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spine-buster · 4 years ago

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The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Epilogue 2: A Queen’s Crown

A/N: I know this one is a bit short. One more epilogue to go, and if you missed my update, it will be posted THIS WEDNESDAY at 7:30pm. We’re ending the disaster that was 2020 with Aberdeen and Willy!

January 2023

Aberdeen Bloom was freaking the fuck out.

Anna Wintour just walked into the room.

“Miss Bloom! Hello,” she greeted, her signature accent filling the room as her dress swayed back and forth. Every stylish, her boots clacked against the floor as she approached the photographer and set where Aberdeen was about to pose on a beautifully crafted, eccentrically pink upholstered couch in front of styled bookcases holding hundred-year-old editions of books.

“Hello Ms. Wintour,” Aberdeen said as confidently as she could, shaking Anna’s hand. Her own dress – a black, high-neck midi-length dress with sheer long sleeves and hand applied golden crystals she was styled in that morning – sparkled in the light of the room. “It’s an honour to meet you. Thank you for the profile.”

“It’s not every day a woman sets a record in the writing world,” Anna said. “I would be a fool not to profile the youngest person to ever receive a Booker Prize for fiction.”

Aberdeen smiled. Every time she heard that – the youngest person to ever receive a Booker Prize for fiction – she had to pinch herself. She truly believed her life wasn’t real over these past few years. Most authors dreamt of being nominated for awards. Her first book was longlisted for the two biggest literary awards in Canada. Her second book, published by Coach House again but then picked up by Knopf and published internationally, had won the two biggest literary awards in Canada and had just won the Booker Prize for Fiction, the most prestigious literary award in the world. She was living in a dream world.

“And you must be the new fiancé,” Anna said, motioning over to where William was standing just out of shot, watching the photoshoot about to begin. “Pleasure to meet you. You must be in town to face the Rangers.”

“You as well,” William approached her to shake her hand. “You made my fiancée’s dream come true with this profile.”

“Well considering how fashionable she’d been on the book tour,” Anna shrugged her shoulders, as if to say it was so obvious to have her in the pages of Vogue. “I know some of the editors here kept tabs on it. Did you employ a stylist?”

“No ma’am,” Aberdeen giggled slightly. If Anna Wintour was about to compliment her on her style, she was going to drop dead.

“Impressive,” Anna nodded. “Now let’s see the ring.”

Aberdeen held out her left hand. Anna inspected the ring like a gemologist. When William proposed with it, Aberdeen was blown away. He’d designed it himself. A 4 carat round diamond in a twisted halo design and pavé band. It quite literally looked like a flower in bloom. And for Aberdeen’s eyes only, an inscription on the inside of the band in the most delicate handwriting. “Stunning,” she said, turning to the photographer. “Make sure you get it.”

“Of course, Ms. Wintour.”

Anna side-stepped to inspect the set. She took one last look at Aberdeen in her dress and high heels and perfectly waved hair and perfectly applied makeup. Anna gave her an up-down and suddenly Aberdeen became nervous. Anna looked towards the stylist. “We need a crown. Crowns.”

“Crown? Crowns? Multiple?”

“Her novel is titled A Queen’s Crown. She’s the youngest woman – person – to win the Booker Prize for fiction. Surely she should wear a crown in her photoshoot.”

“I—I’ll go into the closet,” the stylist nodded, hurrying out of the room.

Anna turned once more to Aberdeen. “Enjoy.”

***

March 2023

“I’m not about to be murdered by Orla Bloom for not having our wedding in a Catholic Church,” William said as he stuffed pasta into his mouth at the dinner table.

“But you’re not Catholic,” Aberdeen tried to explain to him, again. “You don’t understand what we’ll have to go through to get married in a Catholic Church. There are classes – like legit marriage classes we have to take. And we have to get, like, permission from the diocese to enter into the marriage and follow a Catholic wedding forma—”

“Listen to me,” William said, interrupting her. He grabbed her hand from across the table to calm her down. He knew how stressed she was getting about getting married, if only because there was Toronto and Sweden and Northern Ireland and Scotland to deal with. That didn’t even factor in hockey, making them only really able to have the wedding within a twelve-week span of the year. That also didn’t factor in her job, which, between book tours and interviews and appearances and writing her next, also created limited time and availability for their wedding date. But when she felt his hand wrap around hers, he saw her visibly relax. “I love you. We could go down to the courthouse right now to get married. But this means a lot to Orla. And I know you won’t say it, but I know how much this means to you, to be married in the same church you went to as a kid in Etobicoke,” he said softly. “So we’re doing it there. No ifs, and, or buts. I’ll take any class I have to in order to marry you. I’ll donate. Give my blood. Whatever. We’re getting married there.”

Aberdeen couldn’t take it. She got up from her seat and moved to sit in William’s lap. She didn’t care that they were at the dinner table, and she didn’t care that William had to push back his chair really quickly to accommodate her. All she wanted to do was melt into him completely. “Thank you so much,” she whispered against his lips as she kissed him. “I love you. You know that, right?”

William smiled. “I do. And I love you too. That’s why I gave you that ring.”

***

TALK OF THE TOWN: Booker Prize-winning and Toronto-based author Aberdeen Bloom and William Nylander (you know, of the Toronto Maple Leafs) just bought “the last lot on the Kingsway” – an old 1970s style bungalow empty for some time now. Sources say the couple plan to tear it down (of course) and build their dream home, a Scandinavian-inspired house where Bloom will no doubt produce her next great novels. Bloom and Nylander will be two blocks away from her former and his current boss, Brendan Shanahan, President of the Toronto Maple Leafs. Bloom has always said in interviews that she will never leave Toronto, so it’s fitting that the girl who was born and raised in Etobicoke would buy on one of the city’s most exclusive and coveted streets.

***

May 2023

“Vogue is coming to the wedding? Vogue?! Like…Vogue magazine?!” Aleida asked as she fed a now two-year-old Helena sitting in a high chair. Aberdeen smiled wryly before nodding her head. Aleida was still dumbfounded. “Like…Anna Wintour Vogue magazine. That Vogue magazine.”

“That Vogue magazine,” Aberdeen nodded. “They’re profiling it for an issue, along with my dress fitting. And then when the house is done, they’re going to do a feature on that too.”

Aleida looked towards Bee, who was just as shocked as Aleida was. “We need to go shopping for new dresses.”

“We definitely need to go shopping for new dresses,” Bee agreed. “I better let Aryne know too.”

“Guys, it’s still like, two years away. We set the date for August 23rd, 2025,” Aberdeen smiled as she reminded them. “You will have plenty of time. Plenty.”

“I don’t know about that. Weddings creep up on you quick,” Bee joked. Aberdeen completely understood where she was coming from. Bee and Morgan were getting married in July. William and Aberdeen were invited, of course, and would be going. Bee spoke a lot about the planning the past few months and always gave updates whenever the girls were all together. “I mean, I thought a year would be plenty of time for the wedding. And it is, don’t get me wrong…but it definitely came sooner than I thought!”

“You need to get the venue sorted now before anything else,” Aleida offered. “You’re two years out so you should honestly have your choice in place. But I don’t think there’s any venue in this city that would turn you down.”

“We’ve already booked,” Aberdeen smiled wryly. She was just full of surprises for the girls today. They looked at her, waiting for a response. “The Aria ballroom at the Four Seasons,” she revealed.

“Ooooooooooh,” both women cooed simultaneously at the revelation. Even Helena join in on the sound. “That will look stunning,” Aleida commented. “I can see it now – those floor-to-ceiling windows with flowers hanging and—”

“—don’t forget the drapery over the dancefloor—” Bee offered.

“—the drapery over the dancefloor—”

“—and the centrepieces…big, tall arrangements that stretch up—”

“Ladies, ladies, ladies,” Aberdeen held her hands up gently, causing Bee and Aleida to stop momentarily. Aberdeen paused for dramatic effect. “We’ve gotta write all this stuff down.”

The girls smiled and wiggled in their seats excitedly. “I’m giving you Rachel’s number,” Bee said, immediately mentioning her florist. “Your last name’s Bloom. There’s gotta be a shit ton of flowers at this wedding.”

***

July 2023

Aberdeen had tears in her eyes as she watched Morgan and Bee say “I do”. William had been holding her hand throughout the entire ceremony, rubbing the back of it gently with his own thumb. When they finally had their first kiss, it was the only point he let go so he could whistle loudly and clap and cheer. Bee looked extraordinary in her lace dress. Aberdeen could only imagine what would be in store for her when she went wedding dress shopping.

When the reception began, Aberdeen couldn’t help but get even more emotional. Knowing what Bee had gone through in her life, and seeing her dance with Morgan for their first dance made some tears fall down her cheeks. William noticed almost immediately, even though he was behind her; he wrapped his arms around her waist tightly and nestled his head onto her shoulder. “That’ll be us soon,” he whispered.

Aberdeen nodded her head. “I know. I’m so excited.”

“I love you so much. I can’t wait for you to be my wife.”

“And I can’t wait for you to be my husband.”

“And baby daddy. Don’t forget baby daddy,” he joked.

Aberdeen giggled. She knew he said that to make her laugh, because even though these were tears of joy, he didn’t like to see her cry. “Baby daddy too,” she nodded. “I can’t wait to have a thousand more little Nylanders running around Etobicoke.”

“We’re going to take over the world.”

***

August 23rd, 2025

Aberdeen looked at her dad as he held his arm out for her to grab. He looked so spiffy in his suit, and every time she saw him today, he had a giant smile on his face. It hadn’t left since their early morning wake up call to get hair and makeup done. He’d cried when he saw her in her dress for the first time. Now, if it was even possible, his smile was even wider. “Ready, sweetheart?” he asked.

Aberdeen nodded, linking her arm with her father’s. “I love you so much, dad.”

“I love you too, Aberdeen. Every day I thank my lucky stars for you and Siena and Camden. You’ve brought so much light to my life.”

Aberdeen’s bridesmaids had already walked out – Jacquie, Stephanie, Daniella, Kasha, and Siena as her maid of honour. She knew Alex would be standing beside William at the front of the aisle, with Camden (now a smart-as-a-whip-16 year old) and some of his cousins there too. The music began playing. She took a deep breath. The doors opened.

As she walked down the aisle with her father, she saw a lot of familiar faces. Morgan and Bee, of course, cradling a six-month-old Andy. Fred and Aleida, with a four-year-old Helena in the cutest little tutu-style dress. Auston, John and Aryne, Zach and Alannah, Joe with his wife and kids, Pierre, Rasmus, Mitch and Steph, Jake, Courtney, and Luna, Justin and Audrey – so many of the Leafs. Beth Zadakis. Her editor from Coach House Books. Her editor from Knopf. Jason, Jennifer, and their four girls. Brendan and his wife. Her grandparents, who came in all the way from Northern Ireland. Michael and Camilla. Her mom.

And of course, William. William, who was wiping tears away from his eyes. William, who looked so dapper in his tux. William.

Her William.

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x0401x · 4 years ago

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Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #6

Feel free to message me about possible corrections, and please consider supporting the creators by purchasing digital copies of the official releases: Novel || Manga || Fanbook. In case anyone is feeling generous: Ko-fi | PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

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Moonstone’s Charity

“The moon is beautiful, huh!”

By the time that we exited the Shiseido Parlor, it was already completely dark outside. The moon loomed a faint blue, as if overlooking the night view of Ginza. Putting his coat back on, Richard silently averted his eyes when I looked back at him with an “isn’t it”. At any rate, I had gotten wholly used to eating out with this guy on Saturdays after work. It was worth making him puddings as payback, I thought.

“Speaking of which, the stone you sold to today’s customers was a ‘stone of the moon’, wasn’t it?”

“Please call it ‘moonstone’. There are other rock specimens that are referred to as ‘stones of the moon’. Confusing the meaning of the words is deplorable.”

“Is that so?! Aight, I’ll take it to heart.”

Today’s customers were the parents of a naïve young lady, and the goods they bought were a moonstone jewelry set for her. It seemed that the young lady, who still had childish facial traits, was going to get married, so her parents ordered a necklace from Etranger for her to take along when the time came. Bearing a rainbow light over a milky blue color, the cabochon-cut moonstone was combined with white diamonds for the necklace and bracelet. It overflowed with a soulful beauty, almost as if it had borrowed the glow of an aurora from a Scandinavian sky.

Apparently, the moonstone, which was also one of the June birthstones, had been familiarized as a power stone since the distant past, and was renowned especially as a stone that celebrated the well-being and fortune of women. Having the commemorative jewelry delivered to her as a surprise, the young lady had cried until her eyes were bright red, but she recovered by way of a sweet royal milk tea, expressing gratitude to her parents with a sniffling nose. I believed that there were several forms of joy depending on each person, and what I had witnessed today was unmistakably one of them.

Even as we headed to the parking lot where Richard’s jaguar was, the moon followed us from the gaps between the buildings. As I walked while looking up and repeating, “It’s really pretty, so pretty”, Richard seemed exasperated.

“‘The moon is beautiful’, huh. Are college students not familiar with anecdotes of their own country’s literary figures nowadays?”

“Don’t they read that stuff? I’m in the faculty of economics, so there’s lots of people with names written in horizontal characters on our textbooks. Like Marx Weber or Mankiw.”

“What about Futabatei Shimei or Natsume Souseki?”

“I’ll ask you back: have you read them?”

“Yes.”

Uwah. As I cried out, the gorgeous jeweler sighed. “Honestly, today’s youths,” he said.

I ended up laughing at him without thinking.

“What is it?”

“You say ‘youths’ but you’re pretty young yourself.”

“I merely disagree with the worldwide trend of thinking that classical literature is an enjoyment for old age. The world, matured by the various interpretations of our ancestors, is deep and wide-ranging, as well as something that envelopes our hearts, just like stones.”

“Feels like the part where stones come up is ‘just as expected of Richard-san’.”

“I will take that as a compliment.”

“I am complimenting you. I have the feeling that I get smarter when we talk.”

“For you to be the kind who is satisfied with just ‘having a feeling’, my existence must be a harmful one.”

“I shall take this to heart... Aah, by the way, in sociology or some other class, I heard that the phrase ‘had a feeling’ has increased too much in pop music. Why is that? I guess it’s because, when they assert, ‘I can be strong!’ instead of, ‘I have the feeling I can be strong, I find myself inwardly wanting to retort with a, ‘Nope, nope, it’s not like that’ and the mood cools off.”

“Unfortunately, I have not studied the trends of modern Japan’s younglings. But if we are to speak of such things, even the power invoked by stones is a matter of ‘having a feeling’.”

“Is it okay for a jeweler to be saying that?”

“We are already out of business hours. Besides, this is not a negative subject in particular.”

Having arrived at the parking lot, Richard glanced at me and folded his arms lightly. He was a beautiful man from the top of his head to the tips of his toenails, like a doll made of moonlight. I was used to looking at his figure, but beautiful things will be beautiful. I could look at him without ever getting tired and it would put me in a good mood, just like the moon.

“W-What? What’s up?”

“I mean that people can become strong just from ‘having a feeling’. The power of belief is namely the force of human beings who seek hope even in a small gleam. Is that not a wonderful thing? On nights like these, when we ‘have the feeling’ that we are being protected by the light of the moon, people are sure to be in some sort of calm mood.” Saying this, as if to copy me or something, Richard looked up at the night sky above the buildings of Ginza and murmured, “The moon is truly beautiful.” He then smoothly got on the jaguar’s driver seat. I followed him on the passenger seat.

Still, this car’s seat base did an exquisite inclination no matter how many times I sat on it. It felt like a chair sticking to your body.

“Well, are you okay with dropping off at Takadanobaba?”

“Thank you. By the way, should I reply with the ‘I could die now’ already?”

Richard’s face at that moment was a spectacle. His mouth and beautiful eyebrows distorted as if to say, “Haah?”. His eyes stared dangerously at me.

“I mean, isn’t that the context? Futabate Shimei and Natsume Souseki, right?”

“I love you”.

Apparently, the literary masters of the Meiji Era had racked their brains about to how to translate a sentence that didn’t originally exist in the Japanese language. This would be a standard drinking party talk. Well, I didn’t know if there was a standard for all kinds of drinking parties, but just recently, during a drinking party we held with a group of men from the Department of Letter’s Faculty of Japanese Literature, we got fired-up over that topic. “Girls like this kind of talk, so you guys from the Faculty of Economics should also keep it in mind every once in a while,” they told us. Futabate Shimei used “I could die now” as a code for “I am yours” and Natsume Souseki used the anecdote “the moon is beautiful, isn’t it” as what was claimed to be a good anecdote for “I love you”. We were thankful for the trivia. That being said, none of the members who attended the drinking party had girlfriends, so I had thought there would be no opportunity to use this trivia, but to my surprise...

Richard, who had been stiff for a moment, exhaled with a loud “haaah” and turned the engine key. The body of the iron machine shuddered.

“That was terrifying.”

“So even you got freaked out! I can say some Japanese-like things too.”

“I will proceed to kick you if you say the same thing again. Be quiet for the time being.” Richard pulled the car out of the parking lot from backward, and as he stepped onto the accelerator and we got out into the street, the car trundled on with us in silence for a while. After we had passed four or five buildings, the beautiful jeweler opened his mouth again, “These words are not meant to be spoken lightly. A sentence taken out of context is like a lonely stone removed from a bracelet. In what kind of situation did people say, ‘The moon is beautiful’ or under what circumstances did they think, ‘I could die now’? What matters is the process until things arrived to that point, and not scraps of words. In the past, during the times when the people of this country were not as filled with imported mentalities as they are now, they probably understood this very well.”

“Hey, why’d you think of reading Natsume Souseki?”

Richard didn’t respond. I’d known for a while now that there were lots of things this guy didn’t want to answer, but his silence at the question was unexpected. Was something up?

Something related to moments when he might feel like saying things such as “the moon is beautiful” or “I could die now”.

It was clearly not a topic that I should pry too much about. Pretending to have found something interesting out the window, I put on a smile with no particular connotation. Leaning my body against the window, I looked up at the sky. “Ah, I can still see the moon.”

“You do not say. Is it beautiful?”

“Yup, but you’re more beautiful.”

Richard’s hand instantaneously glided in a swift motion. He pressed the car stereo switch. What played at an explosively loud volume wasn’t the Finnish rock that I had listened to before. It was a sutra in an ethnic-sounding female voice. That was all I could say. What was this? As I asked in a loud voice what language that song was in, he said it was Bengali. Was it an Indian song then? I couldn’t talk to him unless I shouted in one breath.

“HEY! IF I PISSED YOU OFF, SERIOUSLY, I’M SORRY!”

Richard’s mouth moved in the form of an “I cannot hear you”. It seemed he wasn’t in the mood for conversation. But he didn’t look angry. The corners of his lips were smiling just slightly. Like he wanted to say that this was so stupid it made him laugh. He appeared a lot more relaxed than when listing up the names of those literary figures, so I became kinda happy.

When I got out of the car, the southern country atmosphere was gone at once. At the roundabout in Takadanobaba, Richard took off with the jaguar as soon as he said goodbye. As the same old habit, for whatever reason, I ended up watching him off until I couldn’t see him anymore.

As I looked up the blue moon was floating in the black sky, unchanged. This was also a matter of “having a feeling”, but this emotion I was feeling today at this moment was a definite form of happiness too.

Honestly, the moon was beautiful tonight.

#housekishou richard shi no nazo kantei #housekishou richard #jeweler richard #the case files of jeweler richard #richard #nakata seigi #richard ranashinghe de vulpian #richard ranashinha de vulpian #jr short story collection #tsujimura nanako #yukihiro utako #novel #my translation

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lisinfleur · 4 years ago

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Buble Gum, Time is fun!

The request:

Author’s Notes | Two of my favorite things reunited: Sigurd and time travel plots! I love it! I decided to post it like this, because you said you liked it how it is, love. But I’ll probably use this request later for a bigger work! It really has potential! Universe | Vikings Pairing | Sigurd x Reader Info | Time Travel plot, Viking Age AU, Modern AU, prepared for the Patron’s Holiday Event Words | 3706 ⁑ Warnings: Cursing a lot.

Damn foggy night.

Damn stupid idea of accepting your co-worker's invitation into his house for a Christmas celebration!

Of course, you should've noticed his intentions! Of course, he was luring you into a trap!

What were you thinking? Ivan had tried to lure you into going out with him through the whole year! How could you think he was serious about a party with his family?

In the end, it was just a lie to "finally get some time alone with you, pretty..." Oh, GOD! You hated so much his stupid way to make that word sound doughy in his voice!

And there you were, walking away from his house, all alone on Christmas' Eve - because OF COURSE, he refused to drive you home since you wouldn't give him a chance... Asshole.

The problem is: it was easy to reach his cottage exactly because he was driving the 4x4 through the woods to take you there. On foot, the trail would surely allow you to see Santa Claus' reindeer flying through the sky, going away and coming back home before you were able to finish that God damn way!

"Wonderful!" you cursed when your eyes found a bifurcation and the plaque that should indicate the way was broken, leaving you without a choice but betting which way would take you down, back to the town, which would take you deeper inside those woods into some wolf lair or something like this.

With your luck?

You would end up frozen in the middle of that stupid fog!

Walking into that fog, you caught yourself thinking. Sadness taking your heart... If you weren't all alone... If your family wasn't a bunch of assholes like Ivan... Perhaps you wouldn't have accepted his invitation. Maybe you would be celebrating with her instead of all alone, lost in those woods.

Where was the trail?

"Oh, crap!" you cursed, looking around, trying to find yourself again, anything but trees that could serve for you to locate yourself.

Your heart clenching inside your chest.

If you were to disappear that night... Who would miss you?

Damn Ivan! It would be perfect to know he would probably be arrested since you were last seen entering his car but you didn't want to disappear!

Even less into those woods!

"Shit... Shit shit shit!" You cursed.

Your feet, lost, stumbled on some roots and you fell straight to the ground, rolling down a small hill and hitting your head against a tree.

You weren't sure, but you saw a silhouette right before everything blanked out.

You remember you thought it was better to freeze in those woods than being found by Ivan in that place.

You couldn't precise how long did you blank out. But it was warm when you woke up. There was some strange cloak over your body, with a marine perfume that resembled the sea right after the dawn, or the dew evaporating on the first hours of the mourning.

"You woke up," a strange voice, kinda hoarse, with a heavy accent spoke to you.

And you turned yourself to see a blonde man sitting near a fire, noticing you were somehow into a cabin. A pretty rustic one! He was shoving the pieces of wood into the fire, making it warmer. But his clothes were so strange!

You could bet they were handmade!

He was dressed beautifully, like those medieval peasants from old Scandinavia. His hair had braids with leather straps decorating it and beautiful curls you couldn't stop yourself from admiring.

You sat, observing the beautiful handmade embroidery of the cloak over your body. That man wasn't a peasant. Such beautiful work wouldn't be made for someone that wasn't noble.

But why the fuck was he dressed like that?

"My head is aching..." you mumbled.

"You must've hit it against the tree I found you near. Your clothes are strange... Too thin for the cold. What is your name?" he asked with that strange accent, coming closer to sit beside the fur you were laid upon.

Too thin for the cold?? Those were your best warm trousers!

"I'm Y/N," you answered, confused. "Excuse me, but where am I?"

Everything around was so realistically rustic! You felt like waking up into a movie!

"This cabin is mine," he answered, "A small secret place I use as a refuge when I don't want my brothers to find me. I'm Sigurd, son of Ragnar Loðbrók. You must've known about my father." he sighed.

Sounding so genuíne for someone who was speaking, for sure, a scripted line for any stupid theatrical spectacle that was - for some reason - including your dizzy self. Right?

Cause there was no living way for you to be speaking to a son of THE Ragnar Loðbrók he was talking about. No-living-way!

You chuckled, looking at him.

"Fine... You're pretty good, for real. But I'm seriously lost here and... Can we leave the characters behind for a moment and give me some real information?" you said, looking at him "I'm lost for real, you know? I got lost in the woods while fleeing from a night into the house of the biggest asshole I've ever known in my whole life, so... Could you be gentle to me and tell me how I can reach the town so I can take a bus and go back home?"

The more you spoke, the stranger was the frown in that man's face.

"What is a bus?" he asked, looking at you as if that wasn't the most absurd nonsense someone could ask you at all!

"O-k... A persistent actor uh? So... Let us do it your way, ok? I need to go back to the town, uh? Where can I find a... a chariot?" you tried.

"You must've hit your head too hard... Come. I have a horse outside, I'll take you back to the village, but I suggest you visit a healer," he said.

Genuinely looking as confused as you were.

You got up, looking around. It was really a small cabin, seeming to be handmade as well, for a single person. Maybe you just invaded some kind of fantasy for him or anything, you thought. But the horse outside his door was pretty real.

"Fuck," you mumbled.

He really had a horse. And you would really go back home... In-a-freaking-horse. How the heck could that night become stranger?

Never doubt life.

It can ALWAYS overwhelm your expectations.

"What in the actual fuck?" your mouth mumbled when his horse reached the streets of what was an entire Scandinavian village. "Is this a joke? What kind of... Look, Sigurd uh?" you said, looking back at him from upon your shoulder as he guided the horse forward into that village.

A lot of other people like him were finishing putting things inside, the houses were decorated. It was Christmas night in that place as well... But how the heck?

"I need to go to the real town. Like, the real one! Not this scenographic thing for whatever you guys are filming ok? I need to go back to Kattegat!" you insisted.

Just to see his frown becoming even bigger.

"Woman, what is your problem? We ARE in Kattegat!" he said, convict.

"Then take me to the bay!" you demanded, almost as a touché.

They would never be able to reproduce the bay perfectly! It was a beautiful natural arch of mountains where the sea would make a pool, almost a beautiful natural circle of water you saw yourself stunned looking at a few moments after your ask.

"You see? We are in Kattegat, woman. I'm Sigurd, son of Ragnar, fourth among the princes of this place. And I demand you to visit a healer right now!" he said, full of himself.

But you'd barely heard his voice.

Your heart was pounding, your ears were throbbing along with your whole head. How the fuck was you standing in Kattegat's bay?

How in the actual fuck was that place a Scandinavian village again?

How hard did you hit your head?

"Be patient, son of Ragnar," a hoarse voice came out of nowhere and you turned yourself too quick, falling at the sand, afraid of that black-cloaked figure that looked at the two of you - and seemed not to scare Sigurd at all! "A strange thing happened and sometimes it happens, indeed..."

"Who are you? Where am I?" you asked, fully scared.

But that burned man looked at you calmly. You could feel he was looking at me although he had no eyes.

"The correct question would be when are you, Y/N, future’s child. You are where you think you are. You are in Kattegat such as he was. Time is not what you think it is."

Your heart started racing.

If what he was saying was real then you were far away from home now!

"But if you were to disappear tonight, who would miss you?"

That sentence in his hoarse voice seemed to shock both of you, you and Sigurd, cause you could see the same surprised expression in Sigurd's eyes as well.

"Time is a spiral... It swirls and swirls and sometimes its rounds touch each other. Two thought like one, two desired like one. One was heard by the night and its mysteries," that burnt man continued. "You shall be back to your time, back to your life, when the night is over and the magic with it. Unless your desire to come back is not strong enough to take you out of here," he said, starting to walk away.

Leaving you at that beach, sitting on the sand, almost panicking.

"So... You came because of my desire?" Sigurd mumbled, breaking the silence first.

And you looked at him.

"He said... Two thought like one. What were you thinking, Sigurd?" you asked, trying to rationalize.

To avoid freaking out.

"I didn't want to be home with Ivar being the usual spoiled brat he always is. But I didn't want to be alone... After all, it's Yule."

After all, it was Christmas...

"It makes sense..." you mumbled. "I didn't want to be with Ivan... But did not want to be alone either."

Sigurd crossed his arms, sighing. And you looked at him with your heart clenching. Maybe he was as lonely as you were. And if it was strong enough to throw you into that situation then... Then why not?

It would be over in the morning.

"We could keep each other company..." You suggested.

"Then none of us would be alone." Sigurd completed. "Come. It's cold here... I have some food in my cabin we could share and you can tell me about this future you come from." he said, extending his hand for you to get up.

Sigurd didn't seem to be a bad guy at all. And what choice did you have, anyway?

He walked you back to that cabin, pulling the horse by its reins but walking beside you at a slow pace. It wasn't such a short path, so you had some time to know each other properly. The craziest it was sounding; Sigurd was indeed a Viking prince who definitely sounded like everything but a Viking. Whether your time's acknowledgment of his kind was awfully wrong or he was something different from the barbarian raiders his mutuals were described to be.

Instead, Sigurd was gentle, helping a total stranger he found wounded in the forest, taking you inside his cabin, ensuring you would be warm and cared for. He lighted a campfire in front of the cabin where he placed a piece of meat to roast intending to divide what was supposed to be enough for himself with you, and you noticed he just didn't ask for his cloak back - somehow he was really apprehensive about how cold it was for your "thin clothes".

Sigurd's presence was completely different from Ivan's and despite being a total stranger for you, soon it became more comfortable than having your co-worker you worked with for a whole year beside you.

To be honest? It was better. Way better.

Sigurd's curiosity about your shoes was funny, his surprise seeing your elastic hair tie was the most innocent and sweet thing you've ever seen and you could laugh for hours at his funny face when the thing escaped his hand being shot against his nose.

When you started talking about your time's music, he entered the cabin and brought back some kind of guitar he called an oud and played for you some amazing songs you wish you didn't have lost your cell phone so you could record to hear again later.

When he wouldn't be there to play...

For a moment, that sensation made you think about your loneliness and how it had just vanished with Sigurd's presence there. His gentleness was able to make you forget completely you weren't in your time and even more, that you were alone.

The two of you shared the food he made and when the night became colder he made the fire higher to warm the two of you as you sat at the door of his cabin, looking up to the sky.

So much more stars!

"The sky is not this beautiful where I come from," you said.

"Did the stars fall from the sky?" he asked, looking at you.

Making you smile with that sweet innocence he seemed to have.

"No. There are too many artificial lights. The night is not dark enough for us to see them all..." you explained.

"Your time seems to be amazing, but at the same time, it seems colder," Sigurd said, looking up once again.

Silence landing between the two of you like a solid wall his voice broke once again.

"I'll miss you, Y/N. When you go home, I'll miss having you here."

You thought about your lonely life. It would be so good to have the chance to stay... But at the same time, you were so far away from your time! And you couldn't just be impulsive and stay in a place and time you barely knew just out of your need for company... You would come back at the end of that night, you knew that. But your heart would be broken.

"I'll miss you too..." you mumbled.

Feeling when something touched your hand, looking to see Sigurd was messing with a leather strip around your wrist.

"What is this?" you asked when he finished, showing you the wooden beads with runes he had tied to your arm.

Lifting your eyes, you could see one of his braids was undone: he had turned the leather strip from his hair along with his beads into a bracelet for you.

"A gift, so you can remind me," he said, "A Yule gift."

You smiled with tenderness looking at that loving gift. Nothing was ever so sweet in your life.

You would miss him so hard...

You weren't as good as he was with the crafting, but you took off your necklace - a golden chain with a small butterfly pendant - And you placed it on his neck, watching as he touched the delicate piece.

"A Yule gift," you repeated, smiling at him.

Feeling his fingers touching and caressing your face.

Silence was made as you laid your head on his shoulder. There was nothing to be said anymore. You wanted his embrace around you. He wanted you to stay forever.

Both of you woke up alone the next morning...

The magic of that strange night was gone when you woke up sitting against the tree you had fallen near the previous night. You lifted your hand to touch your head searching for any kind of wound, thinking that the whole night could've been a dream.

But something was weighing on your hand and your eyes filled with tears when you saw the leather strap with his beads there. You touched your neck, your necklace was gone.

It was real.

He was real!

And now it was gone...

You found out you had fallen out of the way and into the woods some few meters before reaching the road. You went back home with that knot on your throat.

You searched for anything about his story just to find out Sigurd had died one thousand years ago, murdered by his own brother's ax.

The following days made no sense for you. Everything was missing color. You wanted to cry every time your eyes would look at the beads on your wrist. You never took that bracelet off.

When the third night came, you decided: You had to change that! You had to go back, to find a way to make his fate different.

To be with him once again.

But how?

The following days you passed searching for any information, finding anything that could help you, getting yourself more and more despaired with the hopelessness of that journey. When New Year's Eve came, you made your last try...

You came back to those woods, you went away from the trail, you tried to find the ruins of his cabin or that location. But all you could find were some stones placed in a specific way that could resemble that house.

You sat in the middle of it and you felt the tears pouring down your face. Your fingers caressing the leather strip on your wrist.

"You were such a gentle man... Such a sweet company. You killed my loneliness and... And you found such a terrible fate," you cried, thinking about him, the sweet smiles you exchanged, his laughs from that night.

"I wish so bad I could change it... I wish so bad I could come back one more time..." you closed your eyes, lowering your head.

"It's a one-way trip this time. And you know you can't change the cycle of life. He will die. You will die. Each must die someday," the hoarse voice of that burnt man you knew now was the Seer from his time invaded your ears, startling you up.

If he could be there, then...

You could come back.

"But I can make it different!" you said, looking up to see the black-cloaked figure standing where it was supposed to be the door of that cabin.

"What if you can't?" he asked, looking at you.

"I can!" you yelled, getting up.

"What if you can't, woman?" he repeated.

Remembering you maybe Sigurd's fate wasn't changeable...

Maybe you would go back just to lose him that awful way.

"Then I can make his life different," you mumbled, looking at the Seer. "Then I can send his loneliness away. And kill mine. And make it better as long as he lives."

"Cross the line... And find your fate. Time won't touch itself once again. Don't look back, future's child. Everything forward is lost for you now."

With his scepter, he traced a perfect line on the ground from one stone to another at the entrance of the cabin's ruins, turning his back to you and vanishing in the middle of the trees.

You swallowed dry.

You could just jump the stones and go back to your life.

But time wouldn't touch itself again, he said.

You could cross that line and everything you knew would be lost.

But who would miss you anyway?

You touched the leather bracelet on your arm and took a deep breath, walking forward and crossing the line without thinking any longer. And then... His voice filled your ears...

"... and I don't know where or when you are now. But I wish you were here. It would be good if time could swirl that strange way one more time."

Your eyes caught Sigurd's figure sitting beside a campfire. Almost the same scene from the Yule night you spent together. Except, you weren't there, and his hands were messing with the necklace you gave to him, tenderly caressing the pendant. He missed you. He wanted you back.

And it filled your heart with love to think someone would care.

He cared.

"Maybe two thought like one once again," you mumbled from the door, startling him, watching as he jumped up, standing to look at you, first scared, then, with the most beautiful smile you've ever seen on someone's face.

"Y/N!"

Sigurd came closer, without a warning pulling you into his embrace. Such a tight embrace, so full of that feeling only he was able to make you feel!

You embraced him back, maybe as tight as he was embracing you. And Sigurd cupped your face, touching your foreheads.

"You came back... I wanted so hard to see you again!"

You went on your tiptoes, following the will of your heart, and touched his lips with yours, surprising Sigurd with a gentle and loving kiss, full of that need you had inside your heart to change his life. To make his fate different.

"Y/N?" he mumbled your name when the kiss was over.

Looking at you full of doubt in his eyes.

But you caressed his face gently, smiling at him.

"I came back for you, Sigurd. For you..."

His tone changed as you felt his hands gently pulling you closer. His forehead touched yours and you saw as he sighed, almost in relief, nuzzling his nose to yours.

"You took my heart with you when you left..."

He felt the same. That need, that sensation you were everything he needed and he had lost it. Sigurd fell in love with you as well. And it was good for him to notice he wasn’t alone.

"Tell me you'll stay this time." He asked.

"I'll stay," you answered, nestling your face against his neck, hiding into his embrace. "I'll stay, my prince."

"That's good..." he mumbled, kissing your hair, embracing you tighter. "That's good, my love."

You knew everything you ever knew was lost for you now and you would've to learn everything about life in his way. You knew you could lose him not far from that day. But you would fight to change his fate and if you had to lose him then, at least, you could say you loved him till the end.

And Sigurd loved you back. Like anyone else before.

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littlefreya · 5 years ago

Text

The Way to Hell - Part 4

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Summary: Post Mi6 - August manages to escape with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. With every agent in the world on the hunt for him, life became a living hell, but that’s okay because hell is where he reigns.

Too bad for the woman who’ll stand in his way.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild)

Word count: 6K

Warnings: Explicit Smut, dark themes, male/female masturbation, bodily fluids, mentions of sexual encounters, dirty words, sexual threats. It’s August, he’s the baddest of bad boys!

A/N: Soooooo this chapter was fun to write, I hope you guys like it :)! Thanks @agniavateira for being my editor and my emotional support!

Title: Memento Mori

Funny, he’s never seen someone drown in icy water before. With her injury and massive blood loss, the struggle doesn’t last longer than a minute. This is beyond her natural survival instincts, gradually her muscles give up, running stiff as the blood in her veins chills.

August stares with rapt. Not once did the Valkyrie scream for help, or even begged him to save her.

Truth be told, it kinda pisses him off as much as he finds it admirable.

‘Such a strong-willed girl. Would be a shame to rid the world of her so soon.’

“Whatever,” he mutters and carefully steps toward the crack in the ice. His hands hoist the body up before she sinks below the surface. With water in her lungs and her muscles rigid, she’s impossibly heavier.

A red path of blood tarnishes the ice as he drags her body toward the edge of the lake. There is no urgency in his behaviour, relaxed he kneels to stare at the lifeless woman and wonders if in her hubris this is how she believed this day will end.

Her skin is pale blue, lips dark purple. Drained out of wit and life, those delicate Scandinavian features look like something out of a fairytale and he muses whether a kiss will wake her up.

It won’t make any difference to the world if she’s dead or alive, it certainly won’t make any to August Walker.

His digits stroke her frozen cheek, sensing the skin is stretched over the hardened muscles. He tilts her head up and presses at the hollows of her cheeks to force her lips open. For some reason, he thinks of a different dead girl, though they are nothing alike.

Planting his mouth over hers, he breathes oxygen into her lungs. Her chest rises, filling with the air he breathes into her. He repeats the process four times and then begins compressing her heart, watching her corpse lie peacefully on the snow.

Never in his years of service had he needed to perform CPR on another person. It’s not as melodramatic as shown in the bullshit movies he’s seen; no one’s shouting “C’mon girl! Breathe!!!” and hits her chest in despair. The owls and bats that chant between the large trees and the wolves howling at the moon from a distance couldn’t care less if Ingvild, whatever her-last-name-is lives or dies.

On the contrary, they’ll be thrilled to eat her eyes out.

He pauses on his attempt to resuscitate her and watches as no change appears in her face. His hands rest in the air, hovering above her for less than a second, considering if to give her another chance. He leans to capture her mouth again when Ingvild suddenly twitches, gagging as water seeps through her mouth and nose like some decorative fountain.

August observes quietly. Her eyes are shut, her body is only reacting instinctively, coughing out the water in her lungs. He nudges her to the side, draining the water out until she stops coughing and lays unconscious on the ground.

He moves his ear closer, listening to her soft breaths. He wonders how long will she survive in such a condition, suffering from hypothermia and massive blood loss. Letting her drown might have been a favour, he might have just granted her a cruller death.

Blackness surrounds her, chaining her to the ground. An excruciating pain blossoms in her lungs, as if someone placed a massive weight that smothers her while her throat and her nose sear with pain. The rest of her body feels numb, someone might as well leave her limbless.

The image in front of her appears blurry as she attempts to open her eyes and hang on to the tendrils of reality, uncertain when and where she is and what happened at all. Was life just a dream?

Or was it a nightmare?

‘Liam?’

No voice is produced from her lips, she is not even sure they’re moving.

The face that greets her is certainly not Liam. It’s the man who granted her this agonizing death. He looks at her with silent curiosity, not saying a word as her glassy eyes become more and more vibrant.

Her hands suddenly reach to his throat, clutching him with all the energy left in her traumatized body. As battered as she is, he still has to use force to peel her claws off of him. She struggles, grunting and hissing, her nails leave bleeding scratches over his cheek.

“Remember you are only alive for as long as I permit it.” August speaks to her calmly, impressed by her stubborn will to kill him even when she’s hanging by the last thread of her pathetic life.

The struggle takes no longer than a few seconds as her eyes roll back and she falls to the ground, unconscious again.

August collects her in his arms and rises, carrying her through the woods. “Better this way, princess,” he whispers to the sleeping beauty in his arms. The temperature of the water has slowed the bleeding, causing the blood vessels to clot and reduce the pace of her heartbeat. It benefits in keeping her alive, but it’s also slowly killing her.

He returns to the bed and breakfast to be greeted by the receptionist who stares at him, baffled.

“Too much to drink,” he explains, offering her a charming smile as he continues marching toward his room with the unconscious girl in his arms.

~*~

“Fucking mess,” he mutters as he enters the room and shuts the door behind him with his leg. That stab wound may be bleeding slower now, he hasn’t ruptured any viable organs. However, the gash in her flesh is large and still needs to be dressed.

He drags her to the bath and puts her on her feet, letting her limp body lean onto his while he unzips her suit and boots, stripping her to her undergarments. A crescent-like slit gushes blood at the side of her abdomen.

August places her in the empty bathtub before grabbing the first aid kit he bought at the hunters’ shop. Being a wanted man now, he had to be prepared for everything.

It was nearly him tonight that needed that first aid kit.

The scent of alcohol fills the room as he pours it onto her open wound. He waits for a response from her, maybe a twitch from the excruciating pain, yet Ingvild is so far gone she doesn’t react whatsoever. His finger presses to the tendon in her neck, only to make sure he is not taking care of a dead girl.

A faint pulse is there; her heart still beats. Yet her body is as cold as ice, and he knows that if he won’t take care of her soon her systems will begin to shut down one organ after the other. He sews her wound shut quickly, making unfashionable stitches across the wound.

“Sorry love, no more bikini for you.” he mocks the sleeping girl. “Although porn sites must be filled with scar-porn, so you’re good.”

After stitching her up and dressing the wound, he carries her back to the bedroom and lays her on the bed. Her skin is shivering, frozen and pale as death itself. She has hypothermia and needs to have her body temperature stabilized before every one of her major organs will go into failure.

“Not how I pictured us getting into bed naked,” August jokes without humour while beginning to peel off his clothes until he is completely bare. He towers over her trembling form and watches how helpless she appears. His hands run down her spine, reaching to find the hooks of her bra. It takes no effort to unclasp the flimsy soaked fabric and discard it on the floor. Next, he coldly and methodically slips her underwear off.

He takes no pleasure in stripping an unconscious woman who can’t defend herself or struggle, yet he cannot resist observing what’s laid right in front of his eyes.

The sight is indeed pleasing.

‘Hate me later, princess. I am just a man.’

August climbs onto the bed and lies in front of her. He pulls her toward the warmth of his body until her forehead is pressed against his chest and every inch of her skin is covered by his own. With a clenched jaw, he holds her close.

In his arms she trembles, teeth chattering, while her heartbeat is feeble and can be hardly felt against his chest.

He thinks of nothing while holding the cold, half-dead girl against him.

Nothing at all.

Not the memory of another dead girl.

~*~

Ingvild scratches a scab on her knee, watching the other girls as they play without her. They stick their tongue at her and call her a freak. She doesn’t cry, only sniffles gently while her small fingers pry at the itchy skin.

“Ingvild,” Sister Marja walks toward her, making a sour face as she sees the girl. She never liked her either. “Someone is here to pick you up, finally.”

Little Ingvild jumps from the dirty log she is sitting on, brushing her skirt and arranging her braided pigtails before joining Sister Marja. ‘That uptight crone, all she needs is a good fuck.’

The sister hurries toward the orphanage while Ingvild runs after to keep up. Her heels echo on the floor through the arched hallway of the facility.

A man waits for them in the office of the Mother Superior, Yet another crone who looks like she never had a good fuck. But there is a smile on her face, making her loose skin become all creases and wrinkles like a dried rotten potato.

Ingvild looks at the man who stands with his hands behind his back. His hair is black with few threads of silver. She is uncertain if he is smiling or not; the expression on his face is of a person who’s trying to appear pleasant but in a very contained way.

“Ingvild, this is Liam.” Mother Superior speaks in her terrible heavy smoker voice. “He is your new adoptive father.”

~*~

Warm light strokes her face, forcing her eyes to blink open slowly. A basic function that suddenly feels oddly painful. Her eyelids are too heavy as if she never opened her eyes before in her life. The scenery around her is still too vague; she doesn’t recognize the room at all, wondering if she is in another dream.

A word in her own language blurts out of her mouth as she tries to sit up, accompanied by a small groan. Everything feels out of place as if her limbs have been misplaced and her internal organs exploded inside her body. Pain begins to course through her body, starting with the muscle of her right forearm which now feels extremely strained.

“Ah…” she grunts out, tugging at her arm which is in an odd position.. But for some reason, her arm won’t budge. It’s tied to the bedpost above her head by a tight rope.

‘This is hilarious. Like watching a dog wake up from anaesthesia.’

“Hva?” she asks in her mother’s tongue. “What?”

She gives the bind a few good moments of struggling before giving up. It’s when the heavy blanket that covers her slightly descends from her chest. She realizes she’s been completely stripped of her clothes.

Panicked, she hugs the cover to her chest with her free hand. Her eyes were looking around with slight anxiety while she continues to pull her right hand in an attempt to free herself.

The scent of coffee tickles at her nose, alerting her that she is not alone.

August appears in front of her with a red cup of coffee in his hand. He wears that familiar arrogant look with a hint of a smile, so vicious and cold it makes her feel she wasn’t only stripped off her clothes but of her skin and muscles as well.

Would have been better if I was stripped and bound to the devil’s bed.

He takes the wooden chair, dragging it on the floor which makes her cringe at the screeching sound. Fragments of the night before begin to fill the gaps in her memory. She tied him to this chair.

Placing it in front of her, he sits down, legs spread widely with confidence she can only describe to herself as irritating as fuck.

She hugs the cover tightly to her chest, her legs curling toward her torso to shelter herself which suddenly inflicts an excruciating pain in her lower abdomen making her moan involuntarily . Peeking beneath the thick blanket, she finds the large bandage on her torso, stained with a few drops of brownish-red blood.

“Good morning, love, we’ve had quite the night.”

More shards of memory begin to cut through her mind. Like remembering an event that happened so long ago, it almost feels like a dream. Her mind fights to make sense, to grasp at the fuller image. She recalls gasping through the woods at night with weak limbs and a hand full of blood. Then a shot that ripped through the night. Bats were flying everywhere and then her body was cold for some reason.

No, she was freezing.

Like a videotape that’s cut off and glitches in the middle, her memory stops there. Making her stare at the Scandinavian pattern on the blanket as if she will find any answers there.

“Who is Liam?” August asks, taking a long sip from his coffee. There is much amusement in seeing her cowering before him looking so helpless right now. Stripped, unarmed, and bound to his bed after he took her life and gave it back.

He licks his lips at her which only makes the alarmed look on her face become more distinguished.

“You’ve undressed me?” she asks, finding out her voice is aching and hoarse, as if something seared her throat. “And tied me to the bed?”

August’s teeth are exposed to her as his smile widens. She makes a note of two sharp fangs, it makes him look like a vampire. “Perceptive, aren’t we? Wasn’t for any personal interest, you were in hypothermia.”

He gives a small pause, his eyes travelling across her covered body, unable to deny how nice it was to wake up with a naked woman in his arms. “Not that I didn’t enjoy having your tits pressed to me for an entire night.”

Even as lost as she is, she can’t help but roll her eyes at him and groan with hatred.

‘If anyone in Icarus hears of this, I’m done for.’

Was the stinging pain in her chest failure or sepsis? Either way, it stung. This was far from how she imagined this mission going along. Ending up as a captive of psychotic target, tied to his bed as a future sex slave or heaven knows what.

‘How the fuck did I end up here? Like this? Why?’

August watches as she frowns with deep concentration, forcefully trying to evoke some memory of all the lost hours from last night. He wonders if she knows he killed her. He’d very much like to remind her of that, of how she was at his mercy and the only reason she’s alive right now is because he allowed it.

‘And still she tried to kill me right after I gave her back her life. What a woman.’

“Who is Liam? And please don’t make me ask again, given the poor situation you’re at right now, princess.”

More echoes begin to float in her mind. It’s the look of superiority on his face, the piercing gaze that threatens to cut right through her.

“You tried to kill me!”

“No. I have killed you,” he corrects her.

“You were dead for at least 5 or 7 minutes.”

She stares at him completely bemused, her eyes seeking answers on the lines of his chiselled face. There is no remorse, no care, no mercy in it. She doesn’t even bother to look for affection, whatever that looks like. He is as cold as Helheim.

“But you saved me. Why?”

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his face straining as he remembers that idiotic idea he had last night, that mistake that’s now lying naked on his bed. For a man who plans ahead, he hasn’t thought this one through, not even for a second.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, I only need you for intel. One wrong move and I’d be glad to put you back to the bottom of that lake.”

“You know who sent me, CIA, Erica Sloane.” She shrugs, staring at him oddly.

He leans forward in his chair looking deeper into her eyes, trying to invoke fear in her. Yet she remains stoic, only her eyes glaring at him like two icicles.

“How did you know I was here? Who else knows?”

“I’m a good tracker,” she answers, doing her best attempt to shrug her shoulders with one hand latched above her head. “And you are not as smart as you think you are, August Walker.”

August offers her a dangerous stare, crossing his arms around the wooden backseat while his feet push from the ground to lean closer to her. He doesn’t like to be challenged, especially not by silly little girls.

“Why is that?”

A small smile spreads on her face. “From all the vehicles you could have taken, you stole my bike.”

A hiss of disbelief leaves his nose but the answer doesn’t please him. He leans back on his chair until it lands forcefully on the ground, making a loud thud through the moderate silence in the room. His hand reaches toward her, grabbing her jaw and cupping it crudely.

“No, how did you know I was in Norway?”

She clenches her jaw, trying to escape his touch but his grip becomes firmer, his fingertips painting red marks on her sickly pale skin. “Answer me.”

“I didn’t-”

“Bullshit.” he challenges her, now closer to her face than she would have ever wanted. His hot breath is a breeze on her skin. Her natural instinct to learn details kicks in, forcing her to pay attention to every freckle s on his nose, his bottom lip, and the lines and small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

‘So much anger’, she analyzes. He is not even furious yet it seems he keeps so much bottled up.

‘Does he ever get tired?’

“I didn’t know,” she finally answers, both sincerity and scorn in her voice. Then, a small provoking smirk appears on her lips. “It was destiny that brought you to me.”

He snorts, shaking his head at her with disbelief, recalling their little flirtatious run-in 2 days ago. His eyes observe her while a smug smirk spreads across his face. He allows his gaze to travel further down her neck and her chest, attempting to peer beneath the blanket to get a reminder of what was pressed to his body the night before.

“Telling you the truth, August Walker, would have killed you then in the ladies room,” she provokes, aware of the fact that he’s staring at her chest even though she keeps it covered.

“Oh?” he returns his gaze back to her, a single finger now takes a hold of her chin, tilting her head up violently. “How would you have done that? I’m intrigued.”

Ingvild licks her lips, drawing attention to her mouth. It’s seduction that she offers but with that same cold, now vicious smile.

“Slicing your throat, while you’re were washing your stupid hair below the tap. I’d then shove a tampon up your ass and send a photo to everyone in Icarus and to Sloane so they can have a good laugh.”

‘My phone, shit.’

The mobile device is traceable, if Liam hasn’t heard from her in a few days he could find her. But now August has it, with the rest of the stuff he confiscated from her. She looks around, trying to find where he placed her items.

August interrupts her inspection, his hand wrapping around her sore throat with a menacing gaze. “Don’t give me any ideas, princess. I’m not the one tied up and naked here.”

“I need to go to the girls’ room,”

She ignores his threat, remaining calm despite the hand that can easily snap her neck.

He looks at her dumbfounded, clenching his jaw once more. “What?”

“I need to go…”

“I heard you.” he frowns, letting go of her throat forcefully and then shoving the chair back, making it screech against the wooden floor while pacing the room, irritated.

‘Great, now I’m a fucking babysitter?’

He begins to regret ever saving her pathetic little life. What is there to gain anyway? A guy named Liam? Whoever that is to her. She mumbled that name in her dreams when her body was struggling to fight for survival.

August finds the bathrobe in the shower room and throws it on the bed next to her, before hovering above her chest to cut her bindings with the same knife he used to stab her last night.

She tries to remain as relaxed and brave as she can, wanting him to think she is not intimidated by him and what she believes to be his empty threats. But every time he makes sudden movements. the intimidation shows in her beautiful grey eyes. Her body flinches and squirms helplessly.

If only she knew how aroused it made him, she’d be terrified.

“Try anything and I’ll unstitch you and let you bleed to death.”

Her wrist burns, the narrow rope has chafed her skin so badly there are deep purple marks on her flesh. She rubs it gently, trying to soothe the pain before grabbing the white cotton robe and staring at August with hatred.

He stares back at her while playing with the knife between his large hands. He slides a finger carefully on the edge of the sharp blade, making a harsh statement. No, he is not going to turn around.

Rolling her eyes she hides beneath the cover, pulling the bathrobe beneath and wearing it quickly, the relief of having something other than a blanket covering her feels almost astonishing.

At last, she throws the heavy blanket away and kicks her legs out of bed while wearing his oversized bathrobe. August remains silent, his eyes fixed upon her while the knife is pressed between his teeth.

Trying anything like killing him or escaping is far from realistic as she finds her legs hardly able to hold her own weight. The hardwood floor beneath her feet feels soft and mushy, if someone would have told her she’s stepping onto marshmallows she might have believed them.

She only manages to make two feeble steps before black spots appear in her sight and she falls forward with a pained grunt. She never makes it to the ground. Odd, she hasn’t noticed how big and strong he is when wrestling him on the floor. It seems that August has doubled in size.

“Who was it that didn’t love you, August?” she provokes coldly, grunting as she tries to lift her torso from his elbow. “Was it your mother? Or your dad?”

Silence and indifference is his answer to her query, with only a muscle that twitches in his cheek. He observes quietly as her hands grasp his biceps desperately and pathetically, trying to stabilize herself. It must make her hate him even more right now, to need him as much as she does.

He recalls how much he hated himself when he needed someone.

“Both then…” she answers, slightly panting.

“Did anyone ever loved you at all? Ingvild?” he taunts her back while helping her get to the toilet. He notices how her eyes look around while they move through the room, looking for her things, no doubt. She is smart, he’ll give her that, she is cunning and calculated even in her weakest moment.

But he’ll always be a step ahead.

“More than they loved you, I am sure.”

He lets her into the small room and shuts the door, leaning against it and patiently waits with his arms crossed. The sudden silence and her short absence begin to cloud his thoughts. It’s almost as if he’s dreaming awake, seeing her again, her hair falling from her decaying scalp like leaves falling from a tree.

‘Not more than you.’

The crude vibration of his phone snaps him back into reality. A message from one of the apostles, stating nothing but a location and an hour. He smirks to himself, glad to be soon away from this freezing hell. Now the question left is, what he should do with the little problem he created for himself?

Snap her little neck? Strangle her to death? Make it intimate, she deserves as much. He can already see his body hovering on top of hers, his hands wrapped around her, tight like a lover’s embrace. The robe opens as she struggles, exposing much of her naked flesh.

The thought makes him hum with delight but once again he is interrupted. This time it’s by her face that stares at him, blank of emotion, with eyes like two empty crystals. She leans against the door frame, her face tilted up to meet his gaze. “I need to shower. I smell like you.”

He wonders at all why he should fulfil her request. She’s a prisoner, not a guest, and far from being someone, he’d care for. His eyes run up and down her body and finally at the cold unreadable expression on her face.

“Whatever.”

The bathroom is rather large, surrounded by cream-coloured marble tiles that adorn both the walls and the flooring. There is a large, fancy bathtub in the middle of the room, one that is made to look old and classy with golden taps. An additional shower is placed at the other side of the room, surrounded by a thin wall of glass.

The bath looks so tempting, her eyes fixate upon it, fantasizing about slipping into a warm bubble bath with one of those pink and purple bath bombs.

August notices her fascination and snorts, edging her toward the shower instead. “You should’ve taken my offer back then, princess. Be thankful that I am allowing you the luxury of showering at all.”

For all, he cares she can die of infection, who knows what bacteria these lake water she bled into had.

“I’d take the shower over-sharing anything with you,” she spits back, her hand grasping the golden handle of the glass door. August remains facing, leaning against the marble tile with ease while sucking on his bottom lip with anticipation.

“Aren’t you going to at least turn away?” she asks naively, crooking her eyebrow up, bewildered by the large man who’s standing there with sheer confidence on his face, not bothering to give her an inch of privacy.

“No,” he smirks cockily, licking that small freckle on his lips. “You tried to kill me, I don’t trust you. But don’t worry, won’t be anything I haven’t seen before, princess.” he shrugs and tilts his head. His eyes gesture at the robe as he awaits for her to slip it off her body.

Ingvild chews the inside of her cheek with the fury that courses through her veins. He seeks to humiliate her even more, to show her again how little power she has.

But men are fools, a woman has more power over a man, especially when she is naked. She doesn’t mind what he sees and if he likes it or not anyway. Also, nervousness is not in her spectrum of emotions.

The white cotton robe falls off her body, landing at her feet with a soft thud. There she is standing completely bare before the man who tried to murdered her and who for some sick, twisted, megalomaniac reason nurtured her back to life.

Unlike last night, he has the freedom to linger on what stands in his sight. Milky white skin, stretched taut over an apt figure. Athletic; formed by years of whatever combat training she has endured. There are no scars on her body save for the new one he gave her which is hidden behind gauze. The thought of letting her survive just so she can curse him every time she sees the hideous crescent scar is quite the temptation.

He further inspects her body, imagining cupping her small breasts in his large hands, they will not fill his palms completely, but it will suffice. He was always more into women’s behind and the rounded shape of her tight ass is indeed pleasing.

“As I said, nothing I haven’t seen before,” he speaks out, letting his gaze travel back to meet her face again.

She hisses through her nose, rolling her eyes as she walks inside the translucent room and turns the stream of the water to wash over her body.

The heat of the water immediately makes her groan loudly with pleasure; it echoes through the entire room. Her body is far more battered than she even realized, it feels as almost as if she is being redeemed, baptized, or whatever other religious allegories she could think of.

She leans against the wall for support with both her palms flat against the surface. Her back arches and she lets her head tilt back with her eyes tightly shut. The damp hair sticks to her spine, while she lets the droplets of water slide between her perky breasts and down her torso.

Sweet moans escape between her lips with every second, accompanying the water that soothe her aching muscles.

August can feel the fabric of his trousers tightening as blood stirs through the veins of his cock. She squirms beneath the stream, moving so sensually while making these “fuck me” noises all too clear. It’s meant to tease and provoke him. He is tempted to march in there and fuck the living hell out of her.

Fucking her to death, now that one I haven’t tried before.

“Enjoying the show?” she asks, turning to face him while the water trickles down her back. She can see the hardness in his groin, growing larger and larger with every second she stands there wet and naked.

“I am, actually,” he answers, not bothering to hide his desire.

She turns to face the shower tap, one hand plastered to the wall while the other leisurely runs down her chest. Smooth and slick, she allows it to circle her breast, making sure August can see how her finger brushes the hardening peachy nipple before descending along her flat torso.

His breath becomes rigid, his eyes furiously focusing on how she praises her own body. Her lids are half-hooded, hazy with lust and her mouth is reddening and slight swelling as she bites into her plush lips with delight. He dares, taking a step closer, allowing himself to have a better view of the show.

It is for him after all, is it not?

Tender and slow like honey, she lets her fingers creep between her thighs. In her mind, she fancies larger hands taking control over her body. A man’s hands, hands that are rough and callous, counter to how she is built, yet they caress her gently, working their way up between her inner thighs and spreading her open.

A feverish moan escapes her tightened lips as her fingers rub against her clit. She opens her eyes with her head thrown to the side. Giving August a lustful stare, cruel and full of snide she begins working herself with sensual strokes. She can feel her own wetness, thick and oily against her delicate fingers.

August’s nostrils flare, the bulge in his groin now enormous and aching for release.

Does she think she is torturing him? Does she even know men?

He inches closer toward the shower, close enough until so his hand can touch the glass which is now covered with tiny droplets of water and a thin layer of steam. His hand falls toward the zipper of his trousers, letting it sink before reaching out to pull his erect cock.

There is a smitten look upon her face, and an unpleasant chill runs through her spine as if she is intimidated by the sheer sight of him. Obviously, he is very much aware of how impossibly large he is. She gathers he is used to the look she is giving him, knowing exactly what’s going through her mind.

“Why are you stopping then, princess?” he asks with a cocky smile, his large hand wraps around the base of his hard cock, immediately beginning to stroke while eliciting deep, low groans.

Ingvild finds it surprisingly arousing, unable to help herself but stare at how his fingers engulf the fleshy shaft, feeling herself throb at the sight of the thick bulging veins and the ridges that run across his erection. When she started this little game it was in order to abuse him. But now, there is a certain desperation in her spiteful urge.

Looking at him as if driven to insanity, she lets her fingers massage her mound with increasing force, hard yet slow while her thumb traces the engorged nub. With every intent to let him see what he cannot take, she leans against the wall and parts her legs wide for him, letting him see her pink cunt and how her fingers play and tease while her other hand moves to squeeze her breast.

Her mind escapes into fantasies again, to urge the tingling sensation that burns between her thighs. Betrayed by lust, it’s him that she sees, holding her down as he did the night before, only that instead of trying to kill her he tears off her panties and splits her flesh open with his enormous cock.

The yelp that escapes her mouth is barely human, the image triggering something dark and unfamiliar and despite its wrongness now all she can think of is him.

August, on the other hand, is anything but inclined to indulge this. Pumping his cock urgently, he imagines pounding the little valkyrie against the wall, his grunts so low and loud he is certain the neighbours renting the room nearby can hear.

‘Have you ever fucked an undead girl? Imagine how sweet that wet little cunt must be after coming back to life… milking around you as if you are her saviour, your cock a gift sent from heaven…’

‘Or hell.’

Leaning his forehead against the glass, his breath leaves a veil of steam against the surface while he glances at Ingvild climbing toward her climax.

“Fuck!” She shudders, trying to fight the burning image of him in her mind, but these forbidden fantasies continue to assail her; all the different ways he could take her, exploit and humiliate her. How his body would feel atop of hers while he holds her down and hammer her into the floor.

Her battle wanes, heat spills between her legs as she falls into dark euphoria.

Seeing her arch against the tiles, naked and showered by ecstasy, his control finally snaps. August slams a hand against the glass, spourting white ribbons of cum all over the surface.

‘Oh to see her die and then burst with life…’

They stand in front of one another, both with heaving chests and frowning faces.

Finally, she turns the stream off and opens the glass door while August tucks himself back in. Apparent sweat covers his forehead while his chest is still heaving. She crouches to grab the robe, wearing it again while moving next to him with a teasing look on her face.

Although her legs feel feeble, the adrenaline made the blood kickstart her body again, her heart pumping with excitement as life returned to her system. She pushes past August scornfully, letting him follow her as she walks out of the bathroom.

He grabs her elbow, shooting her a warning glare. “Where do you think you are going?”

She tries to fight him but his grip is fierce and she is too weak.

“You are still a prisoner here,” he warns her and begins to lead her back to the bedroom and toward the bed while grabbing more rope on the way. He notices once again how she desperately seeks her personal belongings, gun, and phone.

“Don’t bother, angel, it’s all in the bottom of the lake.”

______________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible or August Walker

#Henry Cavill #August Walker #August Walker Fanfic #August Walker Fic #August Walker x ofc #Henry Cavill x ofc #Henry Cavill fanfiction #mission impossible fallout #mi6

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alexandrablake · 4 years ago

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hi hello how are you? drink some water, unclench your jaw, i love you!

thank you sososososo much for 150!! everyday i am in wonder of you guys. i am shocked you stayed, but i am so glad you put up with everything i do.

now as 2/3 of you may remember. my 100 celebration ended rather...lackluster. i tried to do too much, and it freaked me out. i ended up taking a break partly because of it, BUT now i know what i can handle!

most people probably don’t consider 150 to be a major milestone, but i do! the celebration is small because i’m still easing into a content creation mindset, but i want to make up for the last one.

i love you guys so much. and please! just because you aren’t a mutual, don’t feel like you aren’t allowed to participate! i think that constantly so i know how you feel, but please! you’re welcome here, just as much as everyone else!

click here for my normal pinned post and blog navigation!

i’m sorry, i know these are kind of small, but that was kind of intentional. i know what freaks me out and these things do not!

👾(one) - for those of you who don’t know, i run a fic commentary blog over at @ablakereads. send me a fic, any fic, and i’ll do commentary on it! if you don’t want commentary, i’ll just fic rec it!

🌺(two)- give me a character, or a scene, or anything, and i’ll make a simple edit with it! (alternative to this is you have me pick between two things!)

💟(three)- now. as you may have noticed, i am a chronic theme changer. so if i’m not good at making themes at this point, i’d be incredibly disappointed in myself. give me a character and a vibe, or just let me do whatever, and i’ll make a theme for you!

🎀(four)- give me a topic for a ship and i’ll write about it! might do headcanons, might do a fic, who knows! if you want, you could send me a prompt from this list with your ship, and i’ll do that too!

☂️(five)- i’ll take a tour around your blog! talk about what i like, admire your navigation system, ogle at your theme, all that.

🎟(six)- i will literally just ramble if you pick this one. as i know you have noticed, i talk. an unbelievable amount. i say what can be said in two words in six sentences. you can give me a topic, or i’ll just talk about whatever comes to mind. i like seeing people’s thoughts, and maybe one of you does too.

💜(seven *MUTUALS ONLY*)- i’ll dt (dedicate to) something to you! this means that i will create something with you in mind and dedicate it to you! if you have an idea, you could do it here, otherwise i’ll just use a future project of mine! (this won’t be an instantaneous thing fyi)

*an note: these aren’t restricted to just cm. could be any fandom, even one i’m not in. for example, if you want an atla theme or an svu fic, i will do my best!*

tagging the lomls: @temily @morcias @lavenderbau @sunlightgalaxy @scandinavian-punk @hurricanejjareau @greenaway-lewis @pagetsimp @qvid-pro-qvo @hotchsbabygirl @duchesschameleon @starryluthor @ssa-badbitch @literateleah

holy god there are so many of you now i love you guys so much. i’m so sorry if i didn’t tag you!

#aspen i'm sorry if i tagged the wrong account it's like a fatal flaw of mine to tag the wrong account #i love you guys beary much #the majority of them have been in the past week and that's CRAZY to me #i'm mainly shocked i've gained any followers in the past while just because of my inactivity #150 angels!#pinned post #navigation

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residentlesbrarian · 4 years ago

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The Second Book I Read In the Dark: Another YA superhero novel for me to squeal over forever...YES, Please! Gimme Gimme!

Dreadnought by April Daniels

So Day 1 in the dark continues onward and I have already finished 1 of my 3 library books with still so much day left so what else to do but soldier forward and continue without pause. Well there was a short pause for delicious chicken soup cooked on a blessedly gas powered range (never gonna live in a house with an electric range; I swear this thing has saved our butts in so many power outages), but I digress; I was ready! This time I was taking a break from the whimsical and witchy and diving head first into all things super with an extra heroic twist.

I had heard so many good things about this book for so long but again it had fallen to the wayside of other distractions (a rainbow montage of movie and TV show gays runs back and forth through my head like the migrating fandom flamingoes). What finally made me make the decision to buckle down and do the thing was a video review done by one of my favorite YouTubers, Dominic Noble (Video Linked below). I love his series Lost in Adaptation, because as an avid reader I too find myself appalled by what Hollywood often does to my favorite books. Hearing him talk about Dreadnought was just the push my flighty brain needed to say, “Fine! Alright! We haven’t utterly obsessed over a teenage superhero book in like 6 months since we near bludgeoned our girlfriend with Not Your Sidekick! Fine! Let’s do it!” So...yeah if this intro is anything to go by this should be a fun one! Let’s dive right in shall we!

Unicorn Rating:

Blurb: She just wanted to paint her toenails in peace but then a superhero had to go and die and give Danny the one thing she never thought she’d have...her proper body. Now if only everyone else felt that way too. Life just got awesome and really really complicated all at once! Oh yeah and she can fly now. Bonus!

Disclaimer: I will try my best to not spoil anything from the book, but my book loving rambles may give more away than a traditional review. Here we go! Ramble time!

Review:

Holy crap! After the last book this was exactly what I needed! This book was just...so good! The plot...the characters...the world...everything about it just pulls you in and doesn’t let you go. Now I may have felt that way because I didn’t have anything trying to pull me away from this book but I don’t think I would have been easily pulled away if there had been distractions. And so many facets of this story were things I didn’t expect because I had never seen them portrayed before. Like the fact Danny having to deal with the rampant day to day sexism of being a woman now that her appearance matches who she really is. I’ve never seen that in a book before and I absolutely loved it! I was so dedicated to Danny’s story from page 1 it’s ridiculous, and look at that, a perfect segue into the phenomenal characters of this book...look what I did there switching it up going out of order on ya...gotta keep ya on your toes.

Our protagonist Danny is such a phenomenal example of a genuine kind caring person who is also deeply scarred and angry. It was so amazing to read a character that was flawed and struggling and doesn’t see how much a hero she really is and the small moments when others take that double take and go, “You’re the real deal, huh?” But those moments just confuse the living hell outta Danny cause she’s just Danny, she got super powers as a fluke. She is also hilarious and courageous and smart but knows she isn’t perfect and has weaknesses. She may be the strongest person on earth physically now but she acknowledges that that isn’t everything someone needs. Danny is such a good bean, but she has issues and that isn’t glossed over which is so rare. Now the next thing I want to touch on is a very tough subject but is very prevalent in the book so I wouldn’t be a very prudent reviewer if I didn’t bring it up. Danny is, without question, an abused child. This isn’t even really a spoiler, it alludes pretty heavily to it in the blurb, but what I’m gonna touch on next does dip into that territory so I’m gonna break it into a new LONG paragraph so just scroll on by if you don’t want to read this bit.

So at one point in the book Danny mentions a health screening at school that revealed she had hearing damage in her right ear that has now been healed by the mantle of Dreadnought. At the time of the screening she didn’t realize why until her dad had another Mount Vesuvius day and she assumed her usual position of curling in on herself and turning her head to the left so he would yell into only her right ear. Now how loud and how often do you have to yell into someone’s ear to cause permanent hearing damage? I don’t know and honestly I don’t want to know. Why am I highlighting an overall tiny moment...because for me this moment jumped out and gut punched me. Brought literal tears to my eyes. Tears of pain. Tears of rage. Tears of hate. I’m a weepy bitch when I get emotional. I’ve read a lot of books that try and portray abuse and how Daniels wrote Danny’s abuse from her father took my breath away because it felt so real. There weren’t really any good days, there were bad days, there were really bad days, but most days were just anxiously waiting for the next bad day, because Danny knew there would always be a next bad day. Something that did surprise me was my feelings about Danny’s mother. I knew going in I would hate her father, before even meeting him I hated him, but her mother, that was a hate that lay dormant until it exploded onto the scene and froze me to my core. I’m not gonna get into my own demons here but there is one thing I cannot abide by and that is people turning a blind eye while someone abuses another. Danny’s mother is the textbook definition of someone who “goes along to get along”, she will do just about anything to keep the peace, but at what cost? Instead of protecting her child from someone who literally screamed so long and so loud at her child that it damaged her hearing she just sat back and let them. That’s not the worst though, no, after Danny’s transition her mom seems to be understanding of the fact she is happy being a girl and is buying her things she needs like bras and undeniably feminine shoes, only to reveal it was all to keep Danny docile so she wouldn’t cause more fights with her dad. That to me is unforgivable. Not worse than the abuse of the father, but still undeniably selfish. She never cared about Danny or listened to her and what she was really saying. She just didn’t want there to be anymore fighting. Well I’m sorry, but sometimes, as a mother, you should fight to protect your goddamn child when someone is hurting them. The last thing I’ll say before going back to the more spoiler free and fun part of the review is that the fact Danny can never make herself say she is being abused hits so close to home for me. As a reader looking in from outside, there was a scene with a member of the Legion that I felt like, as an abuse survivor myself, I was standing there begging Danny to accept her invitation. To get out of that house. To get away from her father. To see what he was doing for what it was. But I knew she wouldn’t, she wasn’t ready, and it broke my heart to watch her fly away.

Anyway moving on from all that heavy stuff lets talk about other things like some freaking superheroes and one particular vigilante. We have the Legion members: Doc Impossible, Valkyrja, Magma, Graywytch, Chlorophyll, and Carapice. Now How do I want to talk about these characters...in what order...hmmm...how about from best to worst. Okay? Okay. Great!

I freaking love Doc Impossible! She is a character that from the moment I met her she gave me ‘kookie grandma’ character vibes and I get DOWN with kookie grandma characters. Now I know she isn’t a grandma character nor is she particularly crazy in the way she acts; it's just a vibe I get from her that I love. Now one thing I do want to say without spoiling anything is how Doc is one of the few characters that never tries to take away Danny’s agency in everything that happens around her in all this superhero craziness. Danny can always be her own person and most importantly a kid around Doc, and I feel Danny really needed that. I will stop myself now because I could go on for hours about Doc and how much I LOVE HER!

Next up we get a two for one, Valkyrja and Magma. We don’t see much of them but what we do get is pretty good. They are adult superheroes who have their own priorities surrounding what is going on with Danny, but aren’t mean or cruel and seem to genuinely care about Danny. Valkyrja is funny and surprisingly down to earth even though she is basically a scandinavian goddess of sorts. Also the hilarity of her being Danny’s long time celebrity crush never gets old. Oh Danny, you useless little lesbian. Magma is a precious big hot boy that seems like he’d give good hugs. Yeah, that's about all I got to say about him that won’t spoil anything.

Now we have another two for one with Chlorophyll and Carapice. These two I'm between dislike and indifferent on. They weren’t outright mean to Danny but they treated her more like a means to an end or down right refused to acknowledge she was the new Dreadnought whether they liked it or not, but we didn’t really get to see them enough to really learn more about their motivations.

Finally to round out the Legion we have Graywytch. Excuse me while I get this out. *Exaggerated throat clear.* First of all, Imma slap that stupid robe of ya stupid head. Then Imma stab you with your stupid fancy atheme you like to wave around all the time. And don’t even start on your “Typical male, always resorting to violence” shtick, cause guess what, I’m a ciswoman and I still wanna stomp a mudhole in your ass. And for that...Imma slap your dumb bird too. *Deep breath in. Looooooong exhale.* Sorry about that. Mama had to express some rage. I have never had a hate-sink character that made me feel the fiery flames of rage quite like Graywytch...obviously. Her treatment of Danny had me gripping the book tightly and growling about slapping birds and “shanking bitches” more than I should probably admit. She is one of those characters that I love how much I hate her. She served the exact purpose she was meant to and it was never cast in a light that she may be right in her treatment of Danny, we are always aware that her mindset is ridiculous. Like the fact outside of her parents Graywytch is the only character to blatantly deadname and misgender Danny. To go off on a small tangent here I may relate too much here because I have a younger brother who is trans (don’t worry he is fine with me discussing it in reviews and such) and I went to a graduation party when my best friend graduated medical school and he was out to the family but not extended friends yet. After only referring to him by the proper pronouns for so long at home hearing the wrong ones caused legitimate eye blinking record scratch cognitive dissonance for me. I had the same feeling anytime Graywytch opened her stupid mouth and blatantly misgendered Danny. Because the way this is written Danny is Danny, she is exactly who she is meant to be. Suck it Graywytch!

Okay, I know you probably want to hear about the plot I know, but we have one more character we have to talk about and that is Calamity, the rootin’-ist tootin’-ist vigilante that ever did come through these here parts. Sorry, I have to talk like this now, it’s part of the persona, you have to commit to the persona. But real talk, I absolutely love Calamity as a look into “graycapes” and the real dive into the world of superheroes beyond the big heroes. We get to see how someone who doesn’t have the backing of the Legion goes about helping people, the little people, those that maybe the Legion way up in their tower can’t see from so high up in the clouds. And y’all know me, I love a morally gray vigilante with a heart of gold. She had me at “You wanna go capin’?”

Now obviously I couldn’t get enough of the characters but the plot was pretty darn good too. It was so intricately woven in with Danny and her inheriting the mantle from the previous Dreadnought that she had no choice but to be an integral part of it. Now I obviously don’t have as much to say about the plot as I did the characters but know if you come for the plot you won’t be disappointed. It kept me guessing and threw me for an absolute curve ball at the end that I did not see coming! You won’t be disappointed.

So final thoughts...there isn’t much more I can say without going on an hours long squeal fest about how much I freaking loved this book and the characters and the intricacies of how Danny’s powers work and how she was written and how she interacts with different characters and just everything that would mean massive untakebackable spoilers! So I will end on this note; Danny is a character that it would have been easy to lean into the superhero aspect and let the reader forget that she was trans, but April Daniels didn’t want that. Danny was gifted the easiest transition in the history of the world. What takes most people years of HRT and surgeries and therapy Danny did in the passing of a mantle, but it never took away the fact she is and always will be trans. It was a unique reading experience that I have only been blessed with once before but that’s a story for a different review on a different day.

Queer Wrap-up: I would give my left kidney (that’s my good one btw) to give this book five unicorns, but alas I cannot, a one off conversation in an elevator hinting that a certain improbable doctor may have a one sided thing for a particular sadly straight scandinanvian god being is just not enough to count as additional rep. As much as I love this book, and I love it A LOT! We only have Danny as our queer rep and she is fantastic rep and our protagonist so a 4 unicorn rating was a no brainer on this one. Danny is the kind of trans rep I want to see more of in the world of books, YA and otherwise. Being a trans lesbian is a huge part of her character but she gets to do so much more than that in the breath of the story and that’s what I look for in great representation, so Danny easily earned these 4 unicorns on her own merit just being her amazing self.

Links:

Goodreads

Dominc Noble’s Review

Alright so...this one got long. Ah hell, I ain't gonna apologize for it! This is a damn good book and I wanted to get my fangirl squeal on y’all.

Oh no, I think I’ve been thinking about Calamity too much I slipped into the persona without meaning to! This book was just far too much fun to read to the point I started reading it out loud with a full cast of voices (hint: the Calamity parts were my favorite) because it flowed so well and was genuinely so funny at parts and heart wrenchingly sad in others and so action packed the next moment. I finished this book in less than a day and if I had been more present and not under a pile of blankets and wearing a headlamp I might have thought to keep a timer to tell you the exact number of hours it took me, but alas know it didn’t take me many.

So the adventures reading in the dark continue on to the next review after this one but as always if you want to read this but don’t want to spend the money without knowing for sure you are going to like it, go to your local library. You’d be surprised what they have on their shelves just waiting to be discovered. Trust me, I’m a lesbrarian.

#Dreadnought #april daniels #nemesis book 1 #resident lesbrarian #4 unicorns #mtf transgender lesbian #ya novel #ya science fiction #go to you local library #but wear a mask #and wash your hands #and stay 6 feet apart #be safe guys gals and nonbinary pals

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takaraphoenix · 4 years ago

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Hi! I started following you for a while (mostly for your pjo posts) and because I see we share many opinions for those books, I'd like to point something that not many people notice: So, pjo is a series about Greek mythology...without any Greek people. Even the GREEK gods are heavily americanised and as a Greek girl this has always troubled me. The only greek character (Zoe) was brutally killed. So yeah, I'd like to hear your opinion on this one.

Well, I’m happy to hear that! ^^

And yeah, you’re right. There’s... not really an actually Greek Greek demigod. And it’s really weird. In PJO, that... was kind of attributable to the fact that the Greek gods weren’t really the Greek gods - they were American gods. And this is where I’ll take a slight detour, just as a fair warning.

The fact that the Greek gods are American is something I know I’ve complained about before, but I don’t know where exactly so let’s complain again.

The Romans make no sense. Not in the context given by the Greeks.

Reading Percy Jackson and the Olympians I never had a problem with the fact that the Greek gods were now American stereotypes, because... they were now in American. And this pantheon is known for moving and adjusting. When they came to Rome, they became Roman so it made perfect sense that by moving to the US, they became American.

And then Riordan retconned the Roman aspects into existence and kind of fucked his own world-building over with that, because the Romans didn’t move on, they’re not modern, they’re ancient Roman in behavior and clothes.

And that is what makes no sense. First, the gods lived in Greece and were Greek, then they moved on to Rome and became Roman. Now they live in the US, but uh... the Greeks totally became American and they kept their Roman aspect and that didn’t move on at all because... reasons.

With the existence of the Roman aspects, the Greek aspects should be classic Greek. Not... Ares as a biker with a leather jacket and Zeus in a pine-stripe suit and Poseidon in a Hawaiian shirt. They should be Greek and it’s ridiculously weird to keep both Roman and Greek aspects alive and have the Greeks assimilated into American culture.

He really shot himself in the foot there. He should have never invented the Romans. Sure, there was a spicy additional drama aspect there in the “Greeks vs Romans” nonsense happing in Heroes of Olympus, but it... wasn’t really necessary? I mean, nothing about the plot actually required Romans, specifically. Not even the freaking being in Rome part! Because the most handy and important member of the team there was Nico di Angelo, the Italian Greek demigod!

If there had been anything actually Roman-exclusive that was needed in this quest, anything at all - be that that one of the Seven would be the child of a Roman-exclusive god, or that the Roman demigods actually lived in Rome and the Greeks discovered them like that, but... they lived in freaking San Francisco.

The quest of the Seven could have as well happened with only the CHB characters. Heck, the new characters could have, honestly, just been Greek - Hazel and Frank. Leo and Piper already are. Jason could have been just replaced by Thalia for the Zeus-powers’ sake. Clarisse instead of Reyna, because experienced daughter of war who fought hard in the last war already. And you’re done.

And then the fact that the Greek gods evolved into American gods would have kept making sense. And it’d have been less questionable that there’s not a single Greek demigod, because they’re all American.

Though, generally, I never warmed up to the fact that Riordan exclusively moved them all to the US. The uprooting of the pantheons to cram them all into the US has always been iffy for me. There should be more camps, especially when all your religions are not native to the US but to other continents; you should not feel entitled to grabbing something essential to a culture, uprooting it completely and removing it from its cultural context to claim it as yours to play in like a sandbox is... ya know... not great. The Egyptians should have their centre in Egypt, the Norse should have camps in the Scandinavian and German-speaking countries and I think it reached France too, if I’m not mistaken, the Greek pantheon should be in Greece and also in Italy. I’m not even saying exclusively (the way Riordan put them exclusively into the US); I’m saying there should be more camps in general, but definitely also in the countries of their cultural origin.

I do have the headcanon that Chiron’s wife, a mountain nymph very specifically bound to a mountain in Greece, is running a camp in Greece , where the centre of their worship is. It’s have been so easy to just... acknowledge that there are more camps, that there are camps in Europe - in Greece, but also in other countries because even on one continent it is ridiculous to assume that every mortal parent has the money and ability to send their kids to that one place, or would want to. I mean, look at Sally Jackson, the woman rather got herself and her son stuck with an abusive man than sent her son, what, two hours away into the New York located Greek camp. But parents of demigods from any other place in the world would send their kids over the ocean to the US? Sure, sure.

I just can’t imagine that Greece, the place where the Greek gods feel most alive still because all of the ruins and temples and remembrance is still there wouldn’t have enough demigods of its own to fill a whole camp. Let alone Italy, Germany, France, etc. There... There are a lot of countries in Europe that have been touched by the Roman empire.

And what I never understood about that is that... the gods need to be believed in to stay alive. I never quite took that as literal worship, because while yes the belief itself is still alive, I always understood it more in the way that... the notion of the gods need to still be believed in. In the way every child goes through that Greek gods phase, you know? And in the way we still decorate places with statues of Greek gods, have the symbols on our house walls. And those things... are definitely very prominent in Europe, most of all in Greece.

So for the gods to follow “the power”, or whatever Riordan’s flimsy reasoning for why the US are the centre of the (Western) world are, that was always weak.

You can’t really just... go back in time; when he thought of the Romans, there was no taking back the changes he made to the Greeks yet, but there was a different way to incorporate these new characters and the concept of a new camp without messing that up. The second war that took us to Europe should have taken us to a European camp. He could have had Jason and the “Romans” be... Greek, be from the camp in Athens and the Americans meet them for the sake of the war and they have to work together.

To sum it up, I think Riordan shot himself in the foot when he created the Romans and I think that for what little their Roman nature really factored in, he could have found a more elegant and logical way to incorporate these new characters and the concept of a different camp without messing with the godly aspects and thus screwing over his own world building.

#Riordan Critical #World Building #PJOverse #Anonymous

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