shoulder shoved against Erwin's bicep as he stumbled into the Commander's office. A snarl remarking Erwin's height was woven into the tense atmosphere of the room.

"Where have you been?" Erwin asked as he gently shut the door, keeping an apprehensive gaze on Levi.

He simply received a distracted scoff. Erwin took a deep breath before he huffed out of his nose. He watched as Levi fumbled through various unlocked drawers in search of who-knows-what.

"Levi-"

"Where's your Devil's water, Smith?" Erwin narrowed his eyes in confusion before Levi, belligerently, elaborated. "Your liquor, dip-shit. Where have you stashed it?"

Erwin pressed his lips into a thin line before he offered a calculated answer, "I don't hide alcohol in my office." A spiteful string of obscenities left Levi's swollen lips, the drunk balling his fist tight by his sides. "Liar! You're a filthy deceiver, you know that? You're worth less than the shit in the stables! A sleaze bag from the Underground would be more helpful than you!"

Erwin paused, studying Levi like Hange would study a Titan. "Are you okay, Levi?" He knew the question was redundant the moment the words left his lips.

“Fuck!” Levi yelled, tugging on his already loose cravat. “Am I okay? What kind of bullshit question is that? Hell, my uncle used to tell me that life’s like a toilet paper roll; you’re either on a roll or taking shit from some asshole- and you know what? You’re that asshole, Smith!”

"Be careful of the open window, Levi," Erwin warned, as polished and unwavering as ever. His indifference to the slew of insults and profanities made Levi's blood boil.

Erwin only moved closer when the Captain disregarded his warning and continued to near the dangerously open casement. Erwin tuned out the vulgarities that were continuously hurled at him with an intense enmity, the gears clicking together in his head.

There was a chance Levi's destination was through the window- a chance Erwin was not willing to take.

"What are you doing? You're going to fall out," Erwin said more forcefully.

The change in the Commander's tone didn't seem to phase Levi, who was resting his forearms on the window sill. As Levi's weight shifted to his unstable upper body, Erwin could feel his heartbeat pounding in his throat, temples, fingertips- everywhere except his chest.

Levi went quiet, his drunken tantrum utterly forgotten as childlike wonder filled his eyes. In the moment of calm after the storm, Erwin couldn't fail to notice that Levi looked so much younger when he wasn't so pent up. The Captain was significantly more demonstrative when he was intoxicated; and may it be good or bad, Erwin was content with Levi seeming mortal.

"He used to hate heights, and she smoked him for it," Levi broke the moment of silence with hardly a whisper. "It was all a game to her."

Erwin's features, which were glazed over with faux insouciant, didn't match the curious gaze he studied Levi with. He stood inert, fearful of scaring Levi into a diligent silence or another aggressive episode. Erwin didn't ask for extensive details, nor did he implore Levi to move away from the window again. He simply waited, having an idea of what was plaguing his inebriated soldier's mind.

"You know, when you found me, we were heading to get a job done," Levi spoke so softly that Erwin felt the need to hold his breath to hear him properly.

The Commander took Levi's brief pause as an opening to speak, despite having nothing to say. "Is that so?"

Levi exhaled something grim; something that nearly sounded like an empty chuckle. "Yeah, Smith, it is."

Levi ignored how Erwin wearily moved closer as he adjusted himself further out of the window. The Captain relished in a twisted feeling of pride knowing that he could make his superior jump to aid him, that he could make the man twitch with such a deep sense of uneasiness- so much so that it shone in his perceptive blue eyes.

"Levi, get away from-"

"He was so nervous for the mission, despite it being so. . . " Levi swayed his hand through the night air, searching for the right word after cutting Erwin, and his concerns, off. "So pointless," is what he settled for.

"It was just a run-through," he huffed out a sigh, "check the brothel for any kids, start trouble if there were. Then, haul ass to the surface to get the brats to somewhere safer. Simple, right?"

Erwin swallowed, his gaze settling on Levi's reflection in the mirror.

"But, something always has to fuck me over," Levi spat with a clenched jaw, capturing the window sill in an iron grip. "Isn't that right?! You simply adore dancing all of your puppets around until they can't take it anymore- but you don't stop, do you?!" Levi screamed at the full moon in the sky.

Erwin sharply exhaled through his nose, Levi swaying side to side like empty ODM gear in the breeze. Levi swore and stretched his fingers out to relieve the tension in them.

"I bumped into a guy whose ego was as big as his body. The bastard was huge and wouldn't let it go." Levi hung his head, the stars bringing back memories he'd rather forget. "I think you were there when we had settled the issue and took off."

Erwin remembers like it happened yesterday. He could never forget the first time he saw Levi fly on the Wings of Revolution; it was enchanting.

Levi outstretched his arm, one foot leaving the floor as he reached to the giant moon glowing against the night sky.

"Levi, you need to stop being heedless, or you'll fall and end up dead!" Erwin finally snapped, his hand darting to grab Levi's. He missed his target, the shorter one moving unexpectedly and making Erwin snatch his pale forearm.

The wind from the chill night ruffled the forgotten paperwork on Erwin's desk, Levi's eerily hollow chuckle overlaying the white noise. Empty steel-gray finally looked into Erwin's ocean blues, heavy-lidded and worn thin.

"Don't you know I'm stupid? The hell does 'heedless' mean, blondie?" Levi wore a painful grin.

Erwin furrowed his brow in worry, loosening his grip but not letting go. "Careless," he said gently, thumbing fondly at Levi's flushed skin. "It means. . . Careless."

Levi's bottom lip trembled, and Erwin swore he saw his small body twitch with a hiccup. "Maybe that's what I want, Commander- to end up dead," Levi breathed, sending a cold surge through Erwin.

"Hey, don't say that," Erwin said quickly in a hushed tone. His free hand gently cupped Levi's shoulder.

"Why not?" Levi's voice was so small. It scared Erwin. "Every time I shut my eyes at night, all I see is their faces, hear them call my name." Erwin could feel Levi trembling.

"I know, Levi. By the walls, I know how it feels to begin to go numb. How it is to lose everything close to you, and still need to press onwards," Erwin murmured.

"Oh, sure. You see the face of every comrade that you've sent to death in your dreams. I'm sure you remember each and every soldier." The sarcastic bite in Levi's tone made Erwin unhand the man's arm.

"Excuse me. . ?" Erwin breathed, stupidly hoping he had misheard Levi.

"You don't know how it feels to be looked at like a human shit stain for simply trying to survive! You're just Mr. Fucking Perfect, right?" Levi's fruitless attempt to push Erwin away by his chest only agitated the blonde.

"Another pompous asshole that wouldn't hesitate to judge me from getting on all fours back then just to be able to eat twice a week!" Levi's (false) accusations were making Erwin increasingly angry.

"You're no different than everyone in the Capital-"

"You'd better watch your mouth, Ackerman."

Levi sucked in a short breath so quickly, it made his throat dry up; though, that might've been caused by the snarl of his surname. He didn't get another chance to speak as Erwin loomed over his frame.

"Who gave you an escape route when you had nowhere else to turn? Was it the Capital? Who was it that believed in you when everyone else wanted you to hang? The Capital, perhaps? Apologies, my memory is hazy."

Levi had seen Erwin agitated, seen him berate cadets and superiors alike with no backlash. But the man was always so poised and assured. Sure, the unsettlingly strong fire behind his crystal eyes was never smothered, but it was not once openly expressed.

Until now.

It had Levi- the nephew of Kenny the Ripper, the Captain of the 104th Cadet Corp, Humanity's Strongest Soldier- intimidated enough to shrink in on himself.

"I don't mean to scare you, Levi. I truly don't. But when you have the audacity to lump me into the crowd of discriminatory pedophiles and rapists? After everything I have done for you?" Erwin scoffed, ending his rant.

"I-I... I'm-"

"I don't want you to apologize. It's difficult to believe that you would. It's just not like you," Erwin swallowed thickly as Levi sniffled.

"Levi, I-" Erwin cut himself off, clenching his jaw.

Want you. Need you.

I think I'm in love with you. What a dream it would be to say. But he shouldn't. And he won't.

"You should sober up here while I get work done. How does that sound?" Erwin felt the urge to vomit after those words burned off his tongue.

"Thank you," Levi hardly whispered. "Thank you, Erwin."

Closing his eyes tightly, Erwin nodded, leading Levi to the couch the was sitting against the sidewall.

"Of course, Levi. I would do anything for you."

[zhongshen]

𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 - 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐩 . gloved hands meet in one at the small of his back , the slope of his back having finally gained a more natural curve , as opposed to the stiff rigidity it had maintained for the first few dawns of his mortal disguise . even the hardness of his stare had relaxed somewhat , as the features of the human zhongli had now become natural . it was not a difficult transition , & few had any suspicion that he was anything more than human , if not for the rumors regarding his possible existence as a secret adeptus . physically , he was only seen as a simple , though austere , gentleman . but his demeanor was outstandingly peculiar .

though wishing to be discreet , his assimilation to liyue harbor had only gained him a very present notoriety : & though only employed at wangsheng for the service of advising on funerary rites & rituals the lay citizen may not know the complete history nor performance of , he had hence become a consultant for the whole of liyue . men of all ages sought out his crystal - clear recollection of history , his counsel , as if memory alone was a skill commendable enough to merit his every guidance . a habit difficult to stop . those who asked his help received it , with every blessing of a fallen deity.

but there were also those who did not look to him as some secret adeptus , did not call upon him as a mentor . it was most gratifying to find those who regarded him plainly . as rex lapis , few stood beside him as friends & compatriots , being held as the just , guiding god of liyue . those who had were perhaps among the most valuable to him , but many had since retired into seclusion , or faded away , lost to legend . it then was no surprise that he valued the simple , unembellished hospitality shown to him by the vendor . baizhu , a figure known to him very intimately , had ever given the consultant zhongli humble attention . for that , he had only returned the like . one who could have perhaps rivalled him at his most strong now content to stand on equal ground . both wearing human skin . both seeming to understand such secrets should not be uttered . there are times he wonders if the unassuming mr . baizhu knows .

　　　❝             how unfortunate .   ❞ if the flatness of his tone is any indication , he is far from remorseful at the absence of mr . gui . if anything , there is a note of sarcasm lingering at the edge of his speech : he knows that baizhu knows he does not make the walk to bubu pharmacy to visit him . zhongli takes two steps closer of his long stride , obeying his silent come - hither , & how lovely is it to see that sly look a little closer . lacking the fury of the ancient ones , but as venomous as one can recall . ❝   my well - wishes for his quick recovery . i am certain he has received the best care from his boss . there is no doubt in my mind that he will make a speedy return . . .   ❞ but do not hasten him back into his post .

　　　❝   not pomegranate leaf . i require a balanced reagent to take its place . surely , bai - xiansheng , you have a recommendation ?   ❞ as he approaches the counter , one hand leaves its home behind his back , & two fingers rest upon the top . his core stays its distance , but the gesture prods into the space of the other , as if asking permission to stand so close . if nothing else , the senses greatly desire to be engulfed in the entirety of his being . seeking the volume of his voice , the headiness of his scent , the whole of his vision to be upon him . knuckles remain on the countertop may he ask this much ?

⁜    景气   :    starter [ for @caduceuss ]

𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐔𝐒 & 𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐄 . the hearty spice tickles his throat , as inhaling thickly of the rich scent . cabinet upon cabinet of dried , mottled herbs have left the air around bubu pharmacy heavy with the dense aroma . the moment the consultant steps close , it already clings to the fabric of his clothing with its cloying headiness , sure to follow him even after he departs . through it , bletilla striata . so familiar , a pinch of its blossoms pinned against his breast many evenings , to keep its sweet perfume pressed at the forefront of his senses . it is not coincidence . the cool colors of the pharmacist are summoned from the rear of the shop , & the smell of wet earth overcomes the dried herbs , cutting through as the whole of the lord's mind comes to focus on the man . ( for someone who seems to seldom leave the walls of liyue harbor proper , perhaps it is the vision hanging on his waist that conjures the missing flora to him . )

　　　❝             good morning , bai - xiansheng .   ❞ it is the fourth time since the fall of the full moon that he has visited , now twice in ten days . though not without intention , always with need . only that these needs could easily be met on his own . the mortal zhongli enjoyed the short walk to the pharmacy , the quality of bubu's wares , & most of all the company of its chemist . needing prior pomegranate leaf , today pomelo . as was the case , in accordance to his own discretion , knowing well the intricacies of all degree of ritual both meant to chase away evil spirits , one bearing more warmth than the other in their energy , & therefore ill - suited when needing balance . of course , all such things need not be explained to a practitioner such as mr. bai .

　　　❝   your apprentice is away ?   ❞ the consultant is not one to belay his duties for conversation , though that intention is often lost by his willingness to share in his depth of knowledge . this , however , is conversation for the sake of conversation . the better half of his morning has already been spent on his other errands , the bulk of his desk - work having been completed in the earliest hours of the prior night . all that then remains is this final stop , ere he take his station at the funeral parlor once more for completion of the day . . . by then , business doors will be locked & all that then remained was the chance of the pharmacist taking to the street for the evening .

[theguidetocryptids]

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Surprising.”

“Oh, shut it. I’ve been thinking. Why, exactly, are we heading towards the light?”

“Uh? Angels? Heaven? Refuge? Maybe just hot water and no goddamn monsters?”

“But how do we know that?” Implored the first voice, decidedly male.

“I don’t know jack shit,” Responded the second, sounding like the type of girl who, in another life, could’ve been a bouncer at a bar. “But it’s the only place in this hell that has power.”

“And that’s weird! I mean, the entire world collapses in on itself, and, fuck, there’s some weird lighthouse sayin’ ‘come on in, y’all, we got power for the tower and everything?’ Ain’t that a little strange, given the circumstances?”

“Strange is the new norm. We already saw a giant worm devour a car.”

“Strange is the new norm when you’re [read: yer] desperate and heading towards a light like a moth to a flame.” The first voice’s country accent seemed to be getting more pronounced the more time he spent in the ruins of humanity. After all, it did resemble the rural parts of America a lot more now. Not as many running cars. Less people. All that was really missing was the local crackhead and a herd of cows that mooed at ungodly hours of the night.

“A smart moth. Look, if you don’t like it, then that’s that. Just don’t come with me. Simple.” There was a pause after this, in which she immediately regretted the ultimatum. It wasn’t as if she needed him, nor as if their relationship was the best - in fact, these two particular people would have hated each other under normal circumstances, but as has been stated, end of the world, power outage, monsters, the whole apocalyptic shebang - but they were all that they had left: his family somewhere out in rural Mississippi, presumably dead; hers somewhere in the deeper part of the city that had burned when the riots hit, with the rest of the residents of said city currently residing in the bellies of a few less-than-satisfied creatures.

In fact, one of the unsavory diners roared their displeasure somewhere to the pair’s right.

“Get moving.” He said, apparently decided.

“Damn right.”

As their pace quickened, he pulled out a leather-backed journal from his pocket. It wasn’t fancy, and unnotable in every way except one; that it was the only thing keeping them from an untimely demise. A few weeks after the end of everything, with the cities burnt out with the corpses were cooling, the survivors awoke to something that had no business being around during the apocalypse.

It was, of course, the Guide to Cryptids, Monsters, and Unfriendly Others*. (The asterisk was pressed into the cover on. There wasn’t an explanation for the term within the pages.) But from locales, to favorite targets, to whether they liked their coffee black or with milk and sugar (or, gods forbid, even tea) it helped the reader move along with their lives in the end times (a version of this sentiment was a trademarked phrase, as the Guide felt the need to cover its ass from any lawyers who were still kicking about. The guide had no advice for lawyers.)

As if this wasn’t peculiar enough, reading the book was more convoluted than a normal glossary. Instead of flipping to the first page, with a table of contents, it was always the page pertinent to what was currently stalking you. Many (now rather dead) survivors have opened the cover to find details of monsters they’ve never even heard of, much less seen. Being that most of the monsters didn’t exist until last month, they tend to go out with something of a “Well, this is insane,” followed by a scream, and maybe a gurgle if it’s one of the more grisly things.

It was thanks to this book that Sarah and Joel were currently alive, and not being gnawed on by the friendly neighborhood rats. And they intended to keep it that way.

But what it was offering now was . . . less than consoling. It wasn’t that it was information about a particularly deadly monster, or that the text was too cramped to read, no. It was more that the first page said “TRUST ME,” and the second said “RUN. HIDE.”

It certainly hadn’t done that before.

Leaping over the skeletal arm of a less fortunate traveler, Joel unceremoniously yanked his companion into the shadow of a skyscraper, holding a finger to his lips as ways of explanation whenever she looked to him, raving mad.

Trying to keep calm, his eyes ran over the pages of the Guide, which had shifted to a much more helpful entry. It was written as follows.

Name: Screeching Thing (as determined by our brave field researchers).

Habitat: Abandoned cities, burnt out suburbs, and museums (recreationally).

Hunts: Any living thing. Also observed to attack sculptures which resemble other animals, or even humans. Heard from miles across its city, the Thing’s call can immobilize you if you’re caught by the brunt of it. That is, being screamed at with no dampeners between the Thing and you. Lesser effects include, but are not limited to, lasting ornithophobia, feelings of terror, migraines, punctured ear drums, and loss of balance. Disorientation is to be expected.

Hates: Tunnels, dark areas. Although bird-like, with talons and a ravaging beak gruesome enough to give anyone nightmares, the Thing possesses its own fear, something akin to claustrophobia. It is recommended that you seek out buildings with basements, or, more ideally, subway tunnels.

Tea preference: Straight, with two sugar cubes, but only at noon.

“I don’t suppose you have any teabags on you.” Sarah remarked, having been reading over Joel’s shoulder.

“Well, I do, but I ditched all the sugar over in Eddiesburg. Really wore my arms out.”

“You’d think they’d make smaller bags of it.” She said sympathetically.

“We should really get moving, huh?” He asked, as if the notion of being devoured by a hulking, screaming pile of feathers and muscles and sinew suddenly seemed unappealing.

The creature screeched, closer.

[suganovakawa]

𝐒𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐄 .

PAIRINGS : tooru oikawa x fem! reader

GENRE : angst , romance

WARNINGS : cursing , implied car accident

SYNOPSIS : tooru doesn’t understand how special you are to him until he comes close to losing you forever . as he struggles to comes to grips with his feelings and balance it with his future , you still have to recover from your own injuries , but without your memories to assist you .

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎 < [ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 ] > 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 .

it wasn’t your fault seijoh lost to karasuno . . . so why did tooru look so mad at you ?

word count : 2.3k

saudade masterlist.

SAUDADE

( 𝐧 . ) a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant , or that has been loved and then lost ; “ the love that remains ”

⠀you were right.

⠀karasuno did practice a lot.

⠀holy shit, when did they become this good?

⠀goddammit, why did you have to be right?

⠀you could see the struggle your team was going through with the first set. oikawa told them to not underestimate the underdog team, but you could tell there was a subconscious feeling of pride in their chests from beating them in the preliminaries months ago. but like tooru said, there was no point in you making any interjections; just be the cute little manager, and everything should go smooth sailing from there.

⠀the karasuno first years were noticeably better. everyone in the gym, players and regular spectators alike, could see it. namely, the setter and that peculiar middle blocker. you remembered them vaguely from the prelims; oikawa disliked them, the setter in particular. number nine - tobio kageyama, from kitagawa daiichi.

⠀you watched one of kageyama's middle school games with tooru, before you two started dating. the infamous "king of the court"; you didn't realize it was meant to be derogatory until you witnessed the setter in action. tooru seemed somewhat smug with his actions on the court, bossing everyone around and setting without much thought for the other players' preferences. the court was a kingdom, and kageyama was at the top of the monarchy - that kingdom would soon be his downfall.

⠀you've never heard of the short middle blocker until the start of the preliminaries. you originally thought he was a water boy or an assistant to the team until you saw his jersey. your next assumption was a pinch server or even a defense specialist.

⠀no, he was on the starting lineup.

⠀right in the middle block position.

⠀you were beyond surprised with the kid. their quick attack was a force to be reckoned with. you weren't there the day of the practice match, so this was your first time being exposed to karasuno's secret weapon. those crows were no longer flightless. you still sometimes marvel at the fact seijoh managed to seal the third set. the next loss against shiratorizawa felt more disheartening than usual, after having to fight so hard for it.

⠀the entirety of the last set had you on the edge of your seat. for the entire game you were doing something; whether you joined in on the audience chants, handing out water bottles and towels, or even giving some friendly words of encouragement. you attempted to talk to your boyfriend during timeouts, but he was completely uninterested, his focus only on the game.

⠀by now, the other players caught onto his neglect towards you, and did their best to support you in any way they could. yahaba mainly kept you company during the game, since he was a pinch server. during timeouts, makki and mattsun would give you pats on the shoulder during timeouts, taking every opportunity to thank you whenever you did something for them. as for iwaizumi - he gave you the most attention during timeouts. the ace hardly left your side, even while the captain explained something to the entire team. you were thankful for hajime's friendliness, but there was still a sharp pain in your chest from tooru. the wall that separated the two of you grew more with each day, and you still hadn't figured out a way to break it.

⠀"you got this, seijoh!" you raised an enthusiastic fist in the air when the whistle called for the end to another timeout. the lineup turned to face you, each of them giving you a thumbs-up and a smile in acknowledgement. you looked to your brunet boyfriend, who mustered a small smile and a nod of his head before returning to the court.

⠀aoba johsai was already at match point - victory was so close, couldn't they just push for one more?

⠀the opposing school looked like they reached a second wind at the very end, something that seijoh did not need at a moment like this. karasuno pulled stunt after stunt; the players could hardly keep up with every move. your eyes are locked on oikawa, pupils shaking with fear as kageyama scored a deuce with a notorious setter dump - you felt the apprehension as tooru's jaw grew physically taut for being bested by a first year.

⠀and just when you thought it couldn't get any worse -

⠀your mind went blank when your eyes witnessed tooru's arms miss the final receive.

⠀your brain went numb as the gym went silent, eyes on the ball that flew out of bounds, with no possible way of passing back into the game. karasuno screamed for joy but your ears blocked out the sound like a busted speaker, watching the cloud of disappointment rain over the players on your side of the court, one by one.

⠀aoba johsai... lost.

⠀and it wasn't to shiratorizawa.

⠀you could hardly process the information as you stood up to join the team in paying respects to the game, watching as seijoh thanked their audience for coming to support them. a lump caught in your throat as you watched the team walked back with little to no pep in their step, grabbing their belongings silently and walking out the gym. their eyes were glossy with disappointment.

⠀you jogged up to the brunet as he came back from searching for any other teammates lagging behind, swallowing the nervous lump as you spoke, your voice filled with concern.

⠀"tooru, you did great out there," you reassured him. by the look in his eyes, he didn't buy it. "you did amazing today, and i'm so proud of you."

⠀"please get out of my way, y/n." he shrugged you off and continued to walk towards the bus, his hands shoved in his pockets as he trudged along. he's upset, it's understandable. even so, the painful heaviness in your chest came back as you made your own way to the bus.

⠀the ride back home was a quiet one, the vehicle driving to aoba johsai quickly. the disheartening atmosphere was suffocating your lungs, your eyes fighting back your own share of tears as you watched the players step out onto the pavement, their eyes sullen and dull. kyoutani and kunimi were the first to leave, the latter wishing the rest a goodnight before turning heel and walking home. as for the former, he hardly did so much as grumble before sprinting off. the remaining ones stood there in silence for a few moments, their next plans unclear.

⠀the ramen restaurant was supposed to be a joke - the captain wasn't supposed to treat them to anything but a trip to nationals. but with defeat hung heavy in the air like a dark fog, even ramen couldn't bring them back up into their spirits.

⠀kindaichi and the rest of the second years were the next to leave, their wishes of departure nothing more than mutters as they braved a strong facade in their eyes. it was a general agreement amongst the players that the ramen date would come another day; for now, everything that happened today just needed more time to settle.

⠀"tooru, we should get going soon - " after waving a few people goodbye, you spun to where the third year previously was, only to find that he was no longer there. you turned to hajime, who pointed to the doors leading into seijoh. you looked quick enough to catch a glimpse of brown hair disappearing into the school before the door shut. you and the other third years collectively agreed to follow oikawa into the gym - god knows what he was planning to do there.

⠀you walked into the gym first, watching with a solemn expression as you watched the setter attempt to put up the net all on his own. he seemed hardly fazed at the sound of the gym doors opening, ignoring the others as he continued.

⠀iwa was the first person to step forward, and you watched as the ace moved to help oikawa in setting up the net. makki and mattsun followed suit not long after him. you didn't exactly know how to help with the net, and thus had to sit to the side as the four began to play two on two, their voices gone and the scrimmage as good as mute. you sat on the side, spectating the match with your arms around your knees. you felt no obligation to go home - not yet.

⠀about an hour had passed, and the third years had enough. two on two was much more work than six on six, and everyone besides oikawa was ready to call it quits. his eyes were focused even when the rest stepped off the court, grabbing a ball to serve again.

⠀"oikawa, that's enough." no answer.

⠀"oikawa."

⠀hajime clenched his jaw as he was blatantly ignored by his teammate, but you stood up before he could do anything else. he watched as you made your way over to your boyfriend, wanting to actually talk to him after the stressful day. step by step, you approached him as he practiced his jump serve, his brown eyes flamed with frustration and anger as he moved to pick up another one.

⠀"tooru, please." you stopped him before he could grab another ball, your voice gentle as you addressed him. the others were silent. "it's been a long day. please, let yourself rest. after an amazing match like today, you deserve time to - "

⠀"amazing? amazing?" you jumped back instinctively as he gripped the ball, turning his body to face you entirely. this glare was more intense than any other nasty look he's given you in the past. "what about that game was amazing? the fact that we lost? you think that part was fucking amazing, huh?"

⠀your stomach dropped. "no, tooru, that's not what i meant - "

⠀"you fucking tell me what part of that game was amazing then, y/n!" he slammed the volleyball he held towards the ground, his voice raising higher by the second. "i failed to take us to tokyo. i failed to lead our team to victory. i failed to secure another god forsaken match against shiratorizawa!" he stormed towards you, his eyes ablaze and uncontrollable. "and you have the audacity to tell me that it was amazing? are you stupid?"

⠀"i just want you to rest! you're always pushing yourself to the point of exhaustion! is that so wrong of me to care about your wellbeing?" you found a voice to yell back at him, but retracted it oh so slightly when you noticed his mood worsen. "listen, tooru! you have to take care of yourself, dammit! you did the best you could, and that's all that matters! seijoh's loss against karasuno doesn't take away from the fact that you're an outstanding player!"

⠀the ball that he threw to the ground somehow found its way to roll against his ankle. "if i had just mastered my serve, maybe we'd be the ones playing shiratorizawa."

⠀"what?"

⠀"you." oikawa pointed a finger at you, his jaw tight. "if it wasn't for you being such a pain in my ass all the time, i could've improved my serving. but no, you had to drag me out of the fucking gym every time i found time to practice by myself." bringing his hands down to his sides, he smiled - something maniacal. "you wanted us to lose, didn't you?"

⠀"what the fuck, oikawa?" enough was enough, and iwaizumi finally broke between the quarrel. "you're just being delusional at this point, leave y/n alone - "

⠀"no, iwaizumi. you need to shut up." tooru's eyes never left yours, and yours began to quiver in sincere fear. "you, y/n, you wanted us to lose, didn't you? you never let me practice, and in turn that would prevent us from winning. you didn't want us to go to nationals! you were pissed off that i was paying attention to something else! what, being a fucking brat that you didn't get what you want?"

⠀"tooru, i don't even know what you're talking about!" your vision blurred at his raised voice, your heart constricting with every accusation. "i know how much volleyball means to you! i would never do anything so selfish, i wanted seijoh to go to tokyo just as much as you guys!"

⠀"you are such a bad liar." pressing a single finger to your chest, his teeth seethed as he hissed his next words. "it's your fault we lost. not mine, not the others. you. it's your fault for being a pain in my. fucking. ass."

⠀"t-tooru - "

⠀"get the fuck away from me. i don't want to see your face."

⠀a shot to the heart.

⠀the resolve to hide your tears shattered, as you turned heel to grab your things and leave. leave, run, do anything. to get out of there.

⠀"y/n, wait!" you felt a hand on your wrist, your eyes fairly forming hajime's outline. "don't! i'll just drive you home, okay?"

⠀you shook your head furiously as you yanked your hand out of his grip, reaching for your bag and sprinting as fast and as far as your own two legs could take you, out of the gym, and out of the school.

⠀you paid no mind to where you were running, as your mind memorized its way back home all the way in your first year. large, wet tears decorated your face like poison, your voice blubbering sobs and incoherent apologies to the wind as you carried on.

⠀then, out of the blue, headlights appeared.

⠀where even were you?

⠀you stopped abruptly, wiping your eyes to get a sense of your current environment.

⠀there was a voice in the distance. hajime?

⠀"Y/N, GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE ROAD! YOU'RE GONNA GET HURT!"

⠀your head turned...

⠀crash.

a / n : so this came out much longer than i originally planned— i just wanted to get to this part as soon as possible so i could start getting into the juicy parts . now that we’ve finally established this , expect much much more drama , because this is angst , after all . 👀

btw, if you wanna be tagged whenever i update this series, just send an ask! i’d be happy to start a taglist.

[rocknvaughn]

New Colin Morgan Interview with Edge Media Network about Benjamin - UPDATED

I am reblogging this because, after the author was made aware of an error in the posting of his article (if anyone clicked through to read it on the site, there was a whole question and answer that was repeated), the error was corrected and another three questions and answers were added! I am correcting it here, but they were very interesting, so I suggest you read the full article again!

I shall post the link at the bottom, but I wanted to type it out so that non-English speakers could more easily translate it. (This article was listed in their “Gay News” section of the site, hence the focus on the gay roles.)

British Actor Colin Morgan: How the Queerly Idiosyncratic ‘Benjamin’ Spoke to Him

by Frank J. Avelia

In writer-director Simon Amstell’s sweet, idiosyncratic, semi-autobiographical comedy, “Benjamin,” Colin Morgan plays the titular character, an insecure filmmaker trying to resuscitate his waning career (at least it’s waning in his mind) after one major cine-indie success. Benjamin is also doing his best to navigate a new relationship with a young French musician (Phenix Brossard of “Departures”).

Thanks to the truly endearing, multifaceted talents of Morgan, Benjamin feels like an authentic creation--one that most audiences can empathize with. Sure, he’s peculiar, has a legion of self-esteem issues and an almost exasperating need for acceptance as well as an inconvenient talent to self-sabotage the good in his life. But who can’t relate to some or all of that?

“Benjamin” is one of the better queer-themed films to come out in recent years, in large part because it eschews emphasis on the queer nature of the story. Instead, the film is a fascinating character study with Morgan slowly revealing layers and unpacking Benjamin’s emotional baggage.

Morgan is a major talent who has been appearing across mediums in Britain for many years. His London theatre debut was in DBC Pierre’s satire, “Vernon God Little” (2007), followed by the stage adaptation of Pedro Almodovar’s “All About My Mother” (2007), opposite Diana Rigg. Numerous and eclectic stage work followed (right up until the Corona shutdown) including Pedro Miguel Rozo’s “Our Private Life” (2011), where he played a bipolar gay, Jez Butterworth’s dark comedy, “Mojo” (2013), Arthur Miller’s “All My Sons” opposite Sally Field (2019), and Caryl Churchill’s “A Number” (2020), to name a few.

His TV work includes, “Merlin” (playing the wizard himself), “Humans” and most recently, in a very memorable episode of “The Crown”. Onscreen he can be seen in “Testament of Youth”, “Legend” with Tom Hardy, “Snow White and the Huntsman” and Rupert Everett’s take on Oscar Wilde, “The Happy Prince.”

He’s played a host of gay roles in the past on stage, screen and TV.

EDGE recently interviewed the star of “Benjamin” about the new film and his career.

Why Benjamin?

EDGE: What drew you to this project and were you part of its development?

Colin Morgan: It’s always the strength of the script for me on any project and Simon’s script was just so well observed, he managed to combine humor and poignancy in delicate measure and when I first read it I found myself being both tickled and touched. Then reading it again and from “the actor” POV... I knew it would be a real challenge and uncharted territory for me to explore. I auditioned for Simon and we tried it in different ways and then when I was lucky enough for Simon to want me on board, we began to work through the script together, because it was clear that this was going to be a very close working relationship... it was important for the level of trust to be high.

EDGE: I appreciated that this was a queer love story where the character’s queerness wasn’t the main focus. Was that also part of the allure of the project?

CM: I think Benjamin’s sexuality is just quite naturally who he is and therefore that’s a given, we’re on his journey to find meaning and love and there’s certainly a freshness to what Simon has written in not making sexuality the main focus.

Great chemistry

EDGE: Can you speak a but about the process involved in working with Amstell on the character and his journey?

CM: Simon and me worked very closely over a period of weeks, at that time prior to shooting I was doing a theatre project not far from where he lived so I would go to him and rehearse and discuss through the whole script all afternoon before going to do the show that night, so that worked out well. It’s so personal to Simon, and to have had him as my guide and source throughout was fantastic because I could ask him all the questions and he could be the best barometer for the truth of the character; a rare opportunity for an actor and one that was so essential for building Benjamin. But ultimately Simon wanted Benjamin to emerge from somewhere inside me and he gave me so much freedom to do that also.

EDGE: You had great chemistry with Phenix Brossard. Did you get to rehearse?

CM: Phenix is fantastic, Simon and me did chemistry reads with a few different actors who were all very good but Phenix just had an extra something we felt Benjamin would be drawn to. We did a little bit of rehearsal together but because it was a relationship that was trying to find itself there was a lot of room for spontaneity and uncertainty between us, which is what the allure of a new relationship is all about, the excitement and fear.

Liberating process

EDGE: Did your process meld with Amstell’s?

CM: I’ve said this a lot before and it’s true, Simon is one of the best directors I’ve worked with. Everything he created before shooting and then maintained on set was special. We always did improvised versions of most scenes and always the scripted version too. It was such a creative and liberating process. That is exactly the way I love to work. And for a director to maintain that level of bravery, trust and experimental play throughout the whole shoot stands as one of the most rewarding shooting experiences I’ve had.

EDGE: When I spoke with Rupert Everett about “The Happy Prince,” he very proudly boasted about his ensemble. Can you speak about working with Rupert as he balanced wearing a number of creative hats?

CM: Again, this was an extremely rewarding project to work on and quite a similar relationship as with Simon in the respect that Rupert was the writer/director and Oscar Wilde is so personal to him. And then we also had many scenes together in front of the camera, so Rupert and me had a real 3D experience together. It was a long time in the making. I was on board, I think, two years before we actually got shooting so I had a lot of time to work with Rupert and rehearse. He really inspired me, watching him wear all the different creative hats, such a challenging and difficult job/jobs to achieve and he really excelled--plus we just got on very well.

Playing queer roles

EDGE: You haven’t shied away from playing queer roles. Do you think we’re moving closer to a time when a person’s sexual orientation is of little consequence to the stories being told, or should it always matter? Or perhaps we need to continue to evolve as a culture for it to matter less or not at all...

CM: That’s a hard question to answer, I think certainly the shift in people’s attitudes has changed considerably for the better compared to 40 years ago, but there will always be resistance to change and acceptance from individuals and groups whether it be sexuality, religion, race, gender--we’re seeing it every day.

Evolution is, of course, inevitable, but if we can learn from the past as we evolve that would be the ideal. Unfortunately, we rarely do learn, and history repeats itself.

EDGE: You were featured prominently in one of my favorite episodes of the “The Crown” (”Bubbikins”) as the fictional journo John Armstrong. Can you speak a bit about working on the show and with the great Jane Lapotaire?

CM: I had an exceptionally good time working on “The Crown.” Director Benjamin Caron, especially, was so prepared and creative, and made the whole experience so welcoming and inclusive. It was an incredibly happy set, with extremely talented people in every department, and I admired the ethos of the whole production and have no doubt that’s a huge ingredient to its success, along with Peter Morgan’s incredible writing.

I was also a fan of the show, and it was an honor to be part of the third season. And I can’t say enough amazing things about Jane Lapotaire. We talked a lot in between filming, and I relished every moment of that.

EDGE: You’ve done a ton of stage work. Do you have a favorite role you’ve played onstage?

CM: I’ve been so lucky with the theatre work I’ve done, to work with such special directors and work in wonderful theatres in London. I’ve worked at the Old Vic and The Young Vic twice each, and they’re always special to me. Ian Rickson is a liberating director, who I love. It’s hard to pick a favorite, because the roles have all been so different and presented different challenges, but, most recently, doing “A Number,” playing three different characters alongside Roger Allam and directed by Polly Findlay, was a really treasured experience, and I never tired of doing that show, every performance was challenging as it was.

Miss the rehearsal room

EDGE: You were doing “A Number” earlier this year. Did you finish your run before the lockdown/shutdown?

CM: Just about! We had our final performance, and then lockdown happened days later. I feel very sorry for the productions that didn’t get the sense of completion of finishing a run. I mean, finishing a full run leaves you in a kind of post-show void anyway, even though you know it’s coming, so to not know it’s coming and have it severed must be even more of a void.

Memories of performing just months ago seem like such an unattainable thing in this COVID world right now. I can’t tell you how much I’m hoping we get back to some semblance of live performance.

EDGE: What was it like to appear onstage opposite Dame Diana Rigg in “All About My Mother?”

CM: Well, I think “iconic” is an apt word for both the experience of working with Diana and the lady herself. In between scenes backstage we used to talk a lot and we got told off for talking too loudly, so Diana began to teach me sign language and we would spell out words to each other, maybe only getting a couple of sentences to each other before she was due on stage and I had to get into position for my next entrance-- we did a radio play together two years ago and she remembered, she said, “Do you remember A-E-I-O-U?” signing out the letters with her hands.

EDGE: None of us knows the future in terms of the pandemic and when we might return to making theatre. I’m a playwright myself and find it all supremely frustrating but I’m trying to remain hopeful! Where are you right now in terms of the standstill we are in and what the future might hold?

CM: Yes, I’m so worried for theatre. It’s a devastating blow. I’m sure as a playwright, you know that the creative spirit in individuals hasn’t been diminished by this virus. People are creating important art in this crisis but we need the platforms to present it and bring people to some light again out of this really scary period, but it needs to be safe and it’s a worrying time. The virtual theatre approach must be looked at I think. We need to experiment and find new paths at least for the time being. I’m involved in developing some things right now and how we can work on things in both an isolated and collaborative way. It’s entirely counterintuitive to what the family-feel and close bond of a group in a rehearsal room is like-- I miss the rehearsal room so much!-- but we can’t sit still, we must create and we must act.

What’s in a role?

EDGE: Looking back on the great success of “Merlin,” what are your takeaways from that experience?

CM: Some of the most treasured memories of my life will forever be connected to “Merlin,” the cast, crew, production, everyone! The invaluable training of being in front of a camera every day! The chance to inhabit a character and live with him for five seasons! There’s too much to list and words probably won’t do justice anyway, but I’m truly grateful for everything the show gave me.

EDGE: How do you select the roles you play?

CM: I guess they select me in a way. I can’t play a role unless it speaks to me and provokes me in some way, but ultimately it’s the characters that I have a fear about playing, not knowing how I’m going to enter into the process of living them, when I don’t have all the answers it’s a good indicator of a character I must play. If I have all the answers, there’s less scope for exploration and discovery which isn’t as interesting for me.

Link here

[spine-buster]

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 1

A/N: To celebrate William “Thirst Trap” Nylander’s birthday last Friday, I’m going to do a double post this week!  (Also maybe because he’s technically not in this chapter).  Make sure you set your clocks for Thursday at 7:30pm cause that’s when I’ll post Chapter 2.  Chapter 3 will then proceed next Monday on our regular once-a-week schedule.

September 3rd, 2019

Aberdeen Bloom was still looking for a job.

She was still sending out her resume to companies.  She was still making follow-up phone calls.  She was still creating alert notifications for jobs she’d be interested in.  She was still going for interviews.  She was still shaking hands and thanking people for their time.  She was still writing follow-up thank you emails.  She was still getting rejection calls.  She was still submitting work to writing contests and magazines.  She was still getting “It’s not what we’re looking for right now” emails.  

She sighed.

So maybe getting the dream gig was harder than she thought.

It wasn’t like the bank had let her go.  She was still earning something to keep her afloat, but it was the bank.  It wasn’t writing, it wasn’t anything else.  It was the same stuff every single day and Aberdeen was starting to resent it.  She didn’t move downtown to stay a bank teller.  She moved downtown to start her career, and this was not starting her career.

But then a phone call came on Sunday – peculiar, she thought, since it was a long weekend and had expected everybody and their mothers to be at a cottage – asking if she wanted to come in for an interview.  To MLSE.  For the personal assistant job.  Aberdeen didn’t even remember applying to MLSE.  But she was desperate, so she said yes, and now she found herself looking in the mirror with her best “interview outfit” on ready to ace it.

She took a deep breath.  She could do this.  She packed her bag, made sure she had her wallet at keys, and left the condo, deciding to walk the short way to 50 Bay Street so she could pick up breakfast on the way.  Even while eating the ham and swiss sandwich, she could feel the butterflies in her stomach – it didn’t calm her nerves at all.  For some reason, she felt like this was her last chance to build something towards her career.  If she didn’t, she’d be stuck bank-telling forever.  When she stood outside the doors of 50 Bay Street, she took a deep breath before walking in.

“When you arrive, tell the receptionist you are looking for Frances Munro” the woman on the other line had told her when she called for the interview.  As she approached the receptionist, she tried to look as confident as possible.  “Hi, my name is Aberdeen Bloom.  I’m here for an interview with, um, Frances Munro?”

“Aberdeen Bloom?” another voice called out.  

Aberdeen looked up to see another woman lurking in the back, a clipboard in hand, dressed impeccably well.  “Yes.  Hi.”

The woman looked at her.  Aberdeen could see her give a quick up-down.  “Great.  Human resources certainly has an odd sense of humour,” she quipped, chuckling for nobody but herself.  “Follow me.”

Aberdeen did as she was told, giving a polite nod to the receptionist who was already ignoring her.  She circled around the desk and followed Frances, who walked through the door but didn’t hold it open.  “Okay, so I was Brendan’s personal assistant but I recently got promoted so now I’m looking for someone else,” Frances explained.

“Oh, so you’re replacing yourself.”

“Well, I’m trying to.  We tried to be proactive and hire early but the last two Brendan sacked after only a few weeks.  We need to find someone who can survive here – who can survive Brendan’s schedule and survive the pressure of the Leafs.  Do you understand?”

“Yes.  Absolutely.”  Aberdeen looked around awkwardly.  “Who is Brendan?”

“What?” Frances stopped dead in her tracks to look back at Aberdeen.  “Oh my God, I will pretend did not just ask me that – Brendan Shanahan, he’s the president of the Toronto Maple Leafs,” she practically hissed at her, continuing her walk.  “Not to mention a hockey legend.  If you work a year for him you can get a job in any adjacent field you want – sports, media, journalism, writing, whatever.  A million people would kill for this job.”

Writing.  Writing.  WRITING!!!!!  Alarm bells were going off in Aberdeen’s ears.  “It sounds like a great opportunity.  I’d love to be considered.”

Frances giggled, pushing her clipboard up to cover the smile on her face.  They had stopped in front of a series of doors and Aberdeen felt like she was going to have to pick the one without the tiger in it.  “Aberdeen…the Toronto Maple Leafs are a hockey club.  An interest in hockey…even just a little bit, is crucial,” she explained condescendingly.  Aberdeen wondered how someone like this could even get promoted.  “Do you play hockey?

“No.”

“Do you watch hockey?”

“No.”

Frances looked shocked.  “Do you know who the Toronto Maple Leafs are?”

“Of course I know who the Toronto Maple Leafs are,” Aberdeen huffed.  “I just don’t…I mean, I don’t…”

“If I put a picture of Mats Sundin in front of you right now could you pick him apart from Wendel Clark or Doug Gilmour?”

There was an awkward pause.  “Are those Mr. Shanahan’s right-hand men?”

“Oh my God,” Frances muttered under her breath.  “Have you ever been to a game?”

“Yes.”

“Are you lying?”

“No – no, I’m not lying,” Aberdeen said quickly.  “One of my friends – her dad gets tickets through clients or whatever.  I’ll go to maybe one a year with her family.  But it’s not – I’m not like…the experience is fun.”

Before Frances could respond with something that was ruder than the last thing she said, her phone let out a really loud notification.  She balanced the clipboard on one hand as she took out her phone.  But as she looked at the message on the screen, her face dropped.  “Oh my God, oh my God, no!”

Aberdeen’s face dropped too.  “What’s wrong?”

Frances dropped her clipboard onto the desk and ran around it, grabbing the phone receiver and dialling a number.  Almost automatically, she began talking.  “He’s on his way.  Tell everyone the story needs to be retracted now,” she barked before hanging up.  A man walked through another door and suddenly, it was complete mayhem.  People were running through everywhere.  

“He wasn’t supposed to arrive until 9:30.  What happened?” the man asked Frances.

“Those idiots at the Sun had the audacity to actually post the story about his daughter online.  God, these people!” Frances huffed.  

Aberdeen stood awkwardly as everyone seemed to go into mayhem mode.  Frances was running around like a chicken with her head cut off, that one guy had mysteriously disappeared, and men in suits were in and out of everywhere with panicked looks on their faces.  She watched as Frances whipped into the office and began putting stuff out on the desk – a glass of San Pellegrino water, a venti Starbucks, and the sports sections of all the local newspapers.  When she was done, Frances grabbed the clipboard from her desk, a pen, and ran back down the corridor they just came from, leaving Aberdeen there, standing alone.  Awkwardly.  

Eventually, she could hear Frances’s voice again – much more polite this time – and footsteps of very expensive shoes clacking down the hallway.  “Yes Mr. Shanahan, of course.”

“And tell David at The Sun that I’m this close to revoking media access to the locker room if he publishes another article to do with my children ever again,” a voice Aberdeen could only assume was Brendan Shanahan’s was echoing down the hallway.

“I’ll get right on it.”

“Then tell Ben up in the legal department to draw up the paperwork necessary for that to scare them,” she heard, and finally, they rounded the corner.  Frances and Mr. Brendan Shanahan, President of the Toronto Maple Leafs.  He was angry.  Aberdeen could tell, even if she didn’t hear any of his last sentences – his body language showed it all.  She stepped back a few steps so he could get into his office unimpeded, where he would very obviously yell at the top of his lungs once he shut the door.  

“Who’s that?” he asked.

Frances stood in front of Aberdeen, shielding her from Brendan’s view as he looked back at Aberdeen from inside his office.  “Nobody – well – human resources sent her about the personal assistant job and I was going to interview her…but, but she’s hopeless,” she chuckled out, “and totally wrong for the job—”

“Well clearly I’m going to have to do that myself, since the last two you sent me were completely inadequate,” he deadpanned.  Frances’s back stiffened at the words.  “So send her in,” he finished as he sat down at his desk.  

Frances walked out of Mr. Shanahan’s office.  “Mr. Shanahan would like to see you,” she said politely, loud enough for him to hear.  It was when she leaned in closer that she began to whisper so he couldn’t.  “Brendan Shanahan is the absolute nicest person you will ever meet,” she began, “but he is also the busiest, most intense, most dedicated hockey professional in the entire National Hockey League.  Do you understand?”

Aberdeen gulped.  “Yes.”

“And I hope you know that this is a very difficult job for which you re totally wrong, and if you mess up my head is on the chopping block.”

‘That might not be so bad’, Aberdeen thought.  She would have appreciated some words of encouragement, like what Kasha had given her this morning, rather than the shpeal she was getting now.  But Aberdeen digressed, and nodded her head.  She took out a copy of her resume from her purse before walking in.

When she did, she couldn’t help but notice all the fine detailing of his office.  A lot of oak, bookcases, a lot of framed pictures of his family, and a giant Toronto Maple Leaf logo plastered – literally plastered – onto the wall.  He even had a giant oak desk – so regal – in the middle of the room.  

“Who are you?” Brendan asked in a tone much softer, but still angry.

Aberdeen took a deep breath.  This was her time to shine.  “Hi Mr. Shanahan.  My name is Aberdeen Bloom,” she said, stepping forward awkwardly to place her resume on his desk.  “I recently graduated from the University of Toronto—”

“And what are you doing here?” he asked.

Aberdeen blanked.  What was she doing here?  “Um, well, I think I could do a good job as your assistant, and um…” she started, noticing that Brendan was putting on his glasses.  Her gave her a look as those words left her mouth.  He grabbed the newspapers off his desk and placed them in front of him, over her resume.  

‘Alright Aberdeen.  Cut the bullshit’ she told herself.  “Yeah, so, I graduated U of T and want to become a writer.  I sent my resume out everywhere, and my work to try to get published, and finally I got a call from the MLSE human resources department, and…well, basically it’s this or bank-telling.”

Brendan didn’t look up from his newspaper.  “So you’re not a fan of the Toronto Maple Leafs.”

Aberdeen’s body stiffened.  “Uh…no?”

“And before today you had never heard of me.”

“…No.”

There was an awkward pause.  Brendan didn’t seem like he had any more questions in him – if he even cared.  It was so clear that he didn’t and that she was bombing this interview.  But Aberdeen felt more words coming.  “I was recently published in Acta Victoriana, the oldest continuous university magazine in Canada – twice, actually – and was also published in the Hart House Review—”

“I think we’re done here,” Brendan said, not looking up from the newspaper.  That was it.  Cut throat.  Didn’t care.

Aberdeen swallowed her pride.  So this interview was a dumpster fire from the get-go.  But it was him that came in angry and him that came into this without an open mind.  She couldn’t help but scoff at how he dismissed her; he didn’t even have the courtesy to look up.  She turned to walk out.

‘Don’t let it end like this’ her mind told her.  ‘You have so much within you that he doesn’t want to see’.

So she turned around.  “You know what?  You’re right.  I know nothing about hockey,” she began, her voice as strong and powerful as she could make it.  “The woman who brought me in asked if I knew the difference between Matt…Gilmour and something…something Sundin, and I didn’t.  I don’t fit in here,” she continued, noticing that he finally looked up.  “I’m a girl who grew up in an old bungalow in Etobicoke with immigrant parents.  I’m an English major with a double minor in classics and film.  But I’m smart.  I’m really f…really smart, and I learn fast, and I will work hard if you give me the chance to do so here—”

“Good news – they’ve agreed to take down the story,” somebody burst into the room interrupting her speech.  Brendan looked at her until the person laid their iPad down in front of him.  “The tweet linking the article is gone and it’s completely gone off their website.  Adrienne Batra wants to call you to personally apologize.”

“There’s no way I’m speaking to that woman,” Brendan mumbled.  “Tell her I want it in writing.  And one to my daughter as well.”

“Thank you for your…time,” Aberdeen said, as if he gave her any.  She walked out of his office and out of his life forever.  

Aberdeen decided to take the stairs, slowly walking down the flights of stairs, hearing her shoes clack against the bare concrete.  There, she could at least wallow in her self-pity after that train wreck of an interview.  She could deliberate about her next choices and steps.  Keep bank-telling?  Go back and get her Master’s?  Take a new course?  Tell her parents how she was failing?  Move back home?  Never do anything with her life?  Live in her parents’ basement for the rest of her life?  Maybe she should just stay in this stairwell.  Maybe she should start living here, since there was nothing else for her out there in the big wide world.  Maybe she’d become a hermit.

As she finally reached the ground floor, she thanked the receptionist again, who ignored her again.  Typical.  As she was about to walk out of 50 Bay Street, she heard her name being called.  “Aberdeen!”

She turned around.  Frances was waving her back, rolling her eyes at the same time.  Aberdeen furrowed her brows.  Did she forget something?  What was going on?  She scurried over to Frances.  “What’s wrong?”

“Brendan wants to speak to you.”

Aberdeen gulped.  She was going to get yelled at by the President of the Toronto Maple Leafs.  He was going to completely obliterate her entire life and not-yet-burgeoning career for that little stunt she pulled inside his office with that speech, and she’d never be able to find a job anywhere in Toronto again.  She may as well just move into her parents’ basement now.  

As they both rode the elevator back up, Aberdeen’s heart kept beating faster and faster.  “Do you know what he wants to speak about?” Aberdeen asked.

“I have no clue,” Frances said absent-mindedly, typing something into her phone.

When they arrived back upstairs, Frances led her straight back into Brendan’s office.  He was working on his laptop now, instead of reading his newspaper over Aberdeen’s resume.  “Brendan, I have Aberdeen back for you,” Frances announced.

“Excellent,” he said, his voice much more upbeat than what is was five or ten minutes ago.  “Franny, I’d like you to take Aberdeen to get her picture taken for her new MLSE identification badge,” he said.

Frances’s eyes bulged out of her head.  So did Aberdeen’s.  “W-What?” Frances stuttered out.

“And after that, I’d like you to take the town car and take Aberdeen to the Eaton’s Centre to get her an iPad Pro with a keyboard so we can start the process of downloading all the necessary apps and internal mail server she’ll need to do the job.”

Aberdeen’s stomach dropped.  “I…I got the job?” she asked, completely flabbergasted.  Was he nuts?  Completely, certifiably insane?

“You start next Monday.  Is that fine with you?”

Aberdeen found herself nodding.

***

“I’m so glad Steven could get that done for you today,” Brendan said as he rounded the corner of his desk so he could sit in his fancy big chair.  Aberdeen nodded, looking at the screen of her new iPad Pro.  Steven, one of the guys from tech support, had helped her download everything she needed to have on it.  

“Yeah.  It was all really fast.”

“After you finish up here today you may need to go back to the Eaton’s Centre,” Brendan informed her.  “You’re going to need to purchase a work wardrobe.  Keep every receipt because MLSE will reimburse you.  I prefer black, but really…get whatever you think is appropriate for an office.”

“Okay.”

“No heels necessary.  When we travel, I obviously don’t mind something more laid back – especially trips to the west coast.  Do you have a valid and working passport?”

“Yes sir.”

“Make sure you have it when traveling.  Our charter plane will still need to see it.  We’ll make copies.”

“Yes sir.”

“You’ll need to be available every game day.  We usually have Sundays off, but it’s a very untraditional schedule.  You’re okay with that?”

“Yes sir.”

“And I have your contract for you,” he said, grabbing some paperwork on the desk.  “We’ll have someone from the legal department come and explain it shortly,” he handed it to her, “but you’ll see the salary at the bottom of the first page.”  Aberdeen looked down.  Her eyes bulged at the number.  “If everything is to your liking, then we can sign.”

“Okay,” she nodded her head.  She gulped.  

Brendan looked at Aberdeen and could tell she was nervous – it was obvious in her short “Yes sir” responses anyway, but she looked like she wanted to curl into her shell.  “Before Ben from legal gets here, I would like to apologize about this morning,” he said.  “A local newspaper ran an article about one of my daughters, and my children…well, my children are completely off-limits.  Everybody knows that.  But sometimes some journalists like to see how far they can take things, even though they know family is off limits.”

Aberdeen understood where he was coming from.  If anyone ever said anything bad about Siena or Camden, she’d have their head on a spike.  She couldn’t even imagine what it was like for a father, or any parent for that matter, to have an article published about their child without their permission.  “I understand, Mr. Shanahan.”

“We are like a family here, you know – MLSE, but the Leafs especially.  You will feel part of that family soon enough.”

Aberdeen nodded nervously.  “I’m sure I will, Mr. Shanahan.”

“Well…” he shrugged his shoulders, leaning back in his chair and smiling at her.  “Congratulations, Miss Bloom.  You are now an employee of MLSE.”

***

“With the Leafs?!” Kasha was shocked when Aberdeen told her.  She’d started pouring glasses of wine when Aberdeen told her she got a job, but once she revealed the specifics, Kasha was shocked.  “Gosh Aberdeen, remember when my dad would bring me, you, and Siena to games with the company season tickets?”

“I know.”

“And now you’re working for them?!”

“For the President.  I’m his personal assistant.”

“Oh my God!” Kasha exclaimed.  “Seriously though, I bet a million jocks would kill for that job,” she commented as she finished pouring the wine.  

“Yeah.  Great,” Aberdeen shrugged her shoulders.  “Thing is, I’m not one of them.”

“Well, you gotta start somewhere, right?” Kasha offered.  She picked up both wine glasses, handing one to Aberdeen.  Kasha held her glass up.  “To jobs that pay the rent.”

Aberdeen giggled.  “To jobs that pay the rent.”

[imagine-loki]

Hiding In Plain Sight

TITLE: Hiding in Plain Sight CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Two AUTHOR: wolfpawn ORIGINAL IMAGINE:

Imagine coming from a line of nobility or royalty and being in an arranged marriage with Loki in an attempt to strengthen your kingdom / alliance with Asgard. You’re not entirely on board with the idea but figured that the best you could do was to get to know your fiancé.

You form an agreement with Frigga for you to pose as Loki’s personal servant for a few months so you can get to know who Loki really is – beyond the veil of his responsibility to the Asgardian throne, behind all the masks he wears when facing the public, to really know who Loki is behind closed doors as you slowly fall for each other.

How long will you keep up the ruse with the God of Lies?

RATING: General Audience

Raven worked diligently on the room. Growing up, she had to adhere to the very strict upbringing which she had that did not permit her to do very much for herself, which always irked her greatly. There were some things that she knew she would never be good at, cooking being one such example. Somehow, she still had not figured it out for herself, she managed to set a bowl of porridge on fire. She loved sewing and embroidering, she loved working the needle and thread until a design was created, it was something she always adored so much so that her maid used to be forced to endure Raven staring at her as she mended anything that needed fixing through the years but such was seen as beneath a princess so she did not get to do it often herself, though she had convinced the maid to teach her. She also liked to decide for herself where she would place her belongings and how the room should look but such was not allowed and she was often admonished for doing such things. She was the daughter of the king, she was often told, she was not to do such menial things, they were beneath her station. The issue for Raven was that she was the only daughter of the king, born amidst four brothers. Something of an anomaly in Ljósálfar royalty. Very few Light Elf kings had ever sired a daughter. She often felt something of a black sheep of her family, never truly feeling like she fitted in.

 Her brothers always knew what it was they were to do with their lives; the eldest, Dafydd was to be king, trained for the role since childhood, he would be a good king, if not slightly fond of a hunt more than a trade meeting, the second oldest, Johann was a soldier at heart, earning his way legitimately through the ranks of the Ljósálfar army and would by everyone’s predictions, be general someday. With a good relationship with his brother, it would be nothing but a blessing in everyone’s eyes as kings and generals often clashed heads. The third, Richard was to be made Lord of the Lowlands, a title usually bestowed to the second son of the King but Johann renounced his claim to it as high ranking soldiers were not allowed such titles and he rather earn his own, so that left Richard with a good living as well. The last and youngest, Kieran had learnt early that fighting was the exact opposite to what he wanted in life. Instead, he loved tending to its injured and much to his family’s startled pride, he decided as a youth to become a healer and was studying diligently to do so. Amongst them all, Raven’s life seemed somewhat less defined yet incredibly more restricted. She was given no role for so long and now was forced to one she knew she would most likely have but to one she never thought possible. She could not fathom how it came to be that she was to wed someone so notably high born as the second prince of Asgard, the son and brother of the current and future Allfathers. When her father first stated it, she thought him to be having some form of a peculiar joke, but when his face remained stoic and none seemed to see anything funny in what was being said, she realised he was entirely serious. 

She loved the sound of the cloth squeaking against the mirror as she worked. If anything, the experience was fun for her. Most days were dull and boring for her, long hours of reading and writing in areas that were entirely uninteresting. She liked a good book on occasion but she liked them to be on matters that interested her, most commonly, a genre known as thriller, not something befitting a princess. She often hid those books so none would know she read them but then it made finding time to read them difficult. This far surpassed reading about the history of trade between Alfheim and Vanaheim. Most would think her mad had she stated such, but it was true nonetheless. 

She heard Loki’s return before she saw him. A low irate growl rang out around the rooms. “Maid...Norns, what is your name again, Raven...no, Brianna...Norn’s what is it?”

“Breanna, Your Grace.” Raven rushed from the bathroom where she had been shining the glass to see Loki, noting the manner in which he was presently standing in front of her, hair tousled, twigs in it and a mud smear on his face. “Oh, are you alright?”

“Well, at least one person cared to ask me and it had to be a foreign maid, of course, not my supposed friends or indeed my family,” Loki growled to no one. “I am fine. Breanna, of course. Run me a bath.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” she bowed and rushed into the bathroom once more. 

Loki watched her for a moment before walking in after her. “Where did you learn to bow like that?”

Raven, thinking the question to be entirely obscure, turned to look at him. “Sorry, Your Grace?”

“Who taught you to bow? You’re female, females do not bow, you are supposed to curtsey.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice as he spoke. 

“I…” Raven had only done the bow to be swift but seeing his reaction, she was unsure what to say. “I don’t have the balance for that.”

Loki’s brow rose. “The balance?”

“I tried but it ended badly.”

Loki folded his arms and leant against the door frame, a smile forming on his face. “Well now, this sounds interesting.”

“I tried to learn, I was even given a tutor because I was not getting it. I kept crossing my ankles wrong and I ended up….” Her eyes darted to the side embarrassed. 

“Oh, please continue.”

“Falling….into a…” She toyed with her hands slightly. If Loki had not been listening so astutely, he would not have heard the final word that she all but mouthed. “Fountain.”

Loki tried, to his credit, not to laugh at her. He bit his lips together and willed himself not to do so but he failed as her face went an interesting colour of red at the memory. He did not last long before his failure became vocal and he laughed heartily at it. 

 The laugh was not a malicious one, something she could take solace in but it did not stop her feeling embarrassed. The story was a true one, she did indeed struggle to curtsey when she was young. With her brothers, in informal settings, she did bow but had long mastered the curtsey also. Her unique form of training in that her unsuccessful attempt led to a thorough soaking left a lasting impression on her. “So as you can see, bowing suits me better.”

Loki cleared his throat and forced himself to stop laughing but his smile was still blatant. “I would wager that was somewhat hilarious.”

“It would have been, I laughed myself for a time, only my father saw it and was none-too-pleased. He did not think it to be so amusing.”

“He sounds as stoic as my own father.” Loki all but snarled the words, his previous good humour dissipating as he thought of his father. 

“I do think them to be of similar mindsets.”

“At least you are free of your father. I am stuck seeing mine every day.”

“I know him to be strict but if I am honest, I miss him and the rest of my family dearly. Being on an entirely different realm is so difficult, a lot of the time.” Raven did not mean to be so honest but at that moment, it slipped through.

“I wish I could be on a different realm. I am sick of them all.”

“We all think that until we get that wish, then all we wish for is to have what we had before.” Raven felt herself becoming slightly annoyed at Loki, her tone became more clipped as she spoke. “I will get your bath readied, Your Highness. I would suggest that you ready yourself for such without twigs in your hair.” She gave another slight bow before turning to continue her work, not wanting to accidentally reveal her true identity to him. 

Loki, stunned into silence by her demeanour and tone and the manner in which she spoke to him, took a moment to look in a mirror to assess his appearance only to see her words, to be honest. There was indeed debris from his scuffle in his hair. Miffed at everything, he decided to say nothing more, allow his maid to do as she was supposed to and prepare for his bath. 

*

Loki had no idea what it was that was used for his bath, but his aching muscles seemed to soothe as soon as he submerged himself in the water. He groaned from the comfort of it all before enjoying his bath, his tension disappearing as he did so. 

When he came out of his bath a time later and into the front part of his rooms, dressed in only his pants, he noted that his maid was busy trying to organise some books. “Do you find such things taxing?”

Raven looked over her shoulder at him. “When one decides to have no order at all, I find it distressing, not taxing.”

Loki felt insulted by her tone. “I do have an order, excuse you. Just because you cannot see it does not make it so.”

Raven stood back slightly. “It is neither chronological nor alphabetical, it makes little to no sense.”

Loki frowned. “Chrono….how in the realms would you even know the chronological order?”

“So because I am a maid, I cannot know the chronological order, is that what you are saying? Do you think me to be so unintelligent as to not know the order of some books? Do you look down on others so?” she did not snap the words emotionally as others would at being spoken to in such a tone but kept her voice calm yet clearly displaying how insulting his words were. 

“I did not claim that you were unintelligent.” Loki found himself backpedalling very quickly. “Only, those books…”

“Are of Alfheim, as I am, so of all the maids here to have any knowledge of such things, I should know such and do not even dare suggest that you think it’s because I should not know how to read.”

“Do not put words into my mouth.” Loki became angered at what she was implying. Especially ones so demeaning.”

“The words already in there do not seem much better.”

For a moment, both royals stood face to face, glaring at one another. “Before I went for a bath, you seemed to be the only one to care about my wellbeing after the situation today but now you are worse than others.” He turned to leave.

“I should mention, your female companion called by while you were in the bath,” Raven informed him. “She let me know your opinion on us dim, airheaded Light Elves and your opinion on our Princess, the one you are to marry. What can I say, it left a bad taste in my mouth.” Raven walked off leaving Loki startled in her wake. 

[wolfpawn]

Hiding in Plain Sight, Chapter 2

Story Summary - Imagine coming from a line of nobility or royalty and being in an arranged marriage with Loki in an attempt to strengthen your kingdom / alliance with Asgard. You’re not entirely on board with the idea but figured that the best you could do was to get to know your fiancé. You form an agreement with Frigga for you to pose as Loki’s personal servant for a few months so you can get to know who Loki really is – beyond the veil of his responsibility to the Asgardian throne, behind all the masks he wears when facing the public, to really know who Loki is behind closed doors as you slowly fall for each other. How long will you keep up the ruse with the God of Lies?

Chapter Summary - Raven starts to work for Loki but it is not long before she is tested and is forced to remain calm in fear of revealing herself.

Previous Chapter

Tags - @peppermint-j  @alexakeyloveloki @myblissfulparadise - it won’t let me tag you. 

Request if you wish to be tagged

Raven worked diligently on the room. Growing up, she had to adhere to the very strict upbringing which she had that did not permit her to do very much for herself, which always irked her greatly. There were some things that she knew she would never be good at, cooking being one such example. Somehow, she still had not figured it out for herself, she managed to set a bowl of porridge on fire. She loved sewing and embroidering, she loved working the needle and thread until a design was created, it was something she always adored so much so that her maid used to be forced to endure Raven staring at her as she mended anything that needed fixing through the years but such was seen as beneath a princess so she did not get to do it often herself, though she had convinced the maid to teach her. She also liked to decide for herself where she would place her belongings and how the room should look but such was not allowed and she was often admonished for doing such things. She was the daughter of the king, she was often told, she was not to do such menial things, they were beneath her station. The issue for Raven was that she was the only daughter of the king, born amidst four brothers. Something of an anomaly in Ljósálfar royalty. Very few Light Elf kings had ever sired a daughter. She often felt something of a black sheep of her family, never truly feeling like she fitted in.

 Her brothers always knew what it was they were to do with their lives; the eldest, Dafydd was to be king, trained for the role since childhood, he would be a good king, if not slightly fond of a hunt more than a trade meeting, the second oldest, Johann was a soldier at heart, earning his way legitimately through the ranks of the Ljósálfar army and would by everyone’s predictions, be general someday. With a good relationship with his brother, it would be nothing but a blessing in everyone’s eyes as kings and generals often clashed heads. The third, Richard was to be made Lord of the Lowlands, a title usually bestowed to the second son of the King but Johann renounced his claim to it as high ranking soldiers were not allowed such titles and he rather earn his own, so that left Richard with a good living as well. The last and youngest, Kieran had learnt early that fighting was the exact opposite to what he wanted in life. Instead, he loved tending to its injured and much to his family’s startled pride, he decided as a youth to become a healer and was studying diligently to do so. Amongst them all, Raven’s life seemed somewhat less defined yet incredibly more restricted. She was given no role for so long and now was forced to one she knew she would most likely have but to one she never thought possible. She could not fathom how it came to be that she was to wed someone so notably high born as the second prince of Asgard, the son and brother of the current and future Allfathers. When her father first stated it, she thought him to be having some form of a peculiar joke, but when his face remained stoic and none seemed to see anything funny in what was being said, she realised he was entirely serious. 

She loved the sound of the cloth squeaking against the mirror as she worked. If anything, the experience was fun for her. Most days were dull and boring for her, long hours of reading and writing in areas that were entirely uninteresting. She liked a good book on occasion but she liked them to be on matters that interested her, most commonly, a genre known as thriller, not something befitting a princess. She often hid those books so none would know she read them but then it made finding time to read them difficult. This far surpassed reading about the history of trade between Alfheim and Vanaheim. Most would think her mad had she stated such, but it was true nonetheless. 

She heard Loki’s return before she saw him. A low irate growl rang out around the rooms. “Maid...Norns, what is your name again, Raven...no, Brianna...Norn’s what is it?”

“Breanna, Your Grace.” Raven rushed from the bathroom where she had been shining the glass to see Loki, noting the manner in which he was presently standing in front of her, hair tousled, twigs in it and a mud smear on his face. “Oh, are you alright?”

“Well, at least one person cared to ask me and it had to be a foreign maid, of course, not my supposed friends or indeed my family,” Loki growled to no one. “I am fine. Breanna, of course. Run me a bath.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” she bowed and rushed into the bathroom once more. 

Loki watched her for a moment before walking in after her. “Where did you learn to bow like that?”

Raven, thinking the question to be entirely obscure, turned to look at him. “Sorry, Your Grace?”

“Who taught you to bow? You’re female, females do not bow, you are supposed to curtsey.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice as he spoke. 

“I…” Raven had only done the bow to be swift but seeing his reaction, she was unsure what to say. “I don’t have the balance for that.”

Loki’s brow rose. “The balance?”

“I tried but it ended badly.”

Loki folded his arms and leant against the door frame, a smile forming on his face. “Well now, this sounds interesting.”

“I tried to learn, I was even given a tutor because I was not getting it. I kept crossing my ankles wrong and I ended up….” Her eyes darted to the side embarrassed. 

“Oh, please continue.”

“Falling….into a…” She toyed with her hands slightly. If Loki had not been listening so astutely, he would not have heard the final word that she all but mouthed. “Fountain.”

Loki tried, to his credit, not to laugh at her. He bit his lips together and willed himself not to do so but he failed as her face went an interesting colour of red at the memory. He did not last long before his failure became vocal and he laughed heartily at it. 

 The laugh was not a malicious one, something she could take solace in but it did not stop her feeling embarrassed. The story was a true one, she did indeed struggle to curtsey when she was young. With her brothers, in informal settings, she did bow but had long mastered the curtsey also. Her unique form of training in that her unsuccessful attempt led to a thorough soaking left a lasting impression on her. “So as you can see, bowing suits me better.”

Loki cleared his throat and forced himself to stop laughing but his smile was still blatant. “I would wager that was somewhat hilarious.”

“It would have been, I laughed myself for a time, only my father saw it and was none-too-pleased. He did not think it to be so amusing.”

“He sounds as stoic as my own father.” Loki all but snarled the words, his previous good humour dissipating as he thought of his father. 

“I do think them to be of similar mindsets.”

“At least you are free of your father. I am stuck seeing mine every day.”

“I know him to be strict but if I am honest, I miss him and the rest of my family dearly. Being on an entirely different realm is so difficult, a lot of the time.” Raven did not mean to be so honest but at that moment, it slipped through.

“I wish I could be on a different realm. I am sick of them all.”

“We all think that until we get that wish, then all we wish for is to have what we had before.” Raven felt herself becoming slightly annoyed at Loki, her tone became more clipped as she spoke. “I will get your bath readied, Your Highness. I would suggest that you ready yourself for such without twigs in your hair.” She gave another slight bow before turning to continue her work, not wanting to accidentally reveal her true identity to him. 

Loki, stunned into silence by her demeanour and tone and the manner in which she spoke to him, took a moment to look in a mirror to assess his appearance only to see her words, to be honest. There was indeed debris from his scuffle in his hair. Miffed at everything, he decided to say nothing more, allow his maid to do as she was supposed to and prepare for his bath. 

*

Loki had no idea what it was that was used for his bath, but his aching muscles seemed to soothe as soon as he submerged himself in the water. He groaned from the comfort of it all before enjoying his bath, his tension disappearing as he did so. 

When he came out of his bath a time later and into the front part of his rooms, dressed in only his pants, he noted that his maid was busy trying to organise some books. “Do you find such things taxing?”

Raven looked over her shoulder at him. “When one decides to have no order at all, I find it distressing, not taxing.”

Loki felt insulted by her tone. “I do have an order, excuse you. Just because you cannot see it does not make it so.”

Raven stood back slightly. “It is neither chronological nor alphabetical, it makes little to no sense.”

Loki frowned. “Chrono….how in the realms would you even know the chronological order?”

“So because I am a maid, I cannot know the chronological order, is that what you are saying? Do you think me to be so unintelligent as to not know the order of some books? Do you look down on others so?” she did not snap the words emotionally as others would at being spoken to in such a tone but kept her voice calm yet clearly displaying how insulting his words were. 

“I did not claim that you were unintelligent.” Loki found himself backpedalling very quickly. “Only, those books…”

“Are of Alfheim, as I am, so of all the maids here to have any knowledge of such things, I should know such and do not even dare suggest that you think it’s because I should not know how to read.”

“Do not put words into my mouth.” Loki became angered at what she was implying. Especially ones so demeaning.”

“The words already in there do not seem much better.”

For a moment, both royals stood face to face, glaring at one another. “Before I went for a bath, you seemed to be the only one to care about my wellbeing after the situation today but now you are worse than others.” He turned to leave.

“I should mention, your female companion called by while you were in the bath,” Raven informed him. “She let me know your opinion on us dim, airheaded Light Elves and your opinion on our Princess, the one you are to marry. What can I say, it left a bad taste in my mouth.” Raven walked off leaving Loki startled in her wake. 

[squiggle-dragon]

Faded

Lightning flashed, lighting up the dark sky for but a moment as the rumble of thunder echoed through the land. It had yet to start raining, though it was only a matter of time before the storm would arrive in its full glory.

Labored breathing could be heard as a tall figure stumbled through the vegetation of the countryside, trying to escape from some threat. Pale hair could be seen, though what would normally have been the color of fresh snow was currently dirty with tinges of blood and soil.

The man's foot caught an upturned tree root and he fell forward, shutting his eyes tightly and hissing in pain upon making contact with the ground. His abnormally sharp teeth were gritted as he twisted his body to clutch at his chest, where blood stained his clothing.

Of course, it would choose to start raining at this point and the figure let out a shuddering sigh, "Figures… this is stupid. Damn gods…."

The injured fox demon stared at a particularly large blade of grass several inches away, mulling over his predicament. He was injured - and severely so. It was unlikely that he'd make it out of this alive, especially if those infernal gods were still trying to track him down. 

What did he do to deserve this? Ah, right - killed a bunch of people. It's been at least a couple of centuries since the last massacre, but apparently they aren't willing to forgive and forget. At least a dozen were gods… or was it two dozen? 

Hell, no wonder they were pissed.

The wind kicked up and buffeted against his fallen form, causing him to shut his eyes. ‘Crap!’ He wasn't sure if it was from the storm or one of his attackers had managed to find him. He needed to keep moving…

He needed to hide.

The demon clenched his jaw, hating the thought of having to flee like some coward. The great and powerful Soul Eater, who has taken on great entities and overcame them despite being at a major disadvantage, having to run away. Until now, they feared him….

With a quiet sigh of resignation, Soul closed his eyes again and focused. His physical form shifted and started shrinking. Where there once was a more humanoid figure now laid a small, white fox. Well, mostly white, given the dirt and blood currently staining his fur.

Soul pushed himself to stand, staggering slightly and wincing as more blood dripped from his wound. He couldn't succumb to his injuries now; he had too much to prove to those high and mighty gods. Weak and injured was not how they were going to last remember him.

Ignoring the pain the best he could, the small fox trudged through the grass. His large ears swiveled at another rumble of thunder, trying to also listen for anything unusual. Not that he could exactly present much of a challenge in his current state. Maybe give them a nasty bite on the face….

Soul paused to shake out his fur, sending both blood and water flying. He immediately regretted it, nearly losing his balance and flopping over. 'Smooth move, idiot.' Apparently, the horrid sensation of damp fur outweighed the pain from a bleeding gash in his chest. 'Ew. Ow. Ew…'

Could his situation get any worse? 

It was almost as if the Universe responded with a resounding "Yes!" 

The rain became a torrential downpour, which soaked him to the bone in a matter of seconds. 'Since when did I stumble into an active hurricane? At least this damn rain should wash away my blood trail. The last thing I need right now is-'

He froze, hearing movement in a nearby bush. The fox youkai slowly turned his head to see a hulking silhouette. It was obvious to him what it was and he glared skyward, as if his torturer was among the clouds. '-a bear? Seriously, who is screwing with me right now?! What kind of karmic bullshit is this?!'

Soul arched his back and bristled, red eyes flashing angrily as the bear ambled closer. Once the large beast got within ten feet of him, the white fox bared his teeth and growled lowly, 'You really want to mess with me, you thick-headed nimrod?'

The bear paused and seemed to think things over, which gave Soul an inkling of hope that his tough posturing worked. Not that some 'dumb woodland animal' could ever hope to get the better of him when he was remotely close to full strength. However, the fox youkai was about as weak as an average fox at this point. 

Once again, fate was clearly not in his favor as the bear bellowed and charged at him. With a snarl, Soul ducked as massive claws barely missed grazing his head. The adrenaline was fortunately numbing the pain for now, which allowed the fox to spring upward and latch onto the bear's neck with his jaws, 'Gotcha!'

With an enraged roar, the mighty ursine thrashed about as Soul clamped down harder, holding on for dear life. Unfortunately, being tossed about burned through his already fading strength faster. With one final shake, Soul came loose and flew several feet before making contact with the ground. Due to the force, his body tumbled another foot or two before sliding to a complete stop. 

Soul laid there, stunned and in even worse pain than he had been initially. Hearing heavy footsteps, he mentally screamed at his body to get moving. It obliged, albeit very slowly and not without a large amount of agony. The battered youkai pushed himself up into an awkward seated position, drawing his lips back in a defiant snarl up at his encroaching killer.

He had thought his end would come by one of those pieces of shit claiming to be gods - likely from them raiding him because they sure as hell couldn’t seem to do it on fair terms. But here he was, about to be killed by one of those ‘dumb woodland animals.’ It was so pathetic that he felt bile rise in the back of his throat - or was that a side effect of having the shit beaten out of him? 

Despite his (pathetic) attempts at intimidating the bear, the large creature grunted before taking another swipe at the small fox. Adrenaline and moxie could not save Soul this time and the weakened youkai went flying again, bleeding from the side of his neck where the bear’s claws raked him. He let out a gasp of pain upon making contact with the ground, shutting his eyes tightly. 

His small form laid there, curled up and shivering in pain as the threads of fear wrapped themselves around him. Soul could not remember the last time he felt like this, though he had never before been skirting so close to death. Despite being so long-lived, he really did not want to die here. Not just because of his ego and his soon-to-be-killer being a simple bear, but for whatever reason… the thought of ceasing to exist terrified him.

His ears twitched slightly upon hearing the bear’s heavy breathing getting closer, likely as it moved in for the final blow. Try as he might, Soul could not get his limbs to move at all outside of the shivering. He felt a breath ruffle the fur around the back of his neck and stiffened, holding his breath….

Suddenly, there was a loud raucous that was enough to cause him to fold his ears against his head in an attempt to muffle it. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it sounded like someone was hitting something repeatedly and shouting at the top of their lungs.

*Clang!* *Clang!* *Clang!*

“Go away! Back off!”

Soul belatedly realized that he no longer felt the bear breathing down his neck and dared to turn his head to look behind him. The bear could be seen running off, disappearing into the nearby bushes. ‘Huh.’

Faintly hearing other footsteps, the fox youkai’s eyes slowly drifted in the direction he made them out to be from. He was quite tired and was more than ready for a nap - even if that nap turned out to be permanent. He’d lost a fair amount of blood and had been in two fights almost back to back. If this new development was how he was going to leave this world, then so be it.

Instead, his eyes trailed up to the form of a human girl as she hurried over to him. He couldn’t make too much out between his fading eyesight and the darkness. There was some artificial source of light, but it only worked to further obscure her. He felt a hand rest on his side and lightly ghost across his wounds, but he found it strangely reassuring.

His ears caught whispers, mostly in regards to her assessment of his sorry state of being at the moment. Soul’s eyes once again traveled up towards her face, but couldn’t make much out aside from a strange - almost childish - hairstyle. Normally, he’d be alarmed in such a situation, but he felt strangely at ease.

There was a peculiar rustling sound and he saw her taking her outermost garment off, which seemed almost like a hooded cloak. Soul winced and squeezed his eyes shut again as he felt himself being scooped up and wrapped in the article of clothing. Everything hurt so badly that he almost wished he was killed by that stupid bear. He apparently let out a whine, because he felt her grip on him tighten before she stood with him in her arms.

“Don’t worry little fox - you’re safe. Rest now and please stay alive….”

The fox youkai was confused by the tone of her voice and picked up the faintest quiver in it. Soul also realized just how cold he was, even while being wrapped up in whatever she had been wearing. Despite his usual pride, he found himself unconsciously snuggling up against her for warmth and let out another small whine from the effort. He could feel them moving - and judging from the motion, she was running. 

He struggled to stay awake and succumbed to his exhaustion shortly after - lulled to sleep by her heartbeat.