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puddygeeks · 3 years

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𝑾𝒂𝒓 𝑶𝒇 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 - 𝑪𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒔, 𝑺𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒓 𝑹𝒆𝒊𝒅 𝒙 𝑶𝑪 - 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 8: 𝑮𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝑶𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚

Masterlist

Rating: Mature

Summary: 𝐴𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠. 𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐵𝐴𝑈 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑦, 𝑚𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑡.

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x OC

Status: Ongoing

LONG TERM ONGOING PROJECT :)

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑑𝑢𝑙𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡, 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤. 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛 𝑐𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑢𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑏𝑑��𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 & 𝑠𝑒𝑥𝑢𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑏𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐵𝐴𝑈'𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘. 𝐼𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑦 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑢𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑑, 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤.

Eᴘɪsᴏᴅᴇ: Pʀᴇ Sᴇᴀsᴏɴ 1

Chapter Eight

“You know, it’s remarkably similar to Brighton Pier here.” I commented, fanning myself in desperation under the scolding sun and Ricky pushed his large sunglasses down to allow me to feel the full force of his judgement. “Well, except that it’s unmistakably hotter, obviously.”

“How dare you compare this beautiful sandy bliss to your pebble filled nightmare?” He remarked with a sweeping hand gesture at the beach, before sipping out of his straw with offence and I rolled my eyes at him.

Ricky has always been a force to be reckoned with, but as he got older, he only grew more confident and I was constantly inspired by how comfortable he was in himself. His thick brunette hair reached his collarbones now, but he currently had it pushed back out of his face with a colourful bandana so that he could tan. In order for him to worship the sun to his full capacity, he was wearing a worryingly small pair of shorts and had stretched himself across a lounger like the diva that he absolutely was.

“Hmm. Your actual beach is better, I’ll give you that one. But you’re seriously lacking on drag queens, quirky cafes and fancy boutiques to shop in.” I pointed out, fondly recalling the whirlwind weekend that we’d spent in the British city the last time that he’d visited me and he shrugged in defeat.

“Touché. You win this round.” He admitted, laying back to bask himself again, whilst I shuffled my sensitive skin further under the sun umbrella that he’d reluctantly agreed to allow me to bring over on the condition that it didn’t cause a single shred of shade over him.

It was a beautiful day, only improved by the quality of my company and I had to admit that I was endlessly pleased to have decided to extend my stay for another few days. Despite the years that had passed since we had last been in each other's physical company, Ricky was still able to put me at ease in a way that no one else had ever been able to emulate and I cherished the opportunity to simply relax with him at the Virginia Boardwalk.

“So, what’s it like being an FBI agent?” Ricky asked, turning his attention back to me with a smug expression. “Is it wonderful knowing that you have the power to stop anyone in their tracks? I would absolutely abuse my power for evil, but I know you’re too pure for that.” He muttered with delight and I chuckled at him knowingly. The things that he would use an FBI badge to accomplish didn’t even bear thinking about.

“Darling. I already told you. I’m not an FBI agent. I’m still a technical analyst for Interpol. I’m just on loan.” I repeated, already losing count of how many times I had made this distinction, but he still seemed as unconvinced by this as he was the first time that I told him.

“Oh, semantics! Sounds to me like you’re working for them and considering that you saved a girl from a burning building like a freaking hero, I’m just going to treat you like one.” He argued, seeming amused as if I were simply downplaying things, when realistically, it was a case of him dramatising the arrangement, as he did with most things. “We have an FBI agent in the family. That’s pretty cool.”

“There is absolutely no reasoning with you.” I groaned, shaking my head in embarrassment and he shrugged dismissively, as if this were an obvious fact that I should have accepted already. “How’s university going? Have you sorted your accommodation for your second year yet?”

“College is going fine. I’ve done a fantastic job being the life of the party, so I have plenty of offers for people to live with. My only struggle is choosing people who aren’t completely filthy as housemates. I can’t live in a grubbly little student hovel.” He explained, seeming repulsed by the very idea and I raised a brow at his diva attitude. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not being dramatic. My first year in dorms, I shared a bathroom with straight men. You don’t understand the trauma that I’ve lived through.”

“Does your mother know that you haven’t arranged housing yet?” I interrogated, already sensing a hint of dishonesty in him and his features quickly contorted into a guilty look. “Rituparan! I understand being picky, but you’ll end up with no choice other than to live with the grimy jocks if you don’t hurry up. You need to get organised.” I scolded, earning an eye roll so severe that I worried his face might never recover from the strain.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Alley Cat. I’ll get it sorted. Now, drink your mocktail before it gets too diluted.” He ordered, sipping down the last of his drink and placing the little umbrella from the top in his hair with a flourish. The moment that he faced me, I knew that he had mischief in mind.

“Okay. Are you ready? Who am I?” He pouted so dramatically that his cheeks all but disappeared and I almost choked on my drink.

“Oh, too easy! That is the unforgettable Lola, the only woman on the planet who considers a cocktail umbrella the perfect hair accessory for any occasion.” I answered, earning a cheer and wicked laugh of satisfaction from him. “You know, I love having someone else to mock dad’s exes with. You’d think the fact that he only dates women my age would mean we’d have something in common, but alas, apparently a sense of humour isn’t shared by age group.”

“Of course they’re not funny! The only thing those girls come with is a price tag.” He sassed, flipping his hair back out of his face in a ridiculously bitchy gesture and I was immediately reminded of just how much I loved him. “At least you don’t have to pretend to like Tanya anymore. Honestly, if she had a second brain cell, she’d be dangerous.”

“Oh, no! They broke up?” I gasped, almost sounding convincing with my upset and he whipped his head around with drastic confusion. “I guess she had to bleed my dad dry of pocket money eventually.” I drawled, prompting a small yelp of surprise and a quick high five from Ricky.

Tanya had been dating my dad for just over six months now, so I knew that she was likely to be approaching her expiration date soon. His routine was well known amongst the entire family now and in an effort to counter the embarrassment that it caused for my mother and I, it had become a running joke for us all to share.

“Didn’t you hear the details?” Ricky crooned, turning to face me fully on his lounger with a devious expression and I shrugged nonchalantly. “According to Maji, she tried to charge her lip fillers to his business credit card. Caused all sorts of uproar at the office. I guess she’ll be making that duck face at someone else’s wallet now.” He divulged, pouting into an exaggerated model face for effect and I struggled not to splutter my drink everywhere in response.

Ricky’s mother always seemed to know everything that was happening in our family and I’d long believed that this was where he’d learned to dig information out of people. She was abnormally gifted in guilt tripping the truth out of even the most hardened family members and yet, she doted on Ricky as if he was the very thing that made her world turn. If I ever wanted to know what was going on in my dad’s life, I knew that I could rely on her to be up to date with events.

Before I could manage to recover enough to speak, my mobile rang with it’s sharp tone and I had to clamber around in my bag to find it. As soon as I saw the private number, my eyes grew wide in dread.

“Oh, no! The bat phone?” Ricky asked, seeming genuinely horrified that I might be called into work and I quickly nodded, before holding a finger to my lips to shush him.

“Agent Hawthorne.” I answered, feeling utterly ridiculous referring to myself this way in my current company. This insecurity was only made worse by Ricky sliding his shades back on in a judgemental manner and I gestured to him to stop distracting me.

“Alice. This is Hotch. Are you still in Virginia?”

The voice on the other end of the phone was as serious as ever and though I was enormously relieved to find that it wasn’t anyone from Interpol trying to order me home, I felt nerves building in my chest already.

“Yes, Sir. I am.” I reported, noticing Ricky raising his brows at me in interest and I knew that he was dying to know what was being said.

“I realise that you’re spending time with family, but would you be able to come into the office for a meeting? I have a matter that I would like to discuss with you in person, if possible.” Hotch requested, allowing me absolutely no hint of the cause for this meeting and I felt my face change into one of alarm.

My mind had already begun racing with all of the possible complications that I could be facing for my actions at the base now that all of the documentation for the case had been submitted and I was terrified that if any further charges were brought against me, they could contradict the deal that I made with Interpol to avoid imprisonment.

“Yes, Sir. I’ll come in right away.” I stuttered, attempting to fight down my terror. My hands shook with nerves as I hung up on the call and Ricky looked positively thrilled to have been given the opportunity to witness this conversation, as if he’d just been personally included in a matter of national security.

“It’s a good thing that you went for virgin cocktails, my dear. I have to get back to Quantico.” I confessed, quickly burying my nerves so that he wouldn’t sense trouble.

“Oh my god! This is so exciting!” He announced, hopping straight to his feet and flustering to grab his belongings that were spread across every surface around him. “One cab for Agent Hawthorne, coming right up!”

--⥈--

Outfit: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/460070918191621506/

Standing in the lift of the Quantico building, I was overwhelmed with anxiety. I had been in such a rush to get here that it hadn’t even crossed my mind to change clothes, or to do anything to prepare my appearance at all. Though I knew that I didn’t have any more office clothes with me anyway, I acknowledged that I could at least have found something that provided a little more coverage and didn’t leave me feeling so exposed.

The idea of walking through an office where everyone was dressed smartly, wearing a white floral mini dress was an absolute nightmare and I realised that I only had a few minutes to make any changes. All I could think to do was to untie my waist length hair, shaking it out to at least cover some of my arms and attempting to make it look styled.

The doors opened to reveal a full office, with most of the team present at their desks and I gulped nervously. My dress felt as if it had actually shrunk in size since the beach now that I would be seen in it by people that I had worked with and I had to remind myself that I had bigger things to worry about with being called to come here than my attire.

JJ’s heels clicked on the polished floor as she entered the reception, her professional appearance clashing horribly with the casual style of my low top converses and I tried not to feel intimidated.

“Alice! I know that I said we wanted to see you again soon, but this is a little crazy.” She breezed as she approached me with a warm smile and I tried to force myself to relax. “Hotch is just finishing a call and he’ll be out to meet you.” She explained, before her gaze fell onto my outfit and I felt myself physically become stiff under her scrutiny. “You look pretty!”

“Oh, thanks. I was just on the beach. I’ve already worn all of my work clothes so, um, this is all I have?” I offered, shifting awkwardly and she smiled sympathetically at me.

“We’ve all been called in at unexpected times. I was literally collected from home in my pajamas once. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” She soothed, leaning closer to me as she spoke so that no one would overhear my concern and I let out a long breath in relief.

“Besides, I know that Hotch is just going to appreciate you being able to come in at such short notice. I hope you got to enjoy at least a little bit of your time off before we intruded?” She asked with an honest concern in her eyes and just as I opened my mouth to see if she could give me even the slightest hint of what to expect, Hotch stepped into the room.

“Alice. Thank you for coming so quickly.” He stated in his usual serious manner, reaching straight to shake my hand and I complied immediately, forcing a smile through my nerves. “I’ll try not to take up too much of your time. Let’s talk in my office.” He offered, opening the glass doors to the main office for me and I stepped through hesitantly.

Within approximately two steps of entering the space, I could already feel eyes on me and tried not to allow myself to be unnerved by the attention. The anxious voice in the back of my mind screamed that I was the most inappropriate looking member of staff to ever enter this office, but I forced myself to keep my head held high as Ricky had always preached.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Spencer was watching me from his desk as if he’d been stopped in his tracks and I waved subtly at him, prompting him to hurriedly do the same back in a fluster. Morgan passed Hotch distractedly, before he noticed that I was following him with obvious surprise.

“Looking good, Poppins. Welcome back.” He muttered as he squeezed beside me, sneaking a charming smile and thanks to the combined warmth of the two men, once again I felt my nerves beginning to settle slightly.

Hotch encouraged me to take a seat in his office, before closing the door behind us and I felt as if I couldn’t think straight in the silence that followed. He settled into the seat opposite me, knitting his hands together on the desk between us and despite feeling before that I had reached the point where I could understand his expressions, his face at this moment was completely unreadable.

“For a start, I want to discuss what happened at the Twenty Nine Palms base.” He opened, his stern eyes studying my face for every minute reaction and though my heart sank at the suggested topic, I nodded back calmly.

“Whilst it can’t be denied that your actions resulted in saving a young girl's life, they were also unacceptably reckless. You demonstrated absolutely no regard for your own safety and jeopardised the reputation of the whole team. You are aware that we appreciate your support, but I’m not convinced that you realise we are legally and morally responsible for your wellbeing whilst you are under our service and that I would be personally held accountable for your death as a result of your irresponsible actions.” He lectured, his voice sounding even more severe than it had when I was in the ambulance and I felt my confidence crumbling with every word that he spoke.

It became clear that he had paused his speech to allow me the chance to explain myself and I cleared my throat to speak with a feeling of terror.

“I’m truly sorry for my actions, Sir. You are entirely right. I was reckless and selfish, and I didn’t consider how my behaviour would reflect on your team, and especially on you. I’m not going to make excuses. I just want you to know that I accept any and all consequences that you feel are appropriate.” I answered calmly, ensuring that I kept my tone calm and respectful, and he sighed as he studied me.

“I didn’t call you in here to punish you, Alice. This is a conversation, not a lecture. What I aim to understand is why an agent with no field experience, or any personal stake in the case, felt that they had no choice other than to risk their own life to save a child who they’d never met?” He clarified, his entire demeanour remaining unchanged even as he moved to a gentler tactic of questioning and I chewed on my lip.

It took a few moments for me to consider how best to answer this, but eventually I decided that I respected this team as a whole too much to lie. I prepared myself for a conversation that I knew would likely change his opinion of me permanently, but assured myself that honesty was a necessity at this point.

“When I was fifteen years old, my mother was abducted.” I began, glancing down at my hands as I spoke to avoid the intensity of his gaze. “It took four months for her to be found and when she came home, she was a different person. I never saw the mother that went missing again.” I paused, clearing my throat to keep the emotion from my voice before continuing.

“Three years later, a girl at my university went missing. She wasn’t the first, but the stakes were high as all of the others had been found murdered. I obsessed over everything that my mother had survived to come home and I couldn’t imagine how awful it would be to endure that at just eighteen years old. So, I began looking into the case and after a while of digging, I compiled enough information to anonymously assist law enforcement in safely recovering the missing girl. I realised then that I had the skills to make a difference to the world and I kept going, one missing person at a time, until Interpol found me.”

“You were given a choice between conviction, or working for them?” Hotch asked knowingly, as if he’d seen this very situation many times before and I recalled the recent conversation that I’d had with Penelope about hackers frequently being recruited through their questionable activities. I nodded slowly in response, deciding that this wasn’t the time to divulge any further information about the circumstances of my hiring.

“I didn’t join this field by choice. It was never the plan for my life. Don’t get me wrong, I always wanted to help people. I actually trained to become a psychiatrist, like my dad, but a job like this had never even been on my radar. Yet, here I am.” I explained, shrugging awkwardly as I realised that this sounded like I was ungrateful for the mercy that I was shown and I tried to be more careful with my wording when I spoke again.

“When I was standing in front of that building, watching the smoke pour out of it, all I could think about was how my mother told me that she spent every minute of every day that she was in captivity praying to come home. I could just imagine Amanda doing the same thing, hoping with everything she had that someone would save her and I was right there.” I stopped as frustration seeped into my voice, allowing myself to regain control so that I could resume my explanation.

“I knew that there was a chance that she was still alive and I felt like everything that had happened, all of the crazy unplanned situations that had led me to being there at that exact time were so that I could save her. It sounds insane, but it was like my legs moved before I had even decided what I was going to do. For the first time in my career, I trusted my team, this team to have my back and with all due respect, Sir, it was the right thing to do.” I finally finished my rant, forcing myself to meet his eyes to allow him to see my sincerity and I was shocked to find that his face was filled with understanding, causing me to realise that he was already filling in the blanks between my words.

“You said that this was the first time that you felt this way about your team. You shouldn’t be working with people that you can’t rely on. In our line of work, we are forced to face horrors that most people can’t even begin to imagine. The people around you should be your anchor in the storm.” Hotch advised, causing my eyes to become watery and I sniffed back my emotions, desperate not to cry in front of him. “You have options, Alice.”

“What options? Prison?” I scoffed, recalling my conversation with Shepard with a flinch.

Though I had thought in detail about leaving Interpol many times since my recruitment, I knew in a serious light that it was merely a fantasy and nothing more. Without my employment to them, I was considered as nothing more than a threat to security and returning to normal civilian life was no longer something that I could consider.

“Join our team.” Hotch offered, causing my mouth to drop open in shock and I noticed the corners of his lips twitch slightly upward at my reaction.

“It’s clear that you are neither happy, nor valued at Interpol. You have already proven the difference that you could make across multiple cases and the entire team have agreed that you make an excellent addition.” He elaborated, listing reasons that I struggled to even associate with myself and I couldn’t seem to form a response, as I stuttered in the silence.

“But, I-Sir, we just discussed how I jeopardised this team. I don’t mean to seem rude, or ungrateful because I absolutely am not, but I fail to see how I’ve given you the impression that I would make a suitable field agent. You already have Penelope for technical support, so I’m not sure what else you could need me for here.” I pointed out, hardly able to wrap my head around the sudden detour that this conversation had taken and found myself baffled at the very concept of him offering to employ me.

“When your team brought you for the Valeno case, you showed potential that they were purposefully dismissive of. After you left, Gideon suggested that I speak to you about a position within the BAU. Unfortunately, at the time we didn’t have the available resources to do this. Due to the recent successes of this team, we’ve been granted the budget to expand and I would be foolish to ignore a candidate who has already contributed to that success. You are a good fit and the first choice of every member in this unit.” He presented, completely disregarding my concerns and when I looked at him with confusion, he sighed.

“I have discussed the recent incident with Gideon and we share the opinion that with the correct mentoring and the support of a team that believes in your worth, you could be an exceptional field agent.” He divulged, causing me to raise my brows impossibly higher in surprise.

It was bizarre enough that Hotch wanted me to join the team, but finding out that Gideon had been the instigator for this offer blew what remained of my psyche to pieces and Hotch cleared his throat to regain my attention from my inner turmoil.

“The offer would, of course, be conditional. It would be based on your own commitment to overcoming your experiences. None of us are immune to personal biases and each of us have elements of our pasts that make certain cases more challenging for us than the others. However, we rely on each other to hold us accountable, and have all learned to be objective and to know our limits. If you think this is something that you can also undertake, then there is a place here for you. As long as you want it.” Hotch clarified, causing me to stare back at him in blatant disbelief.

“I-I honestly don’t know what to say.” I stuttered, fiddling with my hair anxiously and Hotch cracked a rare smile at me. “It isn’t as simple for me as just changing state. My life is in France now. I’ve already left my mum behind once in England. I’d also have to renounce my dual nationality and become an American citizen.” I thought aloud, considering the enormity of the decision before me and Hotch nodded in understanding.

“Can I have some time to think about it?” I asked nervously, unsure of what else to say and Hotch seemed completely unsurprised by my reaction, as if he’d actually been expecting it.

“Of course. It’s a serious decision that you aren’t expected to make right away. Take all of the time that you need.”

--⥈--

“Girl. Your life is crazy!” Ricky gasped, studying me with a fascinated expression and I had to laugh at his dramatic reaction, despite mostly agreeing with the sentiment. “You’re gonna say yes, right?”

I sighed deeply as I considered this question and the way that he considered me now revealed exactly how insane he thought I was for even needing to think about it. In order to avoid his prying eyes, I stood to start clearing away the takeaway boxes that littered my hotel room bed, but Ricky refused to be silenced.

“Alice. Honey. What are you doing?! Life at Interpol has been miserable for you since day one. You said it yourself. I can’t imagine anything there that could be worth turning this offer down for!” He scolded, staring at me in complete disbelief and I shook my head at his youthful attitude to things.

“It’s more complicated than that. I never planned to work in this sector at all, much less as an FBI agent!” I explained, still struggling to process the fact that this was even an option that was open to me. It felt as if it had come from nowhere and I was already overwhelmed with the mere concept of making such a serious life decision.

“This isn’t just a job that we’re talking about here. It’s a completely different life. I need to be sure that I can handle it, before I move away from everything that I know. I’d hardly ever get to see mum and Roger.” I clarified, struggling to make him understand the severity of the situation.

“You never visit your mama anyway! I should know. I overhear Maji talking to her about it enough.” He groaned, only causing me to feel even worse about the idea of moving even further away from her.

“Besides, if you took it then you’d be living right near me and there isn’t any better benefit than that!” He added, posing across the bed as if he were the most important factor in the proposal and I chuckled at him with fondness. He sighed at my lack of enthusiasm, before dropping to a more serious tone.

“The most important thing for all of us is your happiness. You’d be crazy to stay somewhere that is making your whole existence taste like bad Aloo Gobi. And you deserve better than that! You deserve for your life to always be like Maji’s cooking, full of love and happiness.” He described, seeming as if he’d distracted himself along the way and he glanced back down at his plastic container of curry with disdain.

“You realise that you have a gift for being able to relate literally anything to food, right?” I remarked playfully, observing him with amazement and he shrugged carelessly.

“Food is one of the most enjoyable things that sustains us. It’s important.” He argued passionately and I couldn’t think of a single point to dispute his statement with, having to allow him the pleasure of being correct. “Fortunately, Mumbai Gardens is able to provide an almost authentic experience, right here in the heart of Virginia. A good meal can heal many things, you know. Even the stress of your biggest ever life decision.”

“That’s high praise coming from you. Could it pass the home test though, do you think?” I queried with curiosity as I disposed of the remaining trash with the Mumbai Gardens logo on it and he scoffed as if I’d asked something utterly ridiculous.

“Not a chance! Even Mama would be able to tell you that it wasn’t completely correct. You know, she’s actually been with Maji long enough now to have better cooking taste than some of my other actual Indian friends.” He revealed, showing his love for his step mom, who happened to be my paternal aunt Heather, clear in his voice.

I couldn’t withhold a wide grin as I thought of my aunts, both filled with a warmth that radiated even in my memories. Heather and Ricky’s mum, Nabhitha, had been married for almost ten years now and were the main reason that I still had any faith in true love. They had done an admirable job of raising Ricky together, with Heather always treating him as if he was her biological son and I was endlessly proud of them. Thanks to them, Ricky had grown into the confident, funny teenager that I loved. Their blissful blended family gave me hope for my own future.

“I just had an idea.” Ricky breezed, sitting up particularly straight as if he could barely contain his enthusiasm and I turned back to face him with interest. “If you take this job, we could totally rent a place together! I could be your stylist extraordinaire, in-house councillor and professional Indian chef.” He suggested, his eyes gleaming with excitement and I scoffed loudly at the idea.

“Absolutely not. I’ve already got enough on my plate, without considering parenting you, Ricky.” I laughed, wincing at even the thought of dealing with his dramatics on a daily basis and he gasped at my refusal, seeming as if he could never have expected me to refuse his generous offer. “You can be as offended as you like, but I still don’t have the energy to deal with a college kid in my space. I’m not gonna be your easy way out of student housing. Pick some other teenagers to live with already.”

“Fine. I was offering you a lifestyle of sheer luxury, but I guess I’ll just have to take my fabulous self somewhere that I’ll be better appreciated.” He announced, acting as if he were hurt by my denial, before quickly softening back into a smile barely a few seconds later. “You should definitely think some more about taking the job though, queen. You deserve a fresh start.”

“We’ll see.” I conceded with a chuckle, desperate to simply end the conversation. “Now, which film do you want to rent?”

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bad-bitch-beauchamp · 3 years

Text

Songs About Me - Chapter Three

After karaoke night and Claire's impromptu performance, both Claire and Jamie spend the next day reconciling with their choices from the night before.

Read on AO3

“Stay, Sassenach! One more drink!”

“One more drink might be the death of me, Mr. Fraser, and if you’d like to watch me embarrass myself again next week, I can’t be on my deathbed tonight!”

He had tried to convince her to let him walk her home, but she waved him off and pulled the sweater that had fallen off her shoulder back up to its rightful place at the junction of neck and shoulder -- a place Jamie couldn’t tear himself away from until that moment. She wrangled a loose curl behind her ear, tugged on her coat, and caught Jamie watching her every move, drink at his lips, eyes just over the rim of the glass. She could’ve stayed, could’ve responded, could’ve reacted to what she was feeling right then… no. A couple of hours together in a bar and a poor excuse for a solo at closing time did not change the fact she didn’t know this man. This very handsome man, she reminded herself. No. You came out here for yourself. Leave by yourself.

She met his eyes one last time, gave a nervous laugh, declared “Hope to see you next weekend!” all too loudly, and spun on her heel. She had stepped over the threshold when she thought she heard her name from inside, but she didn’t turn to find out.

———

Claire realized exactly three things when she awoke the next morning: The sun was shining too brightly, the street musician playing on the corner directly below her bedroom window was playing too loudly, and the memories of the last night with the redhead who loved music and books were coming on too fast. Somehow, in the span of a few hours, he had literally become her waking thoughts. She sat up in bed, still cocooned in a cloud of white cotton sheets and linen comforters. What do you even know about him? Probably not even anything. She pulled herself from the warmth of the bed, her feet landing on a soft oriental rug in shades of blues and greens. His eyes were the colors in this rug. Just like the ocean itself. Okay, she remembered one thing about him. The woven textile gave way to worn hardwood floors, on to cool hexagon tiles lining her bathroom floor as she passed through glass french doors between bookshelves on the wall.

When Claire inherited her Uncle Lamb’s brownstone, she could remember only one thing about the place from her visits: the upstairs was magical. Quentin Lambert Beauchamp was an archaeologist, and although it rarely happened, he had decided he needed a home base to work from. In the historic brownstone, he neglected to update much besides the upper level. As the brownstone was on a corner lot, Lamb declared it must have every window possible to let in the light. Days were too gloomy and cloudy in England, and he would soak up all the light he could while teaching here at Harvard, thank you very much. The most magical room in the entire home (according to both Beauchamps) was lined from front to back with alternating windows and storage -- wide bookshelves on the top, long cabinets on the bottom. The opposite side was almost entirely made of the same bookshelves, save for two sets of french doors leading to a large closet and a larger master bathroom, respectively. The bookshelves traveled up to a curved ceiling, rails and ladders lined the walls to reach the highest and most precious of his belongs (now hers as well). Claire had painted the walls and trim shades of white and cream and ivory. The shelves were stripped and stained with a neutral-tone light wood with white filler. The brass fixtures and ladder rails sparkled in the warm morning light. Claire placed plants wherever she could fit them, and donned the shelves with memories to mingle with the ones Lamb left behind. This room, this place, was her favorite in the whole world.

Back in the bathroom and walking to the walk-in shower, Claire bent down to reach the sweater she tossed aside the night before. The underside of his hair is this color. Right at the base of his neck, with the extra curls. She shook her head and started the tap. Maybe all his curls would turn that color when he got wet. She turned the faucet as hot as she could stand it, reached an arm for her phone, and set Spotify to only play Blink-182. We’re done with those feelings! No feelings, only the angst possible with punk rock!

Cold tile brought her down to earth again when she stepped out of the shower, the trails of water dripping down her back and breasts a refreshing break from the onslaught of pounding heat. He felt like a breath of fresh air. Just like this.

With a towel wrapped around head and a t-shirt tossed on, she made her way back to the bedroom and took a seat on her bed. She desperately wished she had stayed for that last drink. Or at least got his number? Why didn’t I get his number?! Now, she’d have to wait another six days before seeing him again. Maybe her attraction to him was nothing more than lust, but if she could text with him, get to know him better, maybe she could find out. With no way of reaching him, she opted to get dressed and head out to clear her head. Maybe find a place to write? Since her decision to put herself first, she’d put letting off steam by writing and singing. It fell in live with the general creativity that fueled her life, while still being different enough from the greenhouse to give her a bit of rest and peace. As she contemplated where to adventure off that morning and pondered the correct way to lace her Doc Marten boots, her phone rang. A photo of three fresh faces graced her screen, a woman with wild dark curls with her mouth gaping with laughter, another woman with a waterfall of red hair and piercing green eyes made less intimidating by the crinkles at the edges, and a man with deep dimples surrounding his smile and an eyebrow raised in surprise at the camera taking their picture. Claire hit the accept button on the call, and thus the inquisition arrived.

“We need to talk about last night!” The screen was split in two, with Geillis’ video on top and Joe’s on the bottom with Claire’s in the corner.

“What about last night? I honestly thought our song was pretty good! I was thinking next week we could do--”

“That’s obviously not what we’re talking about, LJ! But agreed, we did a damn good job.”

“Will you two quit it?” Geillis cut them off and brought her face closer to her screen. “We need to talk about Claire, that viking, and the unreal chemistry. Spill it ALL, Claire.”

———

Jamie had woke nursing a headache, but alas, today would not be the day for rest. He flipped the sign in the window of Fraser Literature from closed to open, and began to check off the list of opening duties. On the list was to water the plants. Set on a table in a small alcove, on top of side table next to an worn leather chair for patrons to sit and peruse a story in, hanging from simple planters in the window that stretched from edge to edge in front of the shop, guarding the aisles of books ready to be enjoyed by people who hadn’t read them yet. Jamie often visited a greenhouse just outside town for the shop’s plants. While a small place, it was teeming with love, peacefulness, and a sense of adventure with green as far as the eye could see, boarding the windows with giant leaves and trailing vines. The feeling inside was something he wanted to emulate in his own place, and so he started adding a wee bit of flora here and there. Rupert and Angus initially laughed off his efforts, claiming Jamie was “destroying the manly vibe” they were aiming for. With every bit of decoration, every little bit of effort however, the shop grew in reputation and success. Jamie was immensely proud of the shop he built, and even more grateful he was able to spend his days surrounded by the words of great men and women, constantly inspired and in awe of the endless stories at his fingertips.

The boys -- Angus and Rupert, that is -- had brought up the idea of expanding into a few other fine art ideas within the shop. Jamie had been reluctant to agree to anything that wasn’t directly related to literature. As they stood around the front counter, Rupert led the charge:

“Jamie, man. The people who like books are also the ones who like art and music and such. Why not try to bring them all together?”

“What if they don’t care about the books? What if they don’t even look at them, and don’t care? What’s the point in having the shop, then?”

It was Angus’ turn to reply with, “Well the point is getting people in the door, and letting your “wee shop” as ye always call it speak for itself, aye?”

Jamie had to agree with that point. He settled for telling the lads that if they could come up with a suitable idea, he’d agree to it. Twenty minutes later, Angus and Rupert stood in his office doorway saying they would be asking for local musicians to come and perform.

“Doesn’t seem like yer asking for approval.”

Jamie didn’t look up from his computer, but could hear the grin in Rupert’s voice as he replied, “‘Tis because ye know it’s a good idea, and ye wouldn’t refuse a good idea.”

Jamie sat back in the rolling leather chair behind his antique desk and sighed, then laughed. “Why do I even try to control what ye two do? Yer jes’ going to do it anyway.” The lads grinned at each other and shrugged. “Go on then, see if ye can have some posters made up to put in the window.”

He stood as Rupert saluted him and Angus muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Aye aye, captain,” and stretched his long, lean, muscles. He needed to get a few errands completed, so opted to spend the next few hours outside both to complete his tasks and to get out in the fresh air. He told his friends he’d be back soon, and to let them know if he needed anything.

With one step out into the sunlight, he immediately regretted the amount he had drunk the night before. Two in the morning was not a suitable time to be out, but for the lass with the dark curls and the whisky eyes, he’d give every moment of his time. From the moment he woke, he thought of her. Thought of how she made him laugh. Thought of how bonny she felt under his fingers, her hips on the barstool as she wiggled back into place, her thigh touching his under the booth table. He thought of how she’d gone up on stage as an act of defiance against him for the insult to her friend’s song, but how instead she ended up showing a piece of her soul to him, and him alone. He thought of how her eyes matched the swirling liquid in his glass. He thought of her abrupt departure after he had asked her to stay, and how he almost ran out after. He thought of how he was so incredibly stupid as to not have asked for her number before she ran. Look what ye did -- now ye have to wait to see her, and yer barely functional as it is. While Angus and Rupert had been gauging his interest for the musical talent in his office earlier, he had been searching the Facebook page for the 21st Amendment, combing it for references to her. To Claire. Maybe she had performed there? Perhaps she and her friends had tagged the place in one of their pictures? There was no sign of her, and she hadn’t told him her last name. Six days to go, mate. Ye can do this. She’s just a lass. Ye don’t know her.

After a few hours of tedious tasks (could the post office ever be efficient, just this once?), he made his way back to Fraser Literature. It was a warm day for autumn, and the shop would have a cart with discount books out on the sidewalk and the door propped open for fresh air. He would never tire of seeing his name on something he built, something he was so proud of. As he neared the shop however, it wasn’t the name on the window that drew his attention -- it was the many people standing inside, facing the window, looking outside. Jamie stopped and looked around, but not finding anything out of place around him. He took a few steps closer. They weren’t looking outside, but rather at the inside corner of the shop, the corner where the window meets the wall. He was only a few steps away when he saw it, when he heard it. A woman with bouncy curls and a round arse, sitting with her back to the window at a keyboard bench. He didn’t have to see her face to know. Her voice was enough. It was enough at two in the morning to imprint on him forever.

She was there, in his shop. His place. Claire. God, his Claire.

With one shaky step and an attempt at a steadying breath, he moved inside his sanctuary.

#songs about me fic #in which tessaactually tries fan fic #outlander prompt exchange #outlander fan fic #outlander fan fiction

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butterfly-winx · 3 years

Note

sorry this is kinda random, but do the planets/societies in your aus have beauty standards and realistically where would the winx fit it? are any of the standards Bad or are they generally tame? -💞

Hm, generally speaking the Winx are ok looking. I didn’t want to go for extreme beauty standards and then have the to our (western) eyes and standards pretty girls be pitied as ugly. It doesn’t really tell the story I want to tell, seeing as my visdev style is idealised, like I don’t draw anyone purposefully ugly.

That being said, I have a few opinions.

Like my Stella is mixed by Solarian standards. Mom’s pale skinned, fair haired Selenite, dad’s a tan, dark haired Rai (Radius dyes his hair red with henna), so Stella is very much a mix of stereotypes. Since there is some residual animosity towards Selenites in the capital, Stella grew up being made fun of her blond hair, up until the point when the pastel and metal coloured hair trend hit and people started to emulate her. Magics considers fair hair beautiful, Stella participated in the Magics beauty contest fully knowing that and expecting a validation boost.

Solarians generally favour a strong and straight nose on men and women alike, and wouldn’t snub a good shoulder. For men having good pecks is literally THE ideal. Body hair trends are incredibly over the place: a new fad appears almost every season. Currently: men’s chest hair is in, leg hair should be trimmed. For women it’s clean armpits but stubbly legs are grand atm.

Layla was considered the ideal of Androsian femininity when she was young: lithe, studious and delicate. All the aunties that praised her aren’t so supportive now that she packs the muscles she gained from all her sporty hobbies in her time off planet. To them a build like hers speaks of different gender connotations (remember Andros has many) and they tsk quietly under their breath about what a pretty child she used to be and how she would find a husband looking like this? (jokes on them, Layla is bi and men and women find her muscles extremely attractive. Need I elaborate on how hard Nex was ready to simp for her?)

Niobe is considered gorgeous internationally, with her broad features and tall forehead, but as said before Androsians prefer their women extremely waifish, taking an extremely spin on gender expectations they absorbed from off-planet. Men are preferred to be more muscular than squishy, short and lithe and experts at a chosen trade.

Techna doesn’t hit it for their respective Transjordanian aunties. The pinnacle of feminine beauty is long hair and Techna very much doesn’t have that. Not that they care, non-binary standards are way different, favouring square features, dainty noses and flat chests. No body hair tho. That’s true for all genders in Transjordan.

Bloom is a bit out of place with her red hair living in southern Europa, but on Domino it’s not that much a looker. It is generally agreed that Daphne is the prettier Aglssier princess, but that has a lot more to do with her demeanour than looks.

Dominians prefer some pudge on their women and are definitely a boob aligned people. They like round eyes and pretty smiles - dentists are high in demand. Men are meant to sport some sort of facial hair and be broad.

Musa again is mixed, but elf and human. She was being complimented on her cute and quirky ears, which always left a bitter taste in her mouth because she knows full well that her full elf family has been mocked for those ears. But you know once it’s on mixed people it’s fine?

Melodeans like pale skin on any gender (Musa falls short here: neither is she naturally pale, nor is she known to sport a parasol or cake herself in sunscreen when going out). A pointy chin and rosy cheeks are desirable traits for women. Men are expected to have shiny and strong hair, the longer the better symbolising health and long life. Tall men are also seen as more beautiful than short ones.

Flora I think I would name as the singularly most beautiful Winx girl. She has a great complexion, full lips and hair that you can do a lot of styling with (which she normally doesn’t, but eh). She was a bit picked on for her weight, but once it became clear that it was her ideal weight, as in she is active, eats well etc with no weight fluctuation, those remarks disappeared. Other students at Alfea were inittially less kind in that regard.

Living on treetops, people from her part of Lynphea are short, so they fawn over taller people. They prefer women have wide hips and strong arms and full lips. Men should have broad shoulders and large hands (?) and a soft face.

#Anonymous #winx club #asks #butterfly fic #headcanons #beuty ideals #gendered talk

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thegreatestofheck · 4 years

Text

The Girl with No Heartbeat Pt.6 ⊰JJ Maybank⊱

(gif not mine. credit to kaipurge)

word count - 6.2k warnings - none other than the fact that it is completely unedited. I hope no one minds synopsis - It’s movie night! Mera and the gang watch the first three Pirates of the Caribbean movies. It’s all fun and games until something is triggered within Mera that sends her spiraling. a/n - So, this has got spoilers for the first three pirates movies, but only slightly, not much. It won’t be too bad if you haven’t seen it, it’s pretty vague. Also, I’m kind of deciding that there will be some love triangle action going on, so yay for that. Also, I’m sorry it took so long for this chapter to happen. Anyway, enjoy this chapter!!

***

When Mera stepped into the pod the next day, her shoulders sagged and she let out a deep sigh. She had thought that the pod had been full yesterday, yet somehow, overnight, Ward had managed to fill the pod even more. There had already been enough dread of coming back to work as it was, Mera couldn’t believe there was more in this room she would have to clean.

“As long as he keeps paying me for it,” she grumbled to herself. Just as she started to clamber her way less than delicately through the mass of stuff toward the bathtub with her ammonia filled bag, the door squeaked open.

“Hey,” Rafe said from behind her.

“Hello,” she replied as she tiptoed around a dishwasher.

“Um, how are you?”

“Fine. You?”

“Good, good.”

Mera glanced behind her to see Rafe still standing by the door with a bag in his hand. His lips were pressed into a fine line and he was staring at his shoes.

“What do you have there?” Mera asked once she reached the tub. Rafe lifted the bag.

“Oh, I just bought, uh, donuts,” he said. “Thought you might be hungry.”

“Why would I be hungry?” she laughed, hoisting the bag out of the tub. Rafe rolled and for a moment he looked like that arrogant boy she remembered the first time they met.

“Those pogues you live with barely have food to feed themselves. I doubt they have the supply to feed you too,” he said. Mera scowled at him even as she lugged her bag back toward him.

“And you wonder why I punched you in the mouth when we first met,” she scoffed. Rafe scowled at her as she dropped the bag onto the ground. The metal stove tops inside clattered to the ground, but she didn’t flinch as she kept Rafe’s gaze.

“If you have a lecture for me, save it,” he snapped suddenly, crossing his arms.

“I don’t lecture, Rafe,” she said and broke eye contact. She leaned down to pick the bag off the ground again.

“Right, you just hit people you don’t agree with.”

“No, I hit entitled, arrogant assholes who think they’re better than everyone else because their daddy has money,” she snapped, sending him a hard glare. Rafe’s mouth parted as he thought up something to say, but then he looked away from her, glaring at the ground. “You don’t want a lecture? Fine, you won’t get one from me. But don’t expect to be making friends any time soon if you keep acting like you own the world.”

“Who said I needed friends?” He asked as Mera pushed past him toward the door. Mera rolled her eyes, settling back into a scowl.

“Hmm, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you keep following me around like a lost kitten,” she said. She stepped outside and started toward the house, looking for a faucet of some kind.

“I don’t follow you around!” he said as he followed her outside.

“Admit it. You’re either madly in love with me or you just really, desperately need a friend. I’d prefer the latter.”

Rafe spluttered for a bit, crossing and uncrossing his arms as he struggled to find something decent to say. Mera found a hose and set the bag down in the grass beside it.

“You wanna make yourself useful?” Mera snapped. “Find me a bucket or a tub or something I can use.”

Rafe stormed away and Mera looked down at her trash bag.

“Hey, Mera!” Someone called from above. She looked up to see Sarah hanging out a window. “How’s it going?”

“Your brother’s a bilge rat.”

“I don’t know what that means, but if it’s West Coast for ‘asshole’ then yeah, pretty much” Sarah said. “Anything I can do to help you?”

Mera shook her head and let out a sigh.

“No, I don’t think so, Sarah. It’s appreciated though,” Mera said.

“So, uh, how’s Kiara?” Sarah asked, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “And the others? Kiara and the others. You know, because you live with them you would know. At least, you live with John B and sometimes JJ so, of course.”

Mera felt herself smile as she tore open the trash bag. She gagged momentarily at the smell of the ammonia, but then she looked back up at Sarah.

“They’re all good.”

“Good is good. Good is good.” Sarah let out a sigh and Mera’s smile grew.

“You and Kiara, are you-”

“No!” Sarah said quickly. “God, no. I like men. Men only. Only men. Kiara and I were...friends back in the day.”

“Why aren’t you friends now?”

“Hold on a sec,” Sarah said before leaning back into the house. “Yeah, Dad?”

Mera waited patiently as she heard Ward and Sarah’s muffled voices.

“Hey, Mera?” Sarah called down from above once again. “I’ve gotta go real quick, but I’ll be back soon and maybe we can chat then, yeah?”

Mera smiled up and nodded her head.

“Catch ya later,” the blonde said before ducking back inside. Despite how angry Mera had just been, Sarah had somehow managed to make her smile. That smile faltered when a tub was thrown at her feet.

“I’m not in love with you,” Rafe said, standing behind Mera. She sighed and lowered her hands.

“I’ll be your friend, Rafe, on one condition,” she said, turning and standing. Rafe almost seemed to flinch at her. “Don’t make jabs at my family.”

Rafe cleared his throat.

“Right. No more jabs.”

Mera gave her head a stiff nod.

“Also, one more thing,” she said, holding up a finger.

“I thought you said only one condition.”

“This isn’t a condition. Just a favor.”

“I bought you a donut, isn’t that favor enough?”

“Listen, all I need is something to scrub these metal things down with. I’m not asking you to murder anyone or anything,” Mera said, growing slightly more irritated.

“I think there’s one in the kitchen,” he said finally. Mera raised an eyebrow.

“You think?”

Rafe simply rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on his face as he walked toward the front of the house.

~~~

“You may not want to touch me,” Mera said with a laugh, holding her hands out as Kie threw her arms around Mera’s shoulders. “I’m gross.”

“We’re all gross,” Kie laughed. Mera held up her hands, covered in grime and black muck. Kie grimaced and Mera gave her head a little nod.

“That’s what I thought.”

Mera started toward the house, Kie strolling along beside her.

“So, where are the boys?” Mera asked.

“They’re getting snacks for movie night,” Kie said, a smile on her face. “I’m so excited. We’ve gotta start with the Pirates movies, of course, but I think you’re really gonna like Cinderella, so we’re doing that one next, no matter what JJ says.”

“So, no vampires in Santa Cruz?”

“No vampires, period. Not until you watch Cinderella, of course.”

Mera laughed to herself, giving her head a little shake.

“I was given a movie suggestion today that we should add to the list,” Mera said as she walked into the bathroom. Kie settled herself onto the toilet seat, watching Mera with a wide smile.

“Sure, what movie?”

“Pulp Fiction, I think it was called?” Kie rolled her eyes at the suggestion.

“That’s John B’s favorite movie,” she said with a quiet huff. “Who suggested it?”

“Oh, uh, Sarah.”

Kie was too immediately frazzled by the mention of Sarah’s name to see the way Mera’s eyes flicked back and forth at her own lie.

“Why were you talking to Sarah?” Kie asked, a scowl pinching her eyebrows. Mera shrugged, turning on the water and beginning to scrub at her hands.

“She’s nice to me.”

“She’s a two faced bitch is what she is,” Kie grumbled, pulling her knees up to her chest and scowling even harder. Mera glanced over and raised an eyebrow.

“I feel like I am missing a vital piece of information. What happened between the two of you?” Mera continued to scrub at her hands, remembering the way Sarah blushed and stuttered after asking about Kie. There was definitely something going on.

“She was my best friend.” There was a deep sadness in Kie’s voice that made Mera turn the water down and put more of her attention on her. “We did everything together. She was everything…. But she wasn’t who I thought she was.”

“What did she do?” Mera tried to remember the way her father used to talk to her when she was upset, how he would lower his voice and reach out to grab her hand to keep her from shaking, how sometimes he would pretend to be distracted with something else so she didn’t feel like she was burdening him with all her troubles. Now, Mera tried to emulate that same feeling for her friend, for Kie.

Kie scoffed, but her eyes were full of tears.

“It sounds stupid,” the girl grumbled. Mera was tempted to put a hand on Kie’s shoulder and give her a reassuring squeeze, but her hands were still covered in filth.

“Your pain is anything but stupid.”

Kie looked up at Mera, her deep brown eyes still full of tears, but there was a small smile on the girl’s lips.

“It’s movie night,” Kie said suddenly, straightening her back and blinking away her tears. “There’s no crying on movie night.”

Mera watched as Kie shoved her feelings back down into the box she kept them in. It was a familiar sight. Mera had seen it in the mirror a million times before.

“Right. I just have to get this uck off of my hands and then I’ll be ready.”

~~~

Mera thought that movie night would have been at the Chateau, since it was where they had spent all of their time already. She was surprised when the boys pulled up in the van, the back stocked full of snacks that Mera had never seen before in her lives, but none of the boys got out.

“You sea lassies ready to go?” JJ asked from the back with a horrible pirate accent, holding the sliding door open with a smile. Mera was caught somewhere between mentioning the accent and asking where exactly they were going.

“Aren’t we staying?” She asked finally while Kie climbed into the seat beside John B.

“Kie’s the only one with a TV,” John B said. Mera barely had time to scowl at the unusual name before Pope started to explain it.

“TV. It’s short for television. It’s like a flat box that displays the movie onto it,” Pope said, popping a red fish-like food into his mouth. JJ offered Mera a hand to help her into the van, which she took even though she really didn’t need to. When she felt her face flush, she pulled her hand from his and settled down across from him, beside Pope, who continued to prattle on about the long and exciting history of television.

“JJ, hand me the notebook,” Kie said from the front seat. Mera, who had been watching Pope as he talked to her, glanced over at JJ when he didn’t respond to his friend, only to find that his blue eyes were fixed on her. “JJ!”

The boy startled and seemed to snap back into reality. He pulled a notebook from one of his many pockets and handed it to Kie, not looking at Mera. Instead, he started to fiddle with the ring on his pointer finger. An unholy array of thoughts passed through Mera’s mind before Pope elbowed her lightly in the arm and nodded toward John B.

“Kie says you’re adding Pulp Fiction to the list?” John B said, looking in the rearview mirror with a large smile. Mera nodded her head.

“It was recommended.”

“By who?”

“Um, Sarah,” Mera said as she glanced at Kie, who had taken to picking aimlessly at her nails.

“Sarah Cameron suggested you watch Pulp Fiction?” Pope asked with a tone of disbelief. All Mera could do was smile and nod and pray that they wouldn’t push her any further. Of course Sarah hadn’t recommended Pulp Fiction. Rafe did, but there was no way that Mera was going to tell them that, especially when John B’s smile was so big.

“What are these?” Mera asked, looking at all the different bags laying in front of her. JJ suddenly reentered the conversation as it turned onto food, a glimmer in his eyes.

“These are hot cheetos. They didn’t have any takis, so we had to get these. Those over by Pope are Swedish Fish. They’re disgusting-”

“No they aren’t!” Pope protested, tossing two more of the red fish into his mouth.

“You’re the only one who likes them. Anyway-” Mera reached over and put her hand in the Swedish fish bag, pulling out one of the oblong candies. Pope nodded his head enthusiastically for her to try it. “We got some Pringles and some Skittles and some chocolates for JB and some gummy worms and some raspberries for Kie.”

“Really?” Kie turned around in her chair again, a huge smile on her face. “I didn’t think they were in season.”

“They aren’t but Pope over here wanted to buy some for you anyway,” JJ said with a huff. Mera still held the Swedish Fish in her hand, not sure if she was actually willing to try it.

“Thanks, Pope,” Kie said, turning her smile to the boy sitting next to Mera. Instead of saying anything to Kie, Pope tried to hide his sheepish smile by turning and talking to Mera.

“Try it!” He said, motioning for the fish in her hand. “I promise it’s good. JJ just has jacked up taste buds from all the weed he smokes.”

JJ stuck out his tongue, but the joke was enough motivation for Mera to finally take a bite out of the candy. The outside was almost hard, but the inside was soft and gooey. Mera scowled, unsure of what to make of the sweet flavor at first.

“See?” JJ said, crossing his arms. “Disgusting.”

“She hasn’t said anything yet!” Pope protested.

“It’s all over her face, Poe. She hates it.”

“It’s actually not the worst thing I’ve ever eaten,” Mera said once she had chewed enough to swallow, which felt like forever.

“See?” Pope sneered at his blond friend in a mocking tone.

“She said not the worst, which doesn’t mean it’s any good.”

“Well,” Mera said with a smile. “When you’ve eaten gull legs, gruel, and barnacles, there isn’t a lot that doesn’t taste good.”

“There, Pope, you happy?” Kie said from the front, her leg propped up on the dash. “Swedish Fish aren’t as disgusting as seagull legs.”

Pope scowled and threw another fish in his mouth as Mera chewed quietly on her own. Mera sat back and let them all talk to each other, passing insults and jokes that Mera didn’t quite understand. But she laughed anyway because one day she would understand and one day those jokes would be funny to her too.

She wasn’t sure what she expected Kie’s house to be like, but the grandiose mansion was not it. For a moment, she felt her heart plummet. But when she glanced over at Kie and saw the same look of disappointment, Mera felt a warm feeling return.

“Your parents know we’re coming, right Kie?” Pope asked as he looked up at the large, white house, carrying a bag of snacks in his arms.

“Of course they do,” Kie said with a roll of her eyes. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“Because last time you didn’t tell them,” JJ said. “And we got a nearly three hour lecture.”

“Right. Well, I did tell them this time.” Kie turned to Mera. “And they are so excited to meet you.”

Kie’s mom wasn’t there when the five showed up, but her dad was more than happy to welcome them inside.

“Hey, Big Mike!” JJ said as they all walked inside, Kie taking the lead. Mike, Kie’s dad, did not seem impressed by JJ or his toothy grin. Pope shook his hand, which made Mr. Carrera almost smile, but he ignored John B completely.

“You must be Mera,” Mike said when he finally came to her. Mera forced herself to smile and she nodded. She shook his outstretched hand.

“That I am.”

“And you’re…John B’s cousin?” Mike looked between Mera and John B for a few moments, eyebrow raised just like his daughter did.

“Why does no one believe that she’s my cousin?” John B grumbled, crossing his arms. Mera simply laughed.

“Yes. He’s my cousin.”

“Well, I’m glad to finally meet you. You’re always welcome here,” he said, still smiling.

“I didn’t get an always welcome invite,” said JJ, to which Kie rolled her eyes.

“There’s a very good reason for that, JJ.”

~~~

There was only mild interrogation before Mike decided it was okay to leave them alone and lock himself away in his room. With the lights shut off, the popcorn popped, and candies in a wild array around them, all five teens wrapped themselves in blankets and settled down in front of the TV.

It took some getting used to for Mera. A lot of getting used to. At first, the lights from the screen hurt her eyes and the music was so loud. But by the time the movie actually started, she stopped cringing. Mera was settled near the edge of the couch between Kie and Pope so she could steal Swedish Fish from his bag but still reach the popcorn (which, she discovered, was heaven sent. Way better than gull feet).

She let her mind stop wondering how hard it must have been to invent the thing before, stop trying to figure out how it worked, stop lamenting over her lost centuries, and let herself just enjoy the movie placed before her.

It was part romance, part sea-faring adventure. Inaccurate as it was, Mera found herself enjoying it. She laughed with the jokes, shoved her face full of popcorn when things got tense, and exclaimed more than once about how cool Jack Sparrow was.

“Just wait till the next movies,” Kie gushed. “You’ll love them all even more.”

There was no question as to whether they would put in the next movie. In the brief time it took Kie to slide out of her spot and put the next disk in, the boys were berating Mera with questions.

“How accurate was it?”

“Did you like it?”

“Did you notice when-”

“Did you ever meet Jack Sparrow?”

“Jack Sparrow’s fake, you idiot.”

“I’m pretty sure it was Captain Jack Sparrow.”

“Right, right.”

The second movie started and everyone went silent. Again, Mera was enthralled. There was no turning her head from the screen. If someone even opened their mouth to speak, she was shushing them instantly. She didn’t want to miss a single second.

By half way through the third movie, Kie had fallen asleep on Mera’s shoulder. Pope didn’t last much longer before he too fell asleep, his empty bag of Swedish Fish fallen on the floor. John B stayed awake until the big battle started. Mera had no idea how he slept through all the cannon fire. She flinched almost every time one went off and every time, Kie would squeeze her hand in her sleep.

“He’s not dead,” Mera whispered into the darkness, the first time she had spoken since the post-second movie interrogation. She looked across the couch toward JJ, who was the only one left awake. He was shocked to see the light of the television illuminated the glimmer of a tear on her face. “He can’t be.”

JJ wished he was closer, just so he could reassure her that everything would be alright. Even though her worries were relieved just seconds later, he couldn’t help but wish he was closer. He barely looked back at the screen the entire rest of the movie, watching the way her eyes lit up near the end with the scene at the beach, watching the way another tear slid down her cheek at the painful departure of the two lovers. He watched her smile at the final scenes with Jack and Barbossa and Gibbs, watched as her mouth fell open with shock when the credits started to roll.

“There’s a little scene at the end,” JJ whispered to her. She finally looked over at him and nodded, trusting that he was telling the truth. She read through all of the names, mentally thanking everyone of them for their contribution until, just like JJ said, there was a small scene at the end.

It was simple and it was short, but by the end of it, Mera had more than one tear rolling from her eyes. The movie ended completely and JJ shut the TV off, but Mera still stared at the now blank screen.

“What did you think?” He asked, giving her a few moments to process. At first, all she could do was nod her head.

“That was….” Mera let out a long sigh as she struggled to find the word that suited it best. “Epic.”

“You really liked it?”

At the near giddiness in JJ’s voice, Mera finally tore her eyes from the screen to look at him and nod.

“I’ll probably have to watch it a million more times.”

“We have to watch Lost Boys first,” JJ said, slouching down farther in his chair. “And Interview With a Vampire.”

Mera laughed quietly and Kie stirred beside her, groaning quietly in her sleep.

“Kie said that we have to watch Cinderella first,” Mera told JJ as she looked down at the sleeping girl. JJ made a fake vomiting sound.

“That’s a princess movie,” he said with a disgusted look on his face.

“So?”

“Princesses are for girl’s, Mera!”

“From my experience,” Mera told him, crossing her arms gently. “Boys have been more infatuated with princesses than any other breed since the title was even thought up. More boys would give their right arm and leg to marry a princess than, say, a pirate.”

“I’d marry a pirate,” JJ said confidently. Mera felt her face grow hot and she was suddenly grateful for the darkness to cover her. “I, uh, I just mean that not every guy is looking for a princess to fall in love with. That’s all.”

“Right, of course.”

The mood fell flat. JJ cleared his throat twice like he was going to say something else, but never did. Eventually, Mera gave up on the awkward silence.

“Goodnight, JJ,” she said suddenly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night, Mera.”

They fell silent again. Mera tried to squeeze her eyes shut and pray for sleep, but her mind was still racing at a thousand miles a minute. Not only were the movie scenes still bouncing around her head, but she was actively trying to convince herself that JJ hadn’t just said he would marry a pirate...in the presence of a literal pirate.

Of course he didn’t mean me, she thought to herself. I’m not really a pirate anymore, now am I?

Mera didn’t realize that the movie scenes in her mindseye had shifted from what she had actually seen on the television, to something more fantastical until she was already asleep. Fiction morphed with reality until she was back on the sea once more, the taste of salt in the air as sea mist sprayed through the air.

She was on top of the Black Pearl, with two captains at the helm. At first, she thought it was Jack and Barbossa, like it was in the movies, but when they both turned around, she realized that they were strangers. She didn’t recognize their faces because their features were blurred beyond comprehension. Despite not knowing what they looked like, Mera felt like she...knew them both.

Two captains of one ship. She couldn’t tell who they were, but the feeling of familiarity was too real to pass up.

And then things got even weirder.

She heard her father call her name, but it wasn’t the name she was used to hearing from his lips.

“Mera,” he whispered to her from somewhere behind. When she turned, he wasn’t there. “Mera.”

From behind again. She spun, this time hoping to catch him standing there, but there was nothing but the sea mist. She scowled, confused as the two captains shouted contradictory orders. The boat tugged and it pulled, trying to obey the commands of both of her captains at once.

“Mera!” This was a different voice. The voice of a song, but strict and stern. This time, when Mera turned, she found herself standing face to face with her siren sister, Ira. Her deep brown skin glittered in the sunlight as water dripped down her nude body. Her lips were pursed, expertly covering the fangs that hid beneath. Her brown eyes sparkled, but in every way that made Mera shiver.

“You left us,” Ira hissed. Mera heard her words inside her head, but her mouth did not move. “You abandoned your own family.”

“No.” Mera shook her head and took a step backward.

“Yes, Mera.”

“Mera!” A third voice called. Mera spun around and the ship changed. No longer was she on the Black Pearl with it’s two captains, but she was back on the Iron Anchor, her mother standing by the stern. Ira was gone.

“Mera!” Her mother cried out. “Look out!”

Mera spun around, ducking under the swing of a sword with milliseconds to spare. As she stumbled backward, still wearing the pajamas Kie had leant her, Mera realized what was happening.

Cannon fire echoed through the air, the smell of sea salt air replaced by gunpowder and burning wood. The mast of the Anchor lay toppled over, creating a wonderful walkway for the British ship that bobbed a few yards beside them. They were being attacked.

She fell back into the flow of fighting almost instantly. Without any protection and no weapon, Mera needed to think smart. She ducked and evaded until she could get a clean shot at a gut or the groin, waiting for the right moment to grab a weapon.

“Mera!” Her mother’s voice called again, but from much closer. There was no time to look for her though. All Mera could do was fight to stay alive. It suddenly felt as if Mera was the only one left fighting the British, that they were all ganging up on her and she was nearly defenseless to stop them.

“Mera,” her mother said from somewhere that she couldn’t see. “None of this would have happened if you hadn’t left me.”

“I’m right here, Mother,” Mera said, grinding her teeth as she fought to keep the sword of her opponent from running her through.

“You left us.” Her mother’s voice was weepy. “I lost your father and then I lost you. I am so alone.”

“No!” Mera cried, shoving her opponent off of her and into another British soldier. “I’m right here.”

She heard her mother scream, the same ear splitting cry Mera had heard the day her father had been run through. Turning slowly to face the other side of the boat, Mera saw the Commander of the British ship holding a sword that was deep in Amarylis Briarheart’s gut. The same Commander that had killed her father.

“No!” Mera screamed. She ran across the suddenly empty deck, with no opposition in her path. She didn’t hesitate to grab the Commander and pull him away from her mother. They fought, just as they had done once long, long before. And just like before, the Commander sunk his sword into Mera’s side. For half a second, she felt the sting of metal tear through her flesh, and then she just felt numb. Clenching her jaw, Mera didn’t even look back at her dying mother before wrapping her arms around the Commander’s neck and leaning over the edge of the boat, toppling down deep, deep into the darkness below.

“Mera,” a voice whispered like a lullaby. She wasn’t sure if it was Ira or her mother or Kie, but the voice was quiet and calm, like a wave lapping against a quiet shore.

“Mera.”

The ocean was cold and it was dark, but Mera could barely feel anything. She recognized the numbness. It faded quickly as her lungs began to burn and the salt of the water began to stab at her wound.

And Mera waited. She waited for Ira to come like she did before. She waited for the offer that she would accept so she wouldn’t have to die. But Ira never came.

“You took immortality from me once,” Ira’s voice said, though she was nowhere to be seen. “And you gave it up for some boy!”

“He didn’t deserve to die,” Mera replied.

“Maybe not.” There was a pause. “Then again, maybe you did.”

In one swift motion, Mera felt something tug harshly against her neck, dragging her down, down, down, away from the light of the sun and into the depths of the sea. Mera screamed, or she tried to, at least. One arm around her neck became a dozen hands across her entire body, pulling at her flesh, tearing out her hair, yanking her down to the sea floor.

“You have blood on your hands,” an unfamiliar voice boomed throughout the ocean. “It’s time for you to pay for it, Mera.”

Her screams never stopped as the sirens she once called her brothers and sisters tore into her skin as she had done so many times, shrieking her new name as they did so as if it was an insult on their lips.

“Mera! Mera!” They cried.

“Mera!” The booming voice echoed.

“Mera!” Ira hissed in her ear.

“Mera!” Her mother shrieked for her as she fell over the side of the boat.

“Mera!” Her dad breathed as he died.

“Mera!” the two mysterious captains yelled, both vying for her attention.

“Mera!”

With a gasp, she shot upward, her eyes snapping open.

“Mera, are you okay?” Mike Carrera knelt in front of her, holding her wrists in his strong grip. Beside him sat Kie, eyes full of worry and fear. She looked around. To Pope, who was sitting next to her still, a hand on her shoulder. To John B, who was standing behind Mike and Kie with a fist pressed to his lips. To JJ, who sat on his knees beside her, fear etched into every feature.

“What…?” She gasped for breath, noticing how hoarse her voice was. “What happened?”

“You were screaming,” Kie told her quietly. “And shaking.”

“It must have been a nightmare,” Mike said, dropping his hands from her wrist back to his side. Once his grip was gone from her, Mera realized how badly she was shaking. Sweat beaded down her neck and spine, her muscles refused to relax as she tried not to look at the worried faces that surrounded her.

“Yeah,” Mera murmured. “A nightmare.”

“Are you okay?” Pope asked, his hand not leaving her shoulder despite how damp it was. Mera nodded her head slowly, not really trusting herself to speak.

“I’ll get you some water,” John B said. Mera didn’t even have the strength to thank him.

“Why don’t you sleep in my bed?” Kie asked, leaning forward and putting a hand on Mera’s knee. She just shook her head.

“I would rather stay out here,” she said. “If that’s okay with you guys.”

She glanced at Pope and JJ, almost worried they would kick her out for waking them up.

“Of course that’s okay,” Pope said and gave her his best reassuring smile. John B returned with a cup of water that Mera took with trembling hands.

“K, can I talk to you?” Mike asked, pushing himself to his feet. Kie nodded, following after him once she had given Mera’s hand a tight squeeze.

“Here,” John B said, “We can sleep on the floor. You and Kie take the couch. It will be more comfortable that way.”

Mera couldn’t find the strength to protest. Pope and JJ almost silently moved off of the couch, dragging their blankets and pillows with them onto the floor. She flattened herself just as quietly, straining to her ears to hear what Mike and Kie were talking about. Being a siren had left her with three unchanged physical characteristics; the unnaturally sea green eyes, an unbeating heart, and ears that were very tuned in for hushed conversations. This was one of the rare moments that Mera was grateful for it.

“...anything happen at home?” Mike asked Kie.

“Not...not that I know of. She’s had a tough life, though,” Kie replied. Mera felt the all too familiar weight of embarrassment press down against her. She wanted nothing more than to sink into the holes of this far too comfortable couch and stay there forever.

“I might not know much, but I know those kinds of nightmares aren’t good for a kid,” Mike said. Mera could imagine him with his hands on his hips, a concerned dad look on his face. In the brief moments Mera had met him, he almost reminded her of her own father. It made her sad.

“She’ll be fine, Dad,” Kie said. The confidence in her voice gave Mera a little bit of hope.

“You don’t need to fix her, K.” These words were spoken even quieter than the other ones. The silence was deafening. “I know you want to fix that boy and you can’t, but that doesn’t mean you should take on another charity case.”

“That’s not what this is, Dad!” Kie’s anger was evident even through her hushed tone. “JJ and Mera don’t need to be fixed. They’re not broken. They’re people who are hurt and they just need something stable and safe.”

“And that has to be you?”

“Not necessarily.”

“But it is.” Kie was silent. “Look, baby, I know why you want to help them, but you have to take care of yourself too. They have to take care of you too.”

“They do! I-”

Mera couldn’t stand to listen to any more. She rolled off the couch and tiptoed toward the sliding glass door that led to an outdoor patio. She didn’t even care to look and see if the boys were asleep yet.

The fresh air felt good against her hot face and skin. Out in the open, she felt like she could breathe again. Lifting her head and she breathed deeply through her nose, Mera looked out toward the horizon, gazing at the glittering ocean set before her. The moon shone bright in the sky, reflecting off of the surface of the water. The stars twinkled above and shimmered below. If Mera could look past the trees and the buildings and the streetlamps, she could almost convince herself that she was back on the sea, with the wind in her hair, and the smell of the salt covering the musk of the men.

But her moment of bliss was interrupted by the ever present ocean call. Her brothers and sisters sang to her from under the wave, luring her back to the water so she could pay the price for her sins. She had gotten a taste of what that might look like tonight in her dream and the thought scared her more than anything. The lullaby made her knees weak and she felt her breath go ragged again. It was too hot to go back inside, but she couldn’t stand being out here much longer.

Luckily, her break came when the sliding glass door opened again.

“Hey.”

It was JJ.

Mera brushed away a stray tear or two that managed to squeeze it’s way out of her eyes before half turning her head toward him.

“Hey.”

He walked forward, joining her at the railing. He leaned up against it just like she did, looking out over the water. For a moment he was silent and she wasn’t sure he was going to say anything else. His presence was enough to drown out the siren call a little, but she knew that if he spoke, she wouldn’t be able to hear it at all. She just wanted to be rid of it.

“What were you dreaming about?” He asked finally.

“Nothing pleasant,” she told him with a sigh.

“Mmm.” He looked down at his hands. “We triggered something, didn’t we? Watching those movies?”

Mera shrugged her shoulders. It was possible. Probable, actually. But she had enjoyed herself. It was fun, until she fell asleep.

“We’ll take a break from pirates and the undead for our next movie night,” JJ told her. “We’ll watch Cinderella.”

Mera felt herself smile.

“That sounds good to me.”

When she looked over at JJ and saw the deep blue of the sea in his eyes, she felt the ocean call once again. But this was different. This wasn’t luring her to her death, but pulling her closer to something else, to him. And it wasn’t just a quiet song in the back of her mind. It was a roaring choir, a thousand times louder and a thousand times stronger.

And a thousand times harder to resist.

~~~

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maisondenachtai · 4 years

Text

Hell Hath No Fury (Two-Shot)

Pairing: Frat!Chris Evans x Soro!Jealous!Black!Reader Warnings: no real warnings for this one, next one be on the look out. mentions of roughness...maybe considered dark! Summary: Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. (Author’s Note: This was written for @jtargaryen18’s 30 Days of Chris! This was pretty much an idea that I blurted onto the paper so it’s not the best and I didn’t proofread it. lol....enjoy! Join the taglist gang!)

It was frat night at Jimmy’s. You knew that. Your girls knew that. Everyone within a 20-mile radius of the university knew that. Crowds over 30 avoided this night, for girls not quite of age it was the most important night to have a fake ID and the worst night to get turned away. For your girls it was a time to get plastered and mix with the frat boys. For you…well…you were there for other reasons.

Walking into a bar always gave you a rush, especially a bar like Jimmy’s. As you pushed the door opened, two bells rung like signals making everyone turn to look at you and your friends. You smiled quickly scanning the crowd and found that your reason for coming to the bar was leaning against the bar, beer tilted to his lips, girl on the side of him, friends around him. You made sure to catch the eye of his friend, Sean, smiling as his eyes drifted down your body and then his hand went through his hair in an expression of exasperation. And when he nudged Gregory, pointing his beer in your direction, you moved from their eyeline before your reason could get a complete eyeful.

You smirked as you made your way through the crowd, making sure to take the most indirect route to your destination, making sure that you were always at least half-way blocked by someone taller than you. Your smirk grew when you heard the tell-tale noises of Kappa Tau, the sound of yelling and glasses hitting the table louder than other noises in the bar letting you know that you were heading in the right direction. When you finally made it, you grinned as the men took you and your friends in and you sat on top of the table taking the nearest pint and drinking quite a bit of it.

“Hey.” Brody said, smirk on his face as you pulled the cup away from your mouth, wiping the remnants of the beer off of your mouth. “That was mine.”

“It’s mine now.” You grinned knowing that your smile could get you into and out of a lot of trouble. Brody rolled his eyes, smirk deepening showing the dimples in his tan cheeks. “What? Slumming it with us now? I thought you Zeta rolled with the Gammas, or…them.”

Zaria sat down making the boys around the bar make more room for her, “Well Chad said he wasn’t making an appearance tonight, and if Chad doesn’t come then Michael ain’t coming either. So it was either you doofuses or them.”

You smirked, running a finger down the side of Brody’s face. “And we much rather hang with you guys.”

“Oh really?” Brody sat back, looking up at you. “This have anything to do with why your boy is staring daggers at me right now?”

“I have no boy.” You shrugged, feigning ignorance even though you could feel the heat on the side of your body.

“Right.” Brody sat up again, leaning forward and tilting his head up so that your lips were nearly meeting. “Hey, I’m willing to play a part in whatever you’re trying to do-“ He said low enough for only you two to hear. “But you need to let me know.”

“He looking right now?” You asked him.

“Oh yeah.”

“Cool.” You kissed him then, placing your hands on either side of his face making sure that the kiss looked convincing. Your tongue maneuvered in and out of Brody’s mouth, ebbing and flowing with Brody’s tongue, and before parting you bit down on Brody’s lip making him chuckle.

“Fuck.” He said picking up his half drunken pint. “You really want trouble.”

And trouble was heading towards you, you could tell because the crowd was moving, was parting for him. You could feel it when he got nearer to you, and felt the heat of his anger when he was standing just to the side of you.

“Y/n.” He said, gruffly.

You didn’t look up at him, still looking at Brody who was also ignoring him, sipping on his beer.

“Y/n.” He said a little louder.

You lazily turned your head, your hair brushing your back as it moved. “Chris. What’s up?”

“Let’s talk.” He said, placing his hands in his jeans. “Now.”

“She your property Evans?” Brody sat up, placing his pint down on the bar, sitting up and angling his body so that he was slightly in front of you.

“I wasn’t talking to you Michaels.” Chris said, eyes not moving from yours. You could tell he was clenching and unclenching his jaw, the vein in his neck was starting to bulge a little. “Come with me.” He simply said then, voice low. A warning.

“And if I say no?” You crossed your legs leaning back on the table, the latex of your dress readjusting itself around your curves. You didn’t miss how his eyes honed in on your legs, and then your body. When he met your eyes, you smirked.

He looked away then, mouth moving in what was no doubt a curse. “Y/n.”

“Chris.” You mimicked his tone, smirking at him and then sighed, sitting up again leaning towards him. “Listen, my twin is at the bar. It’s Christy, right? The fucking sophomore that dresses just like me. That wears her hair like mine, that is basically my fucking clone? Go back to that bitch and tell her Halloween is in two months and she needs to do me better.” You grinned as the boys and Zaria laughed.

Chris stepped towards you and you gulped a little, seeing how his eyes narrowed a little. You knew what that look meant and you were excited for it. “I’ll see you later.” He said nodding at you. He smirked then. “I like your dress.”

He walked away, crowd parting for him and then swallowing him. You took a deep breath, posture going from confident to hunched a little as you turned to Zaria. She shook her head, a cup to her lips. You grinned at her.

“Stage 2?” She said after a minute.

You nodded. “Stage 2.”

Stage 2 was simple. Fuck with Chris.

You leaned on the bar when you made it through the crowd, asking for two rum and cokes. You made sure your back was arched slightly, so the latex of your dress cupped your round ass just right. You turned your head slightly and found that you had a captive audience.

You looked at Sean, then Greg, and finally Chris who seemed to be getting more annoyed or angry, or both by the minute. You honed in on Christy who was still talking to Chris, who had already stopped listening to her.

“Hey.” You said, loud enough for Christy to hear you over the music and her own non-stop talking. She looked over, eyes slightly widening when she saw that it was you who was trying to get attention. She smiled then, pushing her hair behind her ears.

“It’s Crystal right?” You asked her, smiling innocently.

“Christy actually.” She said, voice smooth and soft.

You looked her over, smiling at her as she fidgeted when you met her eyes again, “You’re pretty. Do I know you from somewhere?”

You heard Chris suck his teeth, and saw him bring his drink, now a cup of something clear instead of the beer he was drinking. You pursed your lip as you made a show of really thinking about it. “Were you on homecoming court last year?”

She nodded smile bright on her face, “Yeah. I was Mrs. Freshman.”

You snapped, “That’s right! I remember saying that you were so pretty.” You could hear Zaria snickering back behind you and you nudged her discreetly. “Are you running again this year?”

She shrugged, “I don’t know. Do you think I could?”

You nodded, telling the truth this time. Although she was basically emulating you, you couldn’t deny that she was quite pretty. In fact, when you first saw her on Chris’s Instagram, it shook you that she was so pretty. You probably wouldn’t be going so hard if she wasn’t so pretty. It really grinded your gears. “I think you could and should. And you should get a move on. You’ve already lost a lot of time.”

“I’ll run then. What about you?” She asked, moving closer to you, completely forgetting Chris.

“Her? Of course, she is, what’s a drama queen without her crown?” Chris commented, making you look at him. He smirked then, knowing he caught you off guard.

“So rude. I’m not sure how you deal with him.” You smirked at Christy who laughed.

“He’s alright sometimes. I mean you’ve dealt with him. You know.” She shared a sisterly smile with you and you genuinely laughed. Your twin was alright. It was just too bad…

“You didn’t come here with friends? No offense Greg, Sean, but hanging out with these assholes must be boring.” You smiled at her, and then thanked the bartender when he brought your drinks over. You turned to Zaria. “This is Zaria, Zaria this is Cryst- Christy. Sorry babe.” You turned to her, smiling innocently.

“No, it’s okay. Hi Zaria.”

Zaria waved, smiling. “Hey girl. You look good, I swear I’ve seen that outfit before.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing. “Hey, what do you say you hang out with us tonight?”

Christy smiled, “Really…I mean, I came here to hang with Chris.”

You batted the air, looking at Chris quickly and loving the daggers he was staring at you. “He won’t mind. He doesn’t own you anyway. Hey, we might be able to find you another man tonight.” You smirked, getting on one side of her and Zaria took the other side, you guided her to an empty booth.

You looked back at Chris, watching him with evil glee on your face as he watched you take his date away.

For the past 15 minutes you had been listening to Zaria and Christy talk, sitting in the middle of them in the booth, your eyes only on Chris who was staring at you as well. He had not moved from the spot at the bar, his position giving him a straight unfiltered view of you. You circled the rim of your glass that had long been empty, watching him with lowered eyes. He brought his drink up to his lips, only nodding at something that Sean told him.

You sat back a little, raising your head in defiance. You looked towards Christy, who was smiling as Zaria told her a story about a horrible professor she once had. When you looked back, you saw that Chris had looked at Christy as well and now was turning his head back towards you. You tilted your head a little, mouth turning up when he rolled his eyes.

“She’s cute.” You mouthed.

He sat the glass down, and stood upright. “Come here.” He mouthed back.

You shook your head, thrill running through your body when he stretched his neck, knowing if you were closer to him you would have heard that satisfying pop. When he focused on you again, he mouthed. “You’re driving me up the fucking wall.”

You laughed then.

Christy turned towards you, mousy eyes wide, “What?”

“Nothing.” You shook your head, placing your eyes on her. “Come on, let’s dance.”

Stage 3 was going off without a hitch. You had Christy between you and Zaria, making a pretty sandwich on the dance floor. You danced with each other, against each other, alternating between grinding and actually dancing. Every now and again your eyes would turn to where Chris was. He was alone now, nursing another drink. Sean and Greg had long since abandoned their moody friend choosing instead to dance with two attractive girls. You almost felt bad for Chris, you had ruined a frat night for him at his favorite spot, but this was his fault. It was his fault that you had to go through such lengths to fuck with him, just to show him that he was fooling himself.

There was no replacement for you.

No fucking sophomore was going to take your spot.

You made eyes with Chris, smiling when he sighed running his hand over his face. You would make all of this up to him one day, but right now he needed to suffer.

“Hey! I’ve got to pee.” You shouted.

“You want me to come with you.” Christy asked, still dancing against Zaria.

You shook your head. “Nah, I’m good. Dance. Have fun!” You grinned patting her shoulder.

You made eye contact with Chris one more time, before turning and heading to the bathroom that was located on the other side of the bar, down a darkened hallway.

You waited for five minutes before you turned and touched up your lip gloss. It would be any minute that Chris would be walking through that door. He would close the door and turn the lock, pushing you against the wall with his body, taking your neck in his hand. He would say through clenched lips,

“You’re going to fucking get it.”

And you would let him have you. All of you.

You wiped at the corner of your lips, looking up at the small clock on the wall. Another five minutes had passed. You looked at yourself in the mirror, reflection the image of sex kitten perfection, but maybe you had miscalculated somewhere. You looked at the door, hoping that it would open and tell you that Chris still wanted you as bad as you wanted him.

…You waited another two minutes. It was busy. So maybe it was taking him a while to get through the crowd.

You sighed when another minute passed. This was getting stupid. You stood upright and walked over to the door opening it up.

But just as suddenly as you opened a hand was pushing it open, and that same hand shot out and grabbed your neck pushing you back into the bathroom.

You smirked up at Chris, his eyes darkened with anger or lust or both.

“What took you so long?”

#chris evans x reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #chris evans fandom #chris evans fanfiction #30DaysofChris2020

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the-overgrowth · 4 years

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Retrospective: “Faybane” #1

This is where it all started, on July 8th, 2016. Although probably a bit earlier than that, but this is the earliest thing I can find that’s actually written down, so that’s what counts. And back in the day I didn’t let ideas marinate the way I do now, I just started writing pretty much as soon as I got the idea.

Anyway, the document was created at this point in time according to Google Docs, and was last modified in October 3rd, 2016. It’s only 3 chapters long, plus one incomplete fourth chapter, and the whole thing is about 17k words.

Which is a lot for 3 chapters. I would say something about how I’m less wordy now, but the latest draft is like 107k words long, so, like, I will always struggle with shutting the fuck up, methinks.

Also, the reason this is called “Faybane” is because that was the working title I used, and the name of this document. I thought it’d be the proper title but like. It’s bad lmao.

Anywhomst, let’s get into it!

Some background info for those who are new or need a refresher: this WIP became a thing after I read and was disappointed by A Court of Thorns and Roses by SJM, as well as The Iron King by Julie Kagawa and some book by Holly Black, was it Tithe?

ACOTAR was the biggest culprit. I feel that this is important to keep in mind as we go through this mess.

We open on Sidra in the forest with a bunch of men she calls a hunting party. It’s clear she doesn’t want to be there, but since she’s the only decent hunter among them and it’s her sister’s wedding today, she has to make the kill to feed the people attending said wedding.

This is, as the kids say, big stupid, and seems like a very ill-prepared celebration? I guess it makes some sense for them to want fresh meat, but this fresh? What if they didn’t find anything? What if they didn’t manage to kill anything? Is the whole thing cancelled? Stupid.

We find out they’ve been hunting a boar and that this dude named Liam, our Gaston replacement, previously wounded the animal but didn’t kill it, causing it to flee and force the hunting party to follow. It’s up to Sidra to make the killing blow, which she does with an arrow straight into its head. This was back when Sidra was still YA Heroine Extraordinaire and the time period was Vaguely Medieval, I guess.

They begin taking their quarry back home and Sidra thinks about how she normally doesn’t hunt this close to the “Faewilds” because animals closer to the border are said to be bigger and more violent. There isn’t an actual border, people just had to rely on intuition and not wander too far into the forest.

She also mentions a girl named Wilda, who disappeared fairly recently and everyone suspects it was the fae. This isn’t relevant now, but Wilda will return in later drafts, I think.

Everybody, especially my family, knew that I was one of the best archers in town, whether I used a bow or a crossbow.

Shut up, Not!Feyre. Nobody likes you.

I should mention that at this point I didn’t bother googling how big wild boars get and just assumed they were the size of like, a thick medium dog. Which is, if you know how big boars are, very incorrect. Four men pulling the animal seems realistic enough, but then Liam just lifts it up on his own? Not buying it.

Sidra laments how much she hates Liam and we find out that he apparently tried to assault her and she stabbed him? And apparently she’s not happy about his marriage to Sinéad but can’t do anything about it because “Father’s word is law” and Sinéad herself laughed it off when Sidra tried to warn her?

Yeah, gonna call bullshit on that one. No idea why this was here or what purpose it serves, the reason Liam doesn’t exist in the latest draft is because I never figured out what his purpose was so I axed him entirely.

Current!Sidra would just kill him the moment he showed an interest in Sinéad, and Current!Sinéad would 100% believe her sister about something like that.

Some bloke named Connor strikes up a conversation with Sidra, seemingly worried about being this far away from human civilization. Liam teases him about it and calls the fae “knife-ears”, because I still had brainrot back then and liked Dragon Age and had zero original ideas in my head.

The men make jokes about having sex with fae women and Sidra seems so disturbed by this that she nocks an arrow. This isn’t the first time she makes references to feeling unsafe around these men, I have no idea why I wrote it this way aside from being edgy, I guess.

My village was mostly populated by men, and even though I wasn’t one of the pretty girls there, I knew these men weren’t picky, even with all their talk about beautiful fae women. I’d heard that fae women would kill their men after sleeping with them. I had no way of know it was true, but a part of me hoped it was and that Liam would some day soon get “lucky” and encounter a female fae, so she could end his misery.

Edgy, dude.

They eventually arrive and Sidra goes inside her house, which is a simple cottage with three rooms. I think her family are all farmers? It’s kind of confusing. She goes into her and Sinéad’s bedroom, where Sinéad is preparing for her wedding. Also, she’s blonde.

“Sid! There you are!” she said cheerily. “Killed a boar, huh? Good on Liam for taking all the credit.”

If you know your man is trash, why are you marrying him?

Apparently Liam seduced Sinéad with sweets and baked goods. I mean ... fair enough. Considering how Sidra complains about being hungry and skinny and going without food if she doesn’t kill the boar because this year’s harvest was minimal, I’m assuming y’all are starving.

We find out Sinéad’s mother doesn’t let her do anything around the house or farm, to preserve her “soft and white” hands and pale complexion so she could be married off easily. This makes zero sense, you’d think these medieval men wouldn’t have the same beauty standards as Victorian England, plus having a mouth to feed that doesn’t even help feeding itself is just nuts.

But remember, this isn’t Sidra, this is Not!Feyre. She needs to be sad and put-upon and a victim. She explains how she was never pretty to begin with and thus nobody considered her to be worthy of marrying off, which then meant she was put to work and became even less attractive because now she was so cool and badass that all the men were intimidated by her.

Yeah, in a village that already doesn’t have a lot of young women? I’m not buying this, lmao. But go off, Not!Feyre.

I’d been the one helping around, instead. Hunting, mostly. Sometimes I’d chop wood or work the farm. Marrying out of the house seemed impossible. Marrying up was practically a dream you forgot upon waking. Had I been pretty from the start there would’ve been a foundation to work from, but I was a lost cause even before my skin became tan and my hands grew veined and calloused. I had freckles which people mistook for mud and dull brown eyes, a long nose that had been broken one time too many and a mouth that made it look like I constantly felt a bad smell no matter what facial expression I made. I’d always been of rather short stature and had brown hair and thick eyebrows, which in combination with everything else made my parents call me their “little goblin”. The scar on my face didn’t help me either: men didn’t like it when their women were more battle-hardened than they were.

Oh god please, don’t go off! We don’t care! Stop going off!

Also what fucking parents call their poor kid a goblin? Yikes.

Sinéad convinces Sidra to get prettied up and Sidra is all “oh I bet all the men will just fall over themselves for my favor now huh” which is just the most annoying fucking thing, prompting Sinéad to respond:

“Well, winter is coming and game is scarce. If they want to survive, marrying the best hunter in the village might be a good bet.”

Yeah! This is correct! I refuse to believe people wouldn’t be into Sidra! Not only does everyone apparently know she’s the best hunter in town, but Sidra herself confirmed the men here outnumber the women and aren’t very picky.

This is fucking stupid. I’m glad I axed it. In my defense, I was very much trying to emulate the YA shit I’d read so far.

Sidra’s grandmother enters the stage. She’s very old in this draft, but otherwise unchanged.

She was a short and wrinkled old lady with extremely bad vision and an even worse grasp on reality. Or maybe an extremely acute grasp on reality, depending on whether you believed her stories or not.

Sidra changes out of the dress again to go out and help her father prepare the boar, all while sulking.

I didn’t envy Sinead, nor any other bride. Despite what most people thought of me, I wasn’t some poor ugly girl longing for the love of a man and the security of marriage. Did I enjoy the idea of having somebody care for me? Sure. But it wasn’t on my list of priorities. I was still trying to figure out what actually was on that list. Not that it mattered. The prospects for a poor village girl were very finite.

Womp womp.

We get some confusing and barely related stuff about Sidra possibly becoming a royal hunter for the king and also about where the village is located in relation to the Faewilds. She speculates that maybe the fae aren’t real, but the way she and everyone else talks about them makes it pretty obvious that they are? This was supposed to build mystery, I guess.

We skip forward to the wedding and Sidra is moping again.

“How are you feeling?” Father asked and squeezed my shoulder.

I wasn’t sure why he was doing that. I assumed it had something to do with the wedding and the fact that despite there being fewer women than men here, I was still not asked to dance. Though this didn’t really bother me, so I just shrugged.

“It doesn’t bother me. Anyway I will continue to mope and feel bitter about this thing that doesn’t bother me.” Hunny ...

At least Current!Sidra has the self-awareness to admit she’s sad and lonely.

[Father’s] marriage to Sinead’s mother was never out of love, more out of necessity. It was easier when you had a big family.

Except for when this “big family” is 3 people who work and 2 people who are just being fed, right? See, I knew back then that having a big family helps when you have a farm, but I also needed to make Sidra Special so Sinéad had to sit on her ass to highlight how pretty and feminine she was or whatnot.

Bleh.

They talk a bit about Sidra’s mother, who passed away five years ago, and Sidra reminisces about how she used to tell amazing stories. It’s all very ... whatever, and serves only to make this point for the hundredth time:

I wasn’t like Mother. I wasn’t full of life and spirit like her. I wasn’t loved and respected by the entire village like her. I was just her disappointing child whose existence they’d rather forget except when they wanted something killed.

Right after this there’s a really abrupt scene transition. Nothing about the wedding coming to an end, nothing about her going to bed, it’s just ... some while later?

Sidra’s father comes back home from ??? and tells Sidra he saw a stag somewhere, but it was hours ago so she better get a move on.

I’m not sure what either of them thinks this will accomplish? Like ... what is she gonna do with it when she kills it ... Carry it home? On her little boney ass? Hmm? I guess I didn’t think of that because I had meta knowledge that she wouldn’t get it home either way, so who cares about logic, right?

Sidra kills two rabbits while stalking the deer, and despite telling us earlier that she doesn’t venture far away from human civilization and the boar hunting being the farthest she’d been and that she wouldn’t go this far alone, she has no issue dwelling very deep into the forest this time.

Like. Henlo? Can we have one logic please and thanks you? Granted, she keeps stopping every now and then to Feel Things Out, but this really goes against how careful she was before and at no point do we get an explanation to her sudden boldness. Plot reasons, I guess.

She nearly stumbles into fae territories and finally decides to head back, except when she starts returning, she sees the stag she’s been tracking. It’s abnormally huge and has a “dark brown” coat that she finds odd, but of course she’s too stupid to connect the dots.

She sneaks up on it and honestly? This chapter ending still slaps.

A scream of pain left the creature and I saw it topple. But though my arrow hit a deer, a man fell to the ground.

DUN DUN DUN.

And yeah, the ACOTAR roots rear their ugly heads again. I liked the idea of the protagonist shooting a fae disguised as an animal, but I decided to cut out the middleman and just have her obliterate Val right in chapter one. Don’t worry, he doesn’t die.

#retrospective #my writing

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bits-bobs-and-barnes · 5 years

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Coercion {Loki Laufeyson x Reader}

This is the second part to Bend the Knee, read the first part here!

{Author’s Note: I was thrilled by the response to the first part of this series, and am excited to see if the second chapter lives up to expectations! As always, if you liked the piece, make sure to like and reblog it to help my blog grow! Send me a message, or leave a comment below if you’d like to be tagged in this series, or any of my other series! Also, feel free to drop me an ask if you have any requests, or just want to show some love! Hope you enjoy!}

Warnings: mentions of murder/warfare, forced marriage, sexual thoughts

Tags: @chonisberonica @jilldsumner @legendsaresooftenwarnings @jessiejunebug @loki-poki-foki @pandacookieowo @kneel-before-queen-loki @rjohnson1280 @mother-of-fandoms-250

Your brother was, unsurprisingly, stubborn and fought his handlers each step of the way. He snarled curses at the back of the God who led the procession, vision bleeding red as the man took your arm, leading you with tenderness, and speaking of the beauty of Asgard in the spring.

Every few minutes, you would glance back, eyes pleading, begging him to cooperate-- for the sake of your lives. Loki was being lenient, kind even, and that could change in a moment if he grew irritated with the irate comments spewed from your brother’s lips.

During one of these such moments, Loki touched your chin and urged you to look back to him. “Do not worry, Princess, he bothers me little. Some men cannot stomach defeat-- it is all too common in war.” He smiled warmly, and moved his hand to rest on the small of your back, guiding you forward.

“What war?” Your brother wheezed, his eyes dark with fury. “There is no threat greater than Odin and his brood, you are nothing more than tyrants crushing weaker realms beneath your boot,” he spat with disgust, pulling against the two guards who held him in place.

Annoyance flickered across Loki’s face as the boy interrupted him yet again, and he withdrew his hand, turning to face the shaking beast your brother had become. He gripped his bloodied chin, and forced his gaze up. “My leniency has its ends, cur, and I’ve had enough of your insufferable jibes,” releasing him, and muttering soft instructions to the handlers, who tugged your still struggling brother away from the pair of you. He turned back to you, and urged you forward with renewed vigor.

Your eyes lingered on your brother until he was out of view, offering a silent prayer to whatever gods were still listening that he would be safe until you could negotiate his freedom.

Loki guided you through seemingly endless corridors and stunning parlors, describing each in detail that was quickly lost on you. The tour was concluded in a much larger hall, absent of the usual activity of the palace-- save for two figures at the front of the room. “My father,” Loki murmured in your ear, “and my brother,” the latter was mentioned with more irritation than reverence.

Odin the Conqueror was less terrifying than you’d imagine. His hair had long since gone white, he was missing an eye, and he was dressed in finery-- ornate and well-decorated armor, speaking with his other son, the blond.

Thor shamelessly admired his brother’s new prize, flashing you a predatory smile. He hardly glanced to his brother as Loki recounted their stunning victory, and the success of their conquest. He was too busy imagining the filthy things he would do when he got you alone; balling up that pretty skirt in his hands and making you weep with pleasure.

Odin listened with interest, allowing his pride to shine through as Loki described his assault on the palace, and the recovery of two of the old King’s children-- including the beauty at his side. “You have done very well, Loki,” he complimented, gesturing for him to bring you closer. “Princess Y/N, welcome to Asgard,” he greeted cordially.

Overwhelmed, you finally spoke. “I-- thank you,” you offered lamely, wishing more than anything that you could be six again, hiding behind your mother’s skirts. It would do you no good to snarl and bite like a feral dog, you were outnumbered and outmatched, so you relied on the years of etiquette drilled into you by your tutors. “It’s quite… beautiful here,” you made no mention of the slaves that had built this beautiful palace, or the realms they’d pillaged to afford their fineries.

Odin beamed like this was some great compliment, looking around his dazzling throne room with little humility. “I am glad that you are unharmed,” his eyes returned to you, “I… apologize for the violence you must have witnessed, I imagine it is a great weight for a girl of your age.”

You couldn’t muster the will to offset his worries, your lips set in a tight line.

“Your Father was a good man,” he looked slightly more solemn now, “but he had no vision. What did he hope to accomplish by defying us?” His tone implied you were not supposed to answer. “Your people are strong, proud, even farmers took up arms to protect your family-- that loyalty, it cannot be bought.” He leaned forward on his throne, as though he was explaining something complicated to a child. “You are their leader now, and they look to you for guidance.”

You were confused, and it showed.

Loki was in your ear almost immediately, “speak, Princess,” he urged, “you are safe here.”

“I don’t understand,” you admitted, feeling a chill shoot up your spine as Loki’s lips brushed against your ear, “my kingdom is yours, isn’t it? Am I not your prisoner?”

Odin laughed deeply, and leaned back to his usual posture. “Did you explain nothing to this poor girl, Loki?” He teased, standing now, and approaching you, standing before you as a God, a King, and a legend.

Loki’s hand retreated out of respect, and he stood back, carefully watching the exchange. “Our time together was short, father.” He offered curtly, in defense of himself.

“Indeed,” Odin agreed, ignoring his son’s tone, and admiring you at closer distance. “Commonfolk do not trust their conquerors. They trust what they know, who they know-- and you are beloved in your kingdom.”

It was not untrue. Your father had ruled for centuries, and had a reputation for being just, kind, and fair. With your extended lifespan, your Father had taught you many things, but above all-- that you must use your station to help those beneath you. With this in mind, you frequently would leave your palace to walk among the common folk, and help what you could. A little gold here, some food there, and within a few decades, you were adored by the common folk as the sweet Princess who would take the bread from her table and split it with the servants who served her.

You didn’t respond, waiting for him to make his meaning clear.

“Your Father had many allies, and if they see you submit to being part of my greater empire, they will follow,” he explained, “your father was respected, and as his daughter, you have more influence than you realize. Asgard seeks an alliance with the newly appointed Queen.”

You could almost scoff. After murdering your family and destroying your palace, now they wanted an alliance. “I cannot offer anything of value that you do not already possess,” you stated politely, with an edge to your tone. “And my people are not so easily tricked.”

Loki smothered a smile, but kept any words from his lips, knowing that this moment was crucial.

“You could offer yourself,” Thor chimed in from near the throne, finally freeing himself from his lustful thoughts. “Isn’t that all you have?” He spoke as though it was as simple as exchanging coin for beer, and not willingly putting yourself in shackles.

Loki rolled his eyes, stepping forward until his hand returned to its former position on your spine. “What my brother means to say, is that we seek an alliance through marriage. Myself, or my brother would wed you, and rule beside you-- ensuring Odin’s will in enforced. You would be there,” he searched for the word, “to ease people's worries, and your duties would remain nearly the same as they are now.”

“It would be a smoother transition than appointing a new ruler,” Odin offered logically, “and you would be treated very well, provided you remain cooperative.”

“And if I refuse?” You could hear yourself speaking, but your mind was blank with rage and anguish, “If I don’t want to be your puppet Queen?”

Loki stiffened imperceptibly behind you. His father was benevolent… to a point, but he did not tolerate disrespect-- especially from a captive. “I’m sure your brother would rather you took the offered choice,” he interjected, “it is rather generous, for a woman in your position.”

Odin’s smile had disappeared, and he was left with a much stiffer expression. “But I suppose, in the end, it is your fate.” His voice was cool and unimpressed, and like this, you could see where the tales had emerged. This was the man who would slaughter entire bloodlines for a few more miles of territory, the man who had ordered your father killed, the man who’d spared you to suit another scheme.

What choice did you have? If you refused, your sacrifice would be for nothing-- your brother would die, and your people would suffer under Odin’s regime. If you submitted, if you served him-- at least you could protect those that you loved. At least you could save your brother, protect your people from some cruelty. “And my brother will remain unharmed?” You asked, your voice on the edge of a whisper.

“He will be kept to a cell, but unharmed,” Loki promised, inwardly thrilled by the lack of resistance in your tone. “On my honor, Princess.” It was one of the sweeter things in the world, submission.

Odin watched you expectantly, his temper waning as you had rescinded your barbed tongue. It would be unfortunate, after all the trouble it took to bring you here, to have to kill you now. Wasteful, even.

“If everything you say is true,” you straighten your posture and tried to emulate your mother, trying to present more of a presence, “then I have no reason to refuse,” you concluded judiciously.

Odin smiled, and clasped his hands together as though he were proud of you for drawing an obvious conclusion. “Very well then,” he glanced back to Thor, and then to Loki, “there is only one matter left at hand,” his tone was anticipant, “which of you should be her husband.”

#loki x reader #loki odinson #loki #loki imagine #loki odinson imagine #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson imagine #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine

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saltylikecrait · 5 years

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Happily Ever After - Royalty AU

For @finnreyfridays; bringing this AU to a close after working on it for a year, I invite everyone to attend the wedding of Prince Finn and Rey Solo.

This fic is looooong, so if you’d rather read it on AO3, the link is here.

The weeks before the wedding had seen a noticeable change on the streets of the capital, mainly by vendors. Unofficial memorabilia in colorful designs and well-wishes to the couple were in high demand, particularly when the palace’s own official merchandise sold out within days. It told the royal family that Finn and Rey’s marriage was popular and they were a little shocked to find that the wedding was getting a mass intergalactic following, particularly in the core worlds. Fashion designs inspired by the past looks of the prince and his wife-to-be were being found all over the galaxy and the HoloNet. Florists were thrilled that such a hardy flower was Rey’s favorite and rumored to be part of her bouquet. Chefs all over the galaxy were preparing specials for viewers to eat while they watched the recording of the event. It was a little over the top, but at least the occasion was a happy one.

And Prince Finn’s popularity with the New Republic only grew, which some entertainment analysts contributed to the popularity of the royal wedding. He had found a board of trusted directors to help with the starting phase of his charity and found a lot of support among the New Republic, especially from individuals that had traveled the galaxy and seen the state of worn-torn and poverty-stricken worlds. Though Rey did not like to discuss her childhood with the public and would only allude to it in bits and pieces, Unkar Plutt – the slime – found that he could make a pretty amount of credits by giving “exclusive” interviews to the press, making himself out to be far more generous than he ever was when Rey depended on him for food. Rey had become the unofficial poster child for Finn’s charity, cited as his muse and an example of hope to all the children in the galaxy that found themselves in terrible situations. Rey spat at that last bit, knowing that her situation was extraordinary and that most of the children on Jakku would always go to bed with half-empty bellies and look towards a future with a short life-expectancy and things that children on wealthier worlds would never have to live in fear over. The beings in the New Republic that made her story as some sort of fairy tale that all children should try to emulate were the ones that had never cared to begin with.

But between all the changes, the victories, the failures, and planning, time seemed to both fly by and drag by. One day, Finn and Rey would complain to each other that the date seemed too far away and the next day they were signing pre-written thank-you notes for gifts that had arrived early.

And then, after a nearly sleepless night, they were up before dawn to get ready for the ceremony.

Finn’s father and Poe are the ones to help Finn get ready. There are staff members assigned to help with specific last-minute details, but on Duuna, it is traditional for the men in the family to help the groom get dressed. Finn has no siblings of his own and had thought to ask a cousin to help, but he decided to invite the one person in the galaxy that he thinks of as a brother. Poe had looked so touched that Finn had almost thought he needed to offer Poe a tissue.

They don’t need to do much, it turned out. So excited and happy, Finn had actually put on his uniform pants and undershirt long before they turned up, not that Finn really needs help to get dressed – he is an adult and men’s suits are not particularly tricky to put on. But he had laid the frock coat on a hanger, waiting to be put on the groom. It was a dark red in color, nearly burgundy, as many citizens had argued, but not quite. It hung a little low to the waist, almost resembling a tunic, traditional wedding attire for the royal family. Though Finn never had to fight in his life – and his parents thanked the Maker every day for that – the royal family had still been instructed in some military practices

“Have you ate yet?” Poe asks, looking over at the tray sitting on a small table in a corner with a small assortment of light breakfast foods. Finn probably asked for it to be brought up for them to share as the morning went on.

“Not yet,” he says. “Though I could probably do with some food now.”

So the three of them sit down and spread jams over toast and pour tea and help themselves to some eggs. Suddenly, as they begin to eat, Adron looks serious and clears his throat.

“I wanted to say something…” he begins.

Finn swallows his bit of toast and looks over at Poe briefly before he waits for his father to continue.

"A father is supposed to give his son advice before his wedding, at least, that’s what my father told me before mine. Maybe one day, you’ll be sitting at this table with your own son and do the same.”

Finn sits up a little straighter, listening.

“I think you and Rey got a lot of this already figured out, so forgive me if I say anything that’s a little redundant,” he chuckles. “You’ve already taken on the responsibility for caring for someone else… actually, for many someone elses, but now you will have additional responsibilities to take on the moment that you agree to taking Rey as your wife at the altar. You must always protect and provide for your wife – as she will no doubt do for you. And you must do the same for your children. You’ve never wanted for anything,” he points out, “but as we’ve seen in the past, the galaxy changes and not always for the better. Remember that, and if the worst does happen, Rey and your children must always come first.

“But I promise you, marriage – a happy, loving one – is not all work. You will not have to give up everything you love to do by yourself because you’ve gotten married. You will feel pride knowing that Rey did not need you, but she wanted to be with you anyway. You will be proud to see your children grow up and to see what they become. And one day, when I have left this world, you will be king, and a king is nothing without the love of his family to support him.”

And then, on a lighter note, Adron tells stories of all the funny and stupid things he did back before Finn was born and he and Maia were newlyweds. Finn knows that his father was doing this to end his talk on a lighter note and to make Poe a little more comfortable and not feel like he was intruding on an intimate moment between a father and his son.

When one of the aids knocks on the door to let them know they are ready for Finn, they stand up and Finn holds his arms out to let his father pull the frock coat over him. Poe then finishes the task by adding the different medals to his coat that identify him as the heir to the throne. Poe himself wears a dress uniform from the New Republic military, decorated with real honors from those he had served - far more impressive, in Finn’s opinion.

To finish, the king places a simple gold circlet around his son’s head, fitting snugly across his forehead. The ruby in the center of it matched Finn’s clothes perfectly.

Adron looks his son up and down. “You look like a king today,” he said, pride noting his voice.

Then the three follow the aid to the back entrance to the gardens. Another tradition. Duuna prefers outdoor weddings, another way to honor the land that had provided them with so much. A last-minute check is made to ensure that everything is ready for them, and Finn and his family shake hands with the people waiting in the back to give the prince their well-wishes.

Also that morning, Rey finds herself in one of the royal suites with an army of staff members at her disposal and a million and one things to do to get ready. Both Finn’s mother and her own adopted mother are with her to see her through the process. It had been a little tricky to find a compromise between two different cultural traditions, but since Rey’s culture was technically of Jakku and it wasn’t a world particularly noted for glamorous weddings, she looked to the two women for advice.

“I know you had your heart set on green for the dress, Maia,” begins Leia, “but you’ve got to see why I thought white would be a wonderful choice for Rey.”

The queen looks the dress up and down. “As much as I hate to admit it, but you’re right. The silver is a nice touch for her skin tone, too.”

The dress had been a point of conflict between the two women. Ultimately, they knew the choice was Rey’s, but they each selected three dresses, hoping that Rey would favor one of theirs. As a child, Rey had no idea of a dream wedding, but occasionally spotted holos of women wearing elaborate white dresses. She thought Maia’s selections of green fabrics were beautiful, but she kept finding her hand skimming the fine white silk and silver embellishments of one dresses that Leia had selected and found herself enamored with the dramatic image it gave her. Rey thought the caplet that fell along her shoulders and cascaded in a long train behind her was a little unnecessary, but she noted how it brought attention to her collarbone and neck, places on her body that she knew Finn’s gazed seemed to wander to when her skin was bare to him.

The dress also served as a good compromise to get Han to calm down. Monster-in-law, Master Luke had teased his old friend as he watched Han pull his hair out over how little of say Rey got in the choices of the wedding planning. Rey even told him that she hadn’t minded much; she didn’t know much about weddings to begin with and she did get to choose her dress, flowers, and meal preference, and that was really all she thought that mattered. Even Chewbacca was getting annoyed to the point that he had threatened to lock Han in the latrine of the Millennium Falcon until the wedding began.

“Rey,” Maia finally asks, “how are you feeling? About all of this?” She gestures to the outfit as Rey’s hair is being done in a traditional Alderaanian braid for the occasion. If she didn’t know better, Leia was getting a little teary-eyed as she watched the droid do the work; few humans still knew how to do all the hairdos.

“I-” she begin. “It’s a little overwhelming, but I have my family around me to support me, and I think that’s made it easier. I was worried that you and the king might not have approved of me as a wife for Finn, but I am happy that you accepted me.”

“You are our family,” Maia affirms. “We’ve thought of you as such since you and Finn moved in together. We knew it was just a matter of time before you became a part of it officially.”

“You had a lot of reasons not to accept me,” Rey points out.

“You’re taking on a lot by marrying him,” counters Maia. “I think Leia and Han would agree with me on that one.”

Watching the exchange with quiet interest, Leia nods her head. Rey can tell it's not easy, but Leia is trying to remain the diplomat in the situation by staying quiet and not butting in too much more on the wedding planning. She already caused an uproar over the dress.

Then, she finally speaks. “When Han first messaged me that he was taking a girl under his wing, I had no idea how special you were going to be to him. After I met you finally, even though you were older, Han and I didn’t argue about bringing you in to our family. We knew you were meant to be a part of it.” She pauses, looking a little sad. “I wish Han had found you sooner, is all. When you told us about Finn, we thought you might be taking on more than you could handle, but Han told me you could handle yourself… and well, Finn’s devoted to you. That’s something in a partner that some people will never find in their lifetime.”

“You are pretty amazing,” Maia agrees with a wink.

“And you make a good match,” says Leia. “Finn will not be an ordinary king, I can tell. You compliment him.”

As the droid places a silver band around her head, Rey grips Maia’s hand. “I’m glad you both were part of this moment,” she tells them. “That you’re here with me now. I never thought that I would ever know a mother, and now I get to know two.”

And if Leia had been composed for most of the morning, now she looks like she was about to burst into tears. “Oh, come on,” she huffs, obviously trying to keep on the face she had been putting up so far. “We better get going. Don’t want the bride to be late to her own wedding.”

Luckily, the suite they had selected is close to one of the back entrances to the atrium where the ceremony would be held and Rey does not have to walk far. She does, however, need help with her train. Rose and Paige – her bridesmaids – help with it, carrying it with care and trying to instruct Finn’s littlest of relatives that were volunteered to help with this part to behave themselves. Leia takes time to make sure that everything is straightened out and in place, fumbling one more time with the band before she has to declare that her work was done.

“You two look pretty,” Rey tells her bridesmaids as she looks them over. She had helped them pick out the dresses (with the additional aid of a designer) and thought that the cut and materials flattered Paige and Rose. They both are wearing red dresses, and hold small bouquets of white and red flowers to match. Their hair has been curled for the occasion – Rey briefly wonders how long they had been up – and decorated with white ribbons that curled and cascaded down to their shoulders.

"Not as pretty as the bride today,” Rose quips but Paige looks Rey over with a little concern.

"You look a little tired,” she comments. “Did you and Finn get any sleep last night?”

Stammering, Rey protests. “W-we did… or at least we tried. It was hard.”

“But you feel okay?” Rey wonders if Paige is just checking last minute to help with any pre-wedding jitters. That was something that she always liked about her, maybe it was because she had always tried to look after her own sister. Paige checks on everyone else first before worrying about herself.

But one of the aids rushes in before she could answer. “Are you ready?”

Feeling the nerves settle in the pit of her stomach – really? Now? – Rey takes a deep breath. “We’re ready.” She tries to keep her voice clear and strong. It has nothing to do with hesitation in marrying Finn, but rather, it has everything to do with the fact that this is being filmed for the galaxy to see. But she still doesn’t want anyone thinking she has any doubts.

Leia does one last check of the silver headband to make sure it is perfectly adjusted, then, with a final nod and wistful glance, she steps out of the way and is led out of the hallway by a guard to be shown to her seat next to Ben (who didn’t seem too thrilled to have to go to such an extravagant event, but at least was polite enough to suck it up and deal with going for the sake of family appearances). The queen has already left to take her seat on a throne close to the altar with her husband.

Han approaches her, preferring to keep out of the way of the bride’s prepping up until this point. “Ready?” He offers her his arm.

Rey takes it, and is glad that she has someone to call a father to give her away at her wedding. When she looks up at him, there is a note of pride on his face and she recalls this as a look that Han often had when he talked about the other children that he had taken under his wing that had met their potential or found their own happiness.

“You’re doing fine, kid,” he says. “I think you’ve chosen a good one.”

“Thank you for doing this for me,” she tells him, gratitude not hidden from her voice.

Han looks at her with a little bit of shock. “I- It’s an honor.”

“No, I mean: thank you for being my father.”

And then he sighs and tries to wave the thought away. “Now’s not the time. Don’t wanna make me cry now, do you?”

The guards swing the doors open, and the heralds see their cue to start the wedding march. The guests in the seats of the atrium look behind them, trying to crane their necks to see the bride make her entrance along with her party.

As Rey and Han take their first steps out to the atrium, the guests all stand for her. She knew this would happen, but she is not use to having this many eyes on her at once and in one place. Taking a deep breath, she begins her slow procession down the aisle and makes slight glances to see who in the crowd that she knew personally. Most of the people here have connections to the royal family.

In the front, Luke stands next to a bored-looking Ben Solo. They are both wearing ceremonial Jedi robes from what they had gathered from the old archives. Luke is smiling quietly and makes a shallow nod of his head when his eyes catch Rey’s gaze. Ben makes a similar gesture, acknowledging their familial connection, thought their relationship is nearly non-existent. There had been a time that she had thought to message her adopted brother for advice on how to control her Force abilities, but she ended up thinking better of it, not wanting to annoy him and straining their already tense relationship further. She was surprised to see him here, actually, once believing that he would simply make a polite rejection of the invite. Perhaps he is doing this because his family pressured him to, or maybe he is thinking this as practice for the future when he might have to attend events as a Jedi even if he was uninterested in them.

Besides her son sits Leia, actually in tears now, and Rey realizes that she had never actually seen her adopted mother cry before. She wonders if Leia thought back to her own wedding, where she and Han made their commitment to each other despite the odds and the criticism against them. Rey and Finn have that in common with them. Or maybe, the rare feeling of being overjoyed has just broken through her usual calm demeanor.

She spots the king and queen on a dais closest to the tree and the platform. They too, look overjoyed by the ceremony and glance back and forth between their son and Rey as she approaches the tree.

Rey had walked this aisle in practice a few times before, but now the aisles seem longer than she recalled them ever being. It feels like she wasn’t making any progress at her slow speed, and she knows that Han wasn’t lagging behind either. Finn is waiting for her at a circular stage in the center of the atrium, under the branches of an ancient tree that the royal family had exchanged vows for generations before. He isn’t actually looking at her, and she can tell by the way Poe looks over his shoulder and then turns to whisper something in his ear that Finn is desperately trying to be the very last person to see the bride. It isn’t a tradition of Duuna, though it has been for many of the core worlds and Finn wanted to do just that.

“No such thing as too much luck,” he had told her when they went over potential new traditions to add in to the ceremony.

Finally getting to see his outfit, she admits that the weavers that helped create his jacket have outdone themselves. The gold threads glitter under the sunlight and the red makes him look regal. He reminds Rey of the princes in the stories she sometimes heard on Jakku, the ones that were obviously not real and told for entertainment value. Beings all over the galaxy are probably swooning over Prince Finn, handsome and so, so loving, at this very moment.

And when she finally reaches the stage and stands behind him as Han lets her go and goes to stand to the side next to Poe, the smile Finn gives her as he finally turns around to look at her as his bride for the first time could replace the sun in brightness. Finn is often happy, but here, the happiness reflects in his smile is contagious. He offers her his hand and leads her to stand in the center of the stage with him, underneath the tree.

Then, he raises her hand to his lips and kisses it as he stared up at her face. A flirt until the very end, she thinks, though she doubts that Finn will ever stop acting that way with her even after they married.

Someone in the seats laughs loudly and Poe leans over to whisper, “You might want to save that for tonight, you two. Gotta keep to royal protocol and all.” He winks.

The officiator, a priest from one of the local temples that worships the Force, approaches them and lifts his hands up to the audience. “You may be seated.”

As the audience scrambles into their seats, Rey hands her bouquet of daisies and roses to Paige and then turns back around to face Finn. They hold their arms out, linking their hands together and find themselves lost in each other’s eyes. Rey only hears bits and pieces of the priest’s speech and how the Force had willed these two young souls to be together.

Then, it is Finn’s turn to speak.

“Do you take this woman as your wife, Your Highness?” asks the priest in a rehearsed manner. “Under the tree that has watched over the unions of your ancestors, do you commit yourself to her and swear by the Force to honor and cherish her?”

Finn looks serious when he speaks. “I do.”

Then the priest turns to Rey. “And do you, Rey Solo, take this man as your husband? Do you commit yourself to him and swear by the Force to honor and cherish him?”

“I do.”

Poe approaches them, holding the rings out on a woven tray. The rings are almost too extravagant in Rey’s opinion, studded in diamonds that feel too luxurious for a woman that had to work her way off of Jakku. In the audience, towards the far side of the front row, BB-8 makes a low hoot out of excitement at seeing Poe do his part in the ceremony. There are quite a few chuckles that can be heard.

With the rings exchanged, the priest finally makes his pronouncement: “You may kiss the bride.”

Finn puts his arms around her waist and kisses her, finalizing their marriage.

Finally, they are married.

“I love you,” Finn whispers, his voice barely audible over the applause of the guests.

“I know," she pauses, teasing him. "I love you, too."

The wedding party then begins to escort the newlyweds away from the atrium, back towards the palace for the start of the celebrations. Behind them, Han escorts Paige out with Poe and Rose trailing close to them. The king and the queen will follow after, a rare breech in normal protocol, but one to acknowledge that today is to honor the bride and groom and the future heir to the throne.

The way back up the aisle is a lot less stressful than it was going down it. Now, all they need to do is get to their next step in the ceremony and politely nod and smile to everyone as they pass. Some people, Rey notes, looks like they had even cried during the ceremony.

An open carriage waits for them near the entrance of the atrium, hovering just a few feet above the ground. Paige and Rose rush up to help Finn with Rey’s dress train as she gets in and the three of them makes sure it is draped so that it will not wrinkle or get dirty during the ride. Then Finn climbs in to sit beside her.

When Finn gives the cue to the driver to tell him that they are settled, the driver calls to the two riders on fathiers ahead of them, carrying the banners of the royal family. The speeder begins to creep forward at a slow pace and the guard of four more fathiers and riders behind them follow, carrying the red flags of the world. There is additional security riding in speeders behind them, of course, security is tight, but this guard is here more for ceremonial purpose than actual security.

The gates of the palace swing open, and they are led to the streets of the capital, beginning their procession. Crowds huddle and push together on the street for a glimpse of their prince and his new bride, and if not for the set barriers on the street, the crowds would have probably gotten too close for the speeders and fathiers to get through.

Rey squeezes Finn’s hand and he turns to give her a kiss – the crowd goes wild with cheers and flashes of cameras nearly blind them – before he turns back to the exterior of the speeder and begins to wave to the onlookers.

A white daisy, like the ones that decorate Rey's bouquet, is tossed as an offering by a young admirer. Rey laughs as she catches it and tucks it into the pocket of Finn’s uniform. Now, she turns and waves to the crowd with Finn in genuine happiness and before they know it, the procession is over and they are back at the gates of the palace.

“Lunch time, I think,” Rey says with a bit of relief.

“It’ll be dinner once it’s ended,” chuckles Finn. “Those things go on for a while.”

He offers his hand to Rey, and she takes it, letting him lead her into the formal dining room where a crowd of guests had been seated. Finn and Rey will sit side by side, next to the king as the guests of honor, since Adron and Maia formally are the only ones to be allowed to head the table. Across from them would sit Han and Leia as the parents of the bride. Rey had noted that Luke was seated next to her, on her right from the dining arrangements and she wondered if he or Leia had requested this so that he would be able to speak with her and Finn without having to yell across a table.

The meal is long, with small ensembles of food to taste instead of large feasts. Each region of Duuna contributed a favorite meal as a wish of good health to the new couple and so shorter courses were done to prevent people from feeling sick and to prevent waste.

Occasionally, Rey glances at Finn, noting how he talks to guests and servers with grace and dignity. This is a side that she only gets to see on rare occasions and she realizes that she will probably get to see a lot more of this. She knows Finn doesn't like formal gatherings, so maybe this is the one exception, but had she met him under these conditions she would have found his charm and demeanor impossible to not find attractive. In fact, she might say that seeing this is making her fall in love with him again. He treats everyone with respect and, funnily enough, keeps a notepad with him to take notes after tasting each dish.

“What’s that for?” she nods.

“Taking notes on the meal to make the formal thank you notes to each region a little more personal.”

Poe laughs a few seats away. “And now you see why half the New Republic is in love with him. Thoughtful as ever, even on his own wedding day.”

Towards the end of the dinner, Finn leans over to kiss Rey on the cheek. “You hanging in there?” he asks. “These formal occasions can just dragsometimes.”

“Guess I’ll be getting used to it, then.” She smiles, though she is eyeing one of the first dessert courses that is finally being brought in. “Though I could be convinced to like them if I always got to eat stuff like that.”

He laughs. “Noted.”

They are all feeling fairly stuffed at this point in the celebration, though most of the guests take the advice of the king and pace themselves on the small amounts of food they are given for each course. The newlyweds are feeling a little jittery, knowing that they still have to change out of their wedding clothes and into something a little less formal for their evening celebrations. Then they will be off tomorrow to travel a short distance to a small private estate with minimum staff to have their honeymoon. They will be there for a week to be given privacy as a new couple, then Finn and Rey will begin their tour around the world, greeting the leaders of each region and sightseeing. Finn knows that Rey will be particularly interested in a recent development in a state-of-the-art greenhouse that protected endangered species to Duuna. And once that tour was over, they will return to the capital for a short breather before starting their intergalactic tour. They will stay with Leia and Han for a short time, and also have a visit with Luke at his school, among visiting the New Republic military spots with Poe as a guide.

At last, Finn rises from his seat and offers Rey his hand. The rest of the dining room rises with them and Finn and Rey glances around the room.

Finn clears his throat. “Rey and I want to thank all of you for joining us today. This may be the happiest moment in our lives and we feel honored to be able to share it with you.” He looks to his wife with a fond smile. “I remember the moment we met like it was yesterday. Rey nearly gave me a heart attack shimmying up my balcony to water my plants. Actually, I think she nearly had a heart attack too.”

There are a few laughs around the table.

“Now, we must be excused. The night is going to go on a little longer and we are going to be exhausted tomorrow, no doubt.”

Rey knows that Finn wasn’t being lewd about his wording, alluding to the start of their travels in the morning, but a few of the guests take the expression as a double-meaning and laugh. Across the table, Paige gives her a wink.

Then they head for the door as the king and queen and Han and Leia follow them. They had their things stored in a spare guest bedroom, since they would not have the time to go back to their apartment a few blocks away.

Their parents retrieve boxes from the bedroom and exchange it with their new son-in-law and daughter-in-law. The newlyweds open the boxes and Finn finds that Han and Leia has gifted him with a jacket that looks like it had been custom-made. It's a party jacket with a subtle, blue woven pattern, like the baskets and cloth that Duuna is famous for.

“I- I don’t know what to say,” says Finn. “This is beautiful.”

Rey, meanwhile, opens her own gift from the king and queen and reveals a green dress that looks like it would fall mid-calf. “Guess you’re getting me to wear a green dress after all,” she laughs.

“We thought you’d want to wear it for the evening party,” Maia explains and she goes over to embrace her new family member. “We hope you like it.”

“I love it,” says Rey.

The women and an aid follow Rey into the ‘fresher to help her get out of her wedding dress. Finn laughs as he watches it be carefully wrapped up and taken away for safekeeping. His change is pretty easy, though he takes extra care with the coat and the medals to make sure he didn’t snag anything. Soon, he finds himself waiting out in the guest living room with Han and his father.

Rey emerges about a half-hour later in the new dress and her hair loosened into a new braid.

“Ready to go have one more festivity before we settle into our new life together?” she asks, offering Finn her hand.

He takes it and kisses it before standing up. “Rey, I would be more than happy to do these events for the rest of my life if it means I get to wake up next to you every morning for the rest of my life.”

“You can’t kick me out now,” laughs Rey. “I’ve just finally moved in the last of my stuff into the apartment. You’re stuck with me forever.”

“Nothing sounds more perfect.”

While this series was a way for me to practice world-building, I had a lot of fun coming up with ideas for clothes and traditions for this particular installment. Rey’s dress was inspired by a dress that I am very fond of and that looks very royal-like and is something I could imagine seeing in the Star Wars universe.

Finn’s outfits were designed in my head. I see his wedding clothes be a sort of combination of military jackets commonly seen in royal weddings with tunics often found in fantasy films/television. Rich, deep colors and thicker fabrics would be the look. John Boyega looks wonderful in burgundy and I thought it would be a nice change from the typical black tuxedos that we normally see worn by men at weddings. As for his circlet, I imagine it as a solid band with a simple red gemstone placed at the front. A crown would have been too much for the wedding, but a circlet would be a nice touch.

#finnrey #finnreyfriday #finnreyfridays #my stuff #royalty au #finnrey aesthetic #aesthetic

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tiny-little-bird · 7 years

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Jon and Sansa grew up as siblings, they've always seen each other as brother and sister, you really don't you think that would be a big obstacle for Jonsa? I should add that I'm not a Jonsa shipper, I only ship Gendrya in the show and I'm curious to know how and why you don't think that they would just forget about being brother and sister.

Because they never saw eachother as such, not really.

Sansa was as distant from Jon as anyone could be, she avoided him like the plague, she never saw him as a brother, even though she would call him her “half bastard brother”

Sansa aspired to be Cat 2.0 Cat was her role model growing up, so she emulated her, she emulated her hatred and her despise for Jon, therefore she was never close to him, and he was never close to her, they never shared the brotherly and sisterly love/affection/relashionship like her other siblings, they never shared a scene in the books/show, never had dialogue, she always kept him at a distance.

Sansa treated him as she would a stranger, worse actually, she was as she said an “ass” towards him, she thought him inferior to her, due to his bastard status, and she didn’t think of him as part of her family.

Jon was often observing her, calling her “radiant” while walking by Joffrey’s side. He’s always wanted her affection, her approval, just like he wanted Cat’s, he longed for it, but he never got it, they were the only ones keeping him at distance. So yeah he never had the chance to develop a sibling like relationship with Sansa, she was his sister in name, and name only, and that was it.

Jonsa will happen in the books too, that’s why George had Sansa, and Jon be the only ones estranged while growing up, it was for this very reason.

When Jon and Sansa met again at castle black, they met as two complete strangers.

Yes, they recognized each other, but not really. In their reunion scene, where Sansa is having supper, Jon looks at Sansa as if he’s thinking, she looks like Sansa, but she’s completely different. He already knew her very little, and now all those things he knew her for, are gone, leaving her a complete stranger to him.

This woman in front of him, who used to be mean to him as a child, who used to keep him at a distance, who to him, is behaving in a completely different way towards him, showing him affection and acceptance, smiling to him, chatting with him. All things she would’ve never done as a child. He’s taken aback by it, he’s taken aback by her.

You can see just how intrigued he is by her. In pretty much, every scene he’s had with her in season 6, he is always studying her, observing her, looking at her. Again, what I get from him in S6 is, “She looks like the Sansa that I wached grow up before my eyes, but she’s not, she thinks differently, she behaves and acts differently, she’s a completely different person”, she looks familiar, but at the same time she doesn’t. And same thing goes for her, even more so. Jon would observe her, when they were at Winterfell, but Sansa did no such thing, she had no interest in him, nor in observing him. He is more a stranger to her, than she is to him.

So, we have two people, two strangers who come together, after both of them, in the course of 5 years, went to hell and back.

Sansa has been raped, tortured and beaten by Ramsay, everyday, for months, and before that she was kept hostage in Kingslanding, where she was tormented abd humiliated her, and when she managed to escape, she was brought to the vale, and her aunt almost killed her, the both of them didn’t get a break for 5 years, and they had to go through it all, on their own.

Jon was just murdered by the men who he thought were his brothers, and was brought back to life, had to hang a boy, and had lost all hope and will to live.

When they found eachother again, no matter how estranged they were to eachother, they still poured their hearts out to one another, they comforted eachother, they helped each other, they took care of each other, because despite not knowing eachother, they both shared their love towards Arya, Bran, Rickon, Robb and Ned, it’s the one thing that linked them.

But still, you don’t magically become brother and sister in a few months. They have become very close, but their relashionship does not have sibling dynamics, it has a companionship and partnership feel to it.

Sansa cares for him, because he’s linked to her childhood, he’s linked, to happiness, to the bliss that was her life before leaving Winterfell, and same thing goes for Jon.

She’s found safety with him, she knows he would die for her, he would die protecting her, he’s basically the valiant, brave hero/knight she’s always dreamed of.

“But now that they reunited, she thinks he’s/she sees him as her (half)brother.”

I know, but can you blame this poor girl, after the living hell she’s been through, for involuntarily developing feelings for a man, who is the living embodiment of what she’s always wanted in a man? He’s shown her love, kindness, he gave her security, which she hasn’t felt since her father was executed. She trusts him wholeheartedly that he will NEVER hurt her in any way. If you blame her for it, idk man… If you don’t think that it’s possible, for her to develop these feelings, even if she knows/thinks it’s wrong, then again, idk what to tell you…

What did Jaimie say? “We don’t choose whom we love.” Sansa will never act on these feelings, not as long as she thinks he’s her brother, same goes for Jon, the Starks are too honorable, but that doesn’t change the fact, that the feelings are there.

“But he thinks she’s his (half)sister.”, again, can you blame Jon for developing feelings for her, when he was murdered in cold blood, then resurrected, and after being resurrected, SHE, the once little girl who never accepted him, was the one giving him hope again, giving him something/someone to fight for, she was the one giving him purpose, and getting him out of the depression he was succumbing into? Can you blame him for developing these feelings? Cause I sure don’t.

They both feel conflicted, but it’s something they can’t do anything about, it’s out of their control.

In a short span of time, Sansa became Jon’s everything and viceversa. They became each other’s confidants, strength, happiness, they became each other’s pillars, keeping each other from falling apart, they pieced each other back together.

What I see when I watch their scenes, is that they’re both confused by how they feel for eachother, they know it’s different and not how they should normally feel, they both know that it is different from what, for example Sansa felt for Robb and from what Jon felt for Arya.

Despite getting close and spending time with each other, there is this awkwardness and tension between them, that if their relationship was meant to come off as platonic it shouldn’t be there.

And that forehead kiss he gave her. Listen, if he had smiled at her sweetly and she had done the same, like Ned and Arya did, when Ned sweetly kissed her on the forehead, then yes, I would’ve/might’ve thought, okay, that’s a platonic kiss, but no, they linger on eachother’s lips, both of them, twice, the kiss lasts waaay too long, too (4 seconds), Jon even closes his eyes, as you can see below, Ned doesn’t. Both Sansa and Jon. had these ambiguous, serious, intense expressions on their faces.

I’ve shown the forehead kiss to many people who don’t watch GoT and all of them were like, “whoa, he’s so intense, the way he looks at her, man.”, so yeah, no, that scene was not meant to give us platonic vibes, and to top it, to give even a more romantic, ambiguous vibe to the audience, snow was slowly falling around them.

Just see for yourself, look at how different these kisses are. The first one is a sweet, affectionate kiss, from a father to his daughter, and the second, well, it’s not a brother and sister forehead kiss, Sansa’s and Jon’s forehead kiss scene was intense af.

They have no idea wth is going on with these feelings, with their emotions. I think both of them are partly in denial, they try to shove these feelings away, but are unable to, they can’t help it, they’ve been through a lot together, shared their sorrows, and helped eachother, Sansa by helping him to get back to his old self, and Jon by restoring her faith in men. They both realize they’d be perfect for each other, and they truly are, they complement each other so beautifully, but they cannot be, because they’re brother and sister, and that’s all they can be, that is, until the big reveal will happen in season 8.

Jon loves her, choking Littlefinger the way he did, as soon as he said “I love Sansa, as I loved her mother”, confirmed that, he snapped, we have never heard Jon, literally, growl in an animalistic way like that before, never. Even a simple mention of her, visibly irritates/bothers him, he’s territorial, he behaves as if she were his, as if she were off limits to anyone, but him.

And Sansa, she initiates touches with him, harm grabbing, hand holding, she’s a rape victim, a rape/torture survivor, but she trusts him, fully, so much so, she even lets, HIM, touch her, caress her head, and kiss her on the forehead.

There is a reason why they were never close as children, why they never shared a scene together, and why they were the first ones to reunite. I’d like to also add, early on, Sophie asked the directors, why she had to dye her hair red, she was told, that her hair being red, is and will be very important for the plot. Now, Bran has auburn hair, Robb has auburn hair, and so does Rickon, if I remember correctly, and yet, Sophie was the only one who had to dye her hair red. We all know Jon has a thing for redheads, so yeah, when you put all these little details together, it becomes more and more obvious where D&D are going with Jon and Sansa.

Jon and Sansa when were younger, wanted believed in the same things, had similar dreams and aspirations.

Jon wanted to prove himself, and to do so he decided to leave his home, to become a brother of the night’s watch, which is a sort of knight, I believe they’re also referred to as black nights. He always dreamed about having a family, a wife, children of his own, a son named Robb.

And Sansa, she wanted to become Queen, and therefore leaves for Kingslanding with Ned. In her dreams, her children look like the brothers she has lost, there is even a girl that looks like Arya. Jon looks like Lyanna, Arya looks like Lyanna, Jon and Arya look alike, Sansa’s dream might be foreshadowing, that Jon and Sansa will have a daughter someday, a daughter that will resemble her younger sister, Sansa has predominant Tully genes, Jon has predominant Stark genes, so yeah, it’s possible all their children will look like Sansa, red hair, blue eyes, with the exception of the girl from her dreams that looks like Arya, that takes after Jon.

Do I think that they’ll forget about the fact they’re brother and sister?

They started to acknowledge each other as brother and sister, a few months ago, because in everyone’s eyes, that’s what they are, but what they feel for each other isn’t brotherly and sisterly love, and they both know it, we can see it by watching their body language

by their lingering stares

by watching the way they fight, which is literally like a married couple.

So I believe setting aside the “omg he’s/she’s still my brother/sister” won’t hard for them at all, because they don’t see each other as brother and sister, they have strong repressed feelings for eachother, I think the news will liberate them both, and free them from the guilt.

I don’t know, if they know, that they both feel the same for each other, but I bet my hat, both of them are at war with themselves, thinking, why am I feeling this, what is up with these feelings, what is wrong with me, Sansa would be disgusted/Jon would be disgusted, if she/he knew I thought of her/him this way.

So they keep it to themselves, and what we get as a result, is an awkwardness and sexual tension, that is seen among two people who are in love with one another, but that can’t/won’t confess their love to each other, because they are afraid etc., so they try to suppress it, and that makes it worse lol It makes both people act rather foolish, awkward, tense and frustrated around each other. Frustration is another thing you can see between Sansa and Jon, they frustrate each other 🙈

So yeah, this is my take on their relashionship. I see them as each other’s companion, they have a partner like relashionship, I get no sibling vibes from them, they clearly have ferlings for each other, their scenes are shot too romantically, and hell, they are full of romantic tropes too.

They’re going to both be hit by even stronger waves emotions once the secret about Jon’s parents gets out. I’m really looking forward to see how their dynamic will change, because oh my, if it will drastically change. I feel like after suppressing their feelings for so long, they’re both going to explode (not literally lol a figure of speech) when the secret get’s out lol

Whoa I think I’ve rambled enough, I’ll stop here. 😅😅

Thank you for the ask dear anon, hope my answer satisfied you.

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imawritinginprogress · 7 years

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The Feminist Princess and the Unexpected Warrior

June 12, 2089, Ithuriel

Princess Cleo: I’ve lived all my life being trained as an independent and courageous princess. Since my father died, I don’t believe I need a man to tell me how to lead the kingdom of Ithuriel after what mortality did to what the people call Philippines. I studied the history and government of that country for years and I’ve learned that when a woman rule a country, she is usually claimed to be a devil advocate, a puppet, or worse, people might advice you to “just leave it to the men,” like most men rule the country. I did not say that the leadership of men was wrong, I admire few men leaders who weren’t selfish on their good intentions to lead, but most of men were corrupted by the influence of money as well as the recognition of the people, notably the poor and the commoners.

That was long time ago, since angels came and conquer this beautiful country to correct history and to improve humanity on Earth. My parents led the revolution since most of the corrupt politicians died of our powers since the battle of angels and humans happened on what was now known as Ithuriel.

Their government was what the people call a utopian, ideal, you could say. Religions were now unified, yet people were given a free choice to express their diversity, be they wanted to be a Catholic, Christian or whatever you wanted to believe in, even in being a part of the rainbow community too. Everyone is given equal rights to study their level of expertise; of course there were schools for each profession. I could mention more about how beautiful Ithuriel is, but according to the people my parents talked to, it was like heaven on Earth.

Until, I witnessed my father being slain by someone he considered to be his ally, his best friend. Since then, I furiously become determined to be a worthy leader for the people of Ithuriel and to take revenge of those behind the assassination of my father.

Since then, I won’t let anyone tell me I’m just a girl, that I’m just another pretty face but considered worthless in history, especially by men who tried to revolt against my mom because she is just a woman. My study on international culture and leadership has been helping me to be what fate wanted me to be. I’m now more than ready to be the next leader of Ithuriel, father. So help me God.

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

“So Ms. Jemima, how do you write this compelling story?” a reporter from The Manila Bulletin named Christian interviewed in her first ever press conference promoting the book.

“About the story of Princess Cleo, which many women wanted to emulate like the famous heroine too. What are your reactions that your book has been worshipped by your fans not only on Philippines but also worldwide too?” said another from Philippine Star.

“Will you consider the rumor that Shine Network will televise your book into a primetime series,” commented another from Inquirer.

Me and my classmates in Creative Writing under Sir Carlou’s class were watching the live simulcast of Palanca awardee and best-selling author behind “The Feminist Princess”.

“Personally, I like Ms. Jemima Angeli. She’s been known and well loved not only on the present times, but also on social media too. She’s been responding to her growing number of ladies whom she encouraged to be true to themselves and also been reaching out to men to be not afraid of what society dictates us to be. Yet she did not consider herself wise, she is also cracking jokes via her official Twitter ever now and then when she’s not in writing mode.

She’s my inspiration. That’s why I wanted to be a writer like her one day. I will write as dauntless like her,” gushing Cristine, who is a big fan of her writings. As expected, I had to get myself be overwhelmed by her idolizing such a writer like Ms. Jemima Angeli.

Truth is, I cannot blame Cristine. She’s also an aspiring writer too, she needs someone to ignite her writing skills but sadly, I’m an Engineer. I don’t usually involve in things such as literature and arts, unlike my girl classmates and I don’t even care.

“Feminists suck”, says my mind while enduring the live press conference. “She claims she reaches out to men, but that is still women superiority complex disguised as women empowerment”, that is what I believe in. Sorry Emma Watson, I would rather prefer her acting rather than her advocacies, I even commented to stop her fangirling obsession.

Man that kills me. Girls, when will you learn that you still needed men too?

To which Cristine replied, “You know what, you’re just being insulted because she achieves way better than you did. I hate this to tell you, but if you don’t have something nice to say, you better shut your mouth okay?”

“There you go, Cristine. You won. I am worth nothing, and you go ahead with your shitty writing if you wish,” I sighed in my defeat when suddenly her book opened without a second, and since Sir Carlou shut the lights dark, the blaring light shocks everyone. Later I didn’t realized I was devoured literally into a book.

I screamed with all my might but even my classmates and Sir Carlou were almost paralyzed into inaction, unable to help me.

“This is crazy. I just saw these on anime, but well, welcome to an adventure, Arthur”, as in minutes I am now surrounded by people attending the congregation of Queen Esther and her daughter Princess Cleo. I looked at my shabby university uniform and felt alienated by the outfit of the people around the city.

A big white arrow, with a sign labeled in all big capitals, “Ithuriel” was seen before my very eyes dusted by sand.

“Ouch”, I exclaimed, “This isn’t real”

“Hey, “a knight-clad warrior approached me and tied both my arms, about to arrest me without even knowing me. “What the hell are you wearing? Are you one of the revolutionist Magicians who even dared time travel to Ithuriel?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I almost shouted in pain before I gazed at the knight who even dared to even argue with me. “Oh what a nice welcoming”, I sarcastically sighed to myself when he pulled me towards the prison cell.

“You better come with me, no objections, Mister, if you wanted me to keep you alive, you” as the knight led me to the prison cell with everyone staring at me.

A few minutes later, I was in the prison cell, just like what he wanted of me. I’m still thinking of escaping from this fictitious place when a beautiful woman approaches me.

She was wearing a gown just like the typical princess on the fairy tales; her straight shiny black hair caught my eye. Maybe she was Princess Cleo, the way Ms. Jemima writes her to look like, but I never thought that novels could be this real. Just like her beauty.

I never fall in love with a fictional character written in the book. Nah, that’s insane.

“Are you even hungry?” she even asked.

And she has a lovely voice. Oh dear me, am I in love?

Days passed and I began befriending the knights who appeared to be amazed at my smartness to construct the castle of Ithuriel using my knowledge at Engineering. So I learn how to narrate tales of what the Philippines look like during my time, since I already told them I’m a student at one of the prestigious university in Manila and they look very interested in where do I grew up and if word was true that men were treated fairly during my time.

Cool. I was now here in the future of the Philippines. Well, if only I memorized by heart the history, I would even give up my Engineering degree to pursue politics and governance and study in Ithuriel. No, I don’t mean that. Engineering was cool, yet one must be patient if you wanted to be like me. Just kidding again; please laugh.

Heck, I would even ask if I could study something related to Engineering, or whatever they might call right now. Even with all the knowledge I study at heart, all I cared at this moment to get to know this beautiful woman. I don’t care if Cristine spoiled me that she’ll soon die at the end of this story, I just wanted to.

If Cristine were here and she saw my face gushing, she’ll surely be laughing at me to no end.

But I don’t even bother, except for my feelings every time Princess Cleo visited the prison cell to feed me and talk to me, if she is not in a bad mood. Even if all I received sarcastic humiliation and countless rejections from her, I just wanted to hear her voice, daydream I would touch her angelic face, and.. just her presence made my day.

I waited and waited and hoped for her, to no avail. Has she never seen a man like me before, I don’t know. Even I showed her my wisdom, I cracked jokes with her, I tell my stories to amuse her; damn this woman’s heart is as cold as stone!

I never felt so miserable in my whole existence. Maybe my charming appeals do not work in my favor, nor has she ever fallen in love before with a man and later left her too?

These questions haunted my mind every night whenever the knights stayed behind me in bars to watch me. I’m in this prison cell, staring at my cell phone, missing my college professors, Cristine, Ivan, Abby, Laven, Denver, and everyone until I immediately fell asleep in my immeasurable grief.

* * * * * * * *

The next morning, a knight whom I mostly befriended named Joseph invited me to free me from my miserable days on the prison cell, in exchange for my training to be expert in swords just like I’ve seen in the movies.

Less than weeks passed since I’ve been given this freedom I owed to Joseph, and in no time, finally I mastered sword fighting. Joseph taught me how to ride a horse and everything I need to learn in combat.

I never felt like a hero in my whole life, aside from my classmates knew me as a Math wizard. Finally, you’ll see what you lost, Princess Cleo.

Joseph lent me his favorite horse named Viceral. At first, I laughed for his quick sense of humor in nicknaming horse names, but he told me that it’s his lucky horse and wishes me well in the battle I’m going to face in. “You’ve already mastered quickly what I’ve learned in knighthood for years. I’m so proud of you, Arthur. Go and save the Princess, the world needs her existence!” as I left with Viceral on the way to what was previously called Mt. Apo.

I am more than ready to rewrite your history. Sorry, Ms. Angeli, but your story is long gone. You need quick revisions, or whatever editing you might proofread after all, for I am to prove Princess Cleo that she doesn’t need to face leadership alone, she needed me.

Which is to no avail because she won’t let me either after the night I saved her from the angel-slaying dragon who is about to imprison her. I cut the dragon split in two, and Princess Cleo did not even acknowledge me for saving her life.

Why did she every time she sees me, her eyes looked at me sweetly too? I don’t understand that night when I saved her, she hugged me in her fright, as if she needed my help? And yet every time I do care, which is I never did for my past loves, she even won’t give me some slacks?

I stood with my hand-me-down night armor Joseph borrowed me on the night I helped her, helplessly and exhausted in my battle, my eyes swollen in heartbreakingly pangs of rejection as she commanded me to stay away from her. I turned my back, gazing one second towards this ice princess who claimed she was a feminist. Or maybe she is.

“My love, can’t you see how much I’ve changed me since I met you. Why you’re making me crazy thinking about such wasted beauty like you? I wasn’t like this before, but why? Is there someone before me who hurts you? I will protect you from the boys who will do things I wanted to do with you, please hear my heart” I desperately screamed at the top of my lungs, damn my almost victory no one ever knows.

Except that my pleas were finally heard at the author itself.

Jemima Angeli.

She stood at me quickly, asking me of my intentions to save the princess. I quickly replied that “I may not be a fan of your works, but I loved her since the day I saw her when I was wrongfully imprisoned those weeks, but she never do care about me, even on the day I risked myself to save her from her tragic fate.”

“So you already read my book,” replied Jemima. To my surprise, it took me seconds to notice of her maroon coat she’s wearing to.

“So you’re one of the revolutionists who killed her father?” I blurted out my damn hypothesis, which I’m afraid she might have said it worse.

She replied politely to my surprise, “Yes, I did. But thank you for doing great in my story, which I heard you screaming at the mountains just earlier in my dreams.” She took a step forward, “Already looking for revenge towards her indifference?” which she brought up someone I did not see coming.

Princess Cleo was stunned to be back after she proved her victory that her feminist theory could be won, but in the end, whatever good it might seems, if done in bad intentions, it would fail anyway.

“Why are you bringing me to this man; you murderer!” Princess Cleo screamed horror as Jemima Angeli is not your usual writer; she has the gifts of time travelling, precognition and clairvoyance, which is declared illegal magic by her present government.

In instant, the author in her pity shared her tragic story, “I once become like you, I lost my dad before which is why I become a feminist. But I never tried hurting any man of good intentions like Arthur to feel what grief your father left of your soul. It’s a waste to continue you becoming an unworthy heroine to thousands of ladies who knew your story very well, even they know your life would be tragic anyway”, the Palanca awardee I just watched long time ago muttered in her breath.

Life is one big adventure of mishaps and learned lessons. Believe me or not, the next few words she says gives me sense of justice over my recent heartbreak.

“From now on, you’ll been recognized not your title of being a Princess but live your life being this guy” she commanded, her powers drew towards the ice princess.

“Until you finally learned how to appreciate what this guy did for you, for love, “as Princess Cleo was swallowed into the book, her angelic face was being transformed like Arthur’s resemblance as a punishment.

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

PRESENT-DAY at the UNIVERSITY, TWO DAYS AFTER ARTHUR IS BEING SWALLOWED BY THE BOOK..

“Waaaaaaaaaaah!” as the princess woke up and find herself in the mirror as soon as she got up. Espedillion’s abode, to her surprise!

From now on, the princess was forced to look like the man she crushed his hopes for romance. Her tears started to fell down too as she stared back at her handsome reflection.

“Arthur”, she sighed. “I’m sorry I broke you. But this is my fault. You always said that you love me, but I’m so scared because I’m so heartbroken, I used to hate men and preach the wrong meaning of feminism but I was wrong. I should get to know you instead, oh please.”

“Hey, Arthur, why you’re crying” Cristine approaches him, giving her handkerchief at him.

“Sorry”, I apologized to the girl, “Were you a friend of Arthur?”

“Of course, you’re Arthur right? My god, friend, you’ve been absent since 2 days! You have missed so much time. Laven, Abby, Walker, Angel, and everyone misses you so much, we never stopped contacting you via Messenger but seems that you shut your mobile phone not to make us feel worried. Where have you been all these days?” as I noticed the book she’s holding to, besides her black bag.

She owns the book I’m been looking for, so I would know if I would be in damn tragedy like what she said she originally written as my death. I asked Cristine if she could lend me her book so I could study what my life would be as well as my future, to avoid my fate, if proven I would die, as being written.

“How come, I thought you’ll never be interested in Jemima Angeli’s writings because you only cared for your Engineering degree? On one condition, I’ll accompany you at the gazebo. Looks like we have so much time to talk to, “

I hesitantly agreed as she pulled me playfully to the gazebo. It was peaceful outside the University, as the cool breeze swept as us. We were sitting on a bench nearby, and she told me things that like me, despite of his amazing intelligence, lies a man longing for someone who could he be himself around, and things Arthur never shared things with me about. I then admitted that I wasn’t Arthur and pleaded Cristine not to tell her classmates about the curse, and everything Arthur did for me, which she laughed to no end.

“I’m just his friend, c’mon, I never liked him,“ Cristine admitted. “If you really love him, let me help you. Feel free to contact me just in case you wanted someone to talk to,” as she waved herself goodbye for her next class.

Days passed and I was adjusted to the university life Arthur is experiencing through. Cristine helped me cope with whatever weird nuisances my Engineering classmates were slowly noticing, so thank God I wasn’t caught.

The Espedilion family has been my second home to me. Abby and Wesley were good friends, they’re nice college buddies even they did not recognize I wasn’t Arthur after all. Sorry guys.

The day of submission of Prof. Carlou’s assignment regarding Jemima Angeli’s interview has been drawing near. And we have to read our reactions in front of my class.

God, I hate oral recitations.

“Mr. Espedillion?” Prof. Carlou called me after Cristine and Wesley has finally done reading their pieces.

Cristine tapped my shoulder, wishing me good luck. “It’s time.”

I read the paper I’ve been thinking about Arthur the whole time. I realized writing could make you powerless, but above knowledge, love is the strongest power in my whole existence.

I forgive her for killing my dad. I finally learned to love Arthur, the man I lived within days of discovering the life he’s accustomed to.

I stared at everyone who’s been waiting for me to even open my mouth. My train of thoughts snapped back to reality as Prof. Carlou repeated his instructions, “Mr. Espedillion, are you with us?”

“Yes,” I immediately replied and nodded to read my essay again. I just make sure the night before the presentation not to reveal my true identity in my essays as well as my growing feelings for Arthur.

“What I’ve learned from Jemima Angeli and her heroine Princess Cleo Maxine were adventures I’ve never travelled to, but from an Engineer’s perspective, I’ve learned a girl can be hurt and insensitive because she thought love can be restrained not taught not to feel it. I’ve tried, believe me, I realized you can be the most knowledgeable and the most successful Engineer, or writer, or an author, or even be anything you wish, but if you’re doing it out of vengeance, it wouldn’t only resolve anything, it would make things worse. I realized these past few days reading her novel and realized Jemima Angeli is not your typical feminist but Princess Cleo is, blinded by her anger and hatred towards the people responsible for her father’s death, if someone might call her heartless and insensitive. News: Princess Cleo is in love. Jemima might not mention to you guys yet, but she is in love with the unexpected knight she met in the prison cell. That stranger she thought he was a time traveler who’s threatening her safety, but heck, he doesn’t know whatever I denied, I smiled. I blushed, but I never dared to utter, for I don’t believe in such nonsense. That she’s a feminist and I won’t fall in love with the man that might betray my trust later on, just like what happened to her dad. Sorry, but, I do love---

Meanwhile in Ithuriel, Jemima and the real Arthur watched behind her speech using the water in the well to witness such change of heart for the once called ice princess so she let Arthur return back to his true form and live his normal life.

“She has loved you back, Arthur. Go back to your life and I’m sorry for bothering you” Jemima started to apologize me.

Oh no, I did not even wanted her to apologize the one responsible for why we met.

I smiled at the author slash magician I would never forget, the kingdom of Ithuriel, Joseph, and his knightly comrades as I was swallowed by the book.

Love takes you to places you’ve never been of, feels of the things Engineering never taught me, but I learned that anyone can be a hero for someone you’ve consider to grow and marry for the lifetime, should I?

I reached the University in no time, in a woman’s dress. I remember.

I do look like Princess Cleo, so keep calm, my darling. I’ll rewrite our love and your fate, I sighed as the book take me to where Cleo admitted her feelings to me. She was surprised as our eyes met, and I can say she missed me too, even if she doesn’t admit it.

“My Cleo,” I kissed her with all my might the moment I saw her. I don’t care if my classmates saw us, for all I care as her existence makes me feel alive. Her confession was enough for me to taste her love, and what she deserves for a simple college geek like me.

Our bodies start to exchange in front of the whole class, and finally I hugged her tight, with the essay paper she wrote for me. Professor Carlou and the whole class clapped for us out of their shock a few minutes later. They must have felt like they’re watching a televised love story. Or maybe it is.

She finally grew feelings for me, as I cupped her angelic face. Damn, I could stare at her face for a lifetime. I’m not at my dying years, but am I already in heaven with her. Wish I would rather die right now and marry her right away, but I guess this is me happy. I really did, and I’m sure of it myself.

Jemima nowadays must have been playing Cupid now, I’m honored.

Years past since I’ve gotten myself a degree in Mechanical Engineering and I’m now a professor in my alma mater. Even it took me years since that day Princess Cleo kissed me; she never died in my heart. And even they never believed in me except Cristine who is now a famous spoken word artist, Ithuriel still holds a special place in my heart.

Even if the story no longer became the trend unlike way before did, I’m still holding on fate that we’ll soon meet, if we’re really destined to be with each other. Only time could tell, I just need to trust her to forget her fears.

Just kidding though, I hate tragic endings. Oh, did I forget to tell you, we’ve been married in Ithuriel days after I got my licensure in Mechanical Engineering?

--END--

#clethur imawritinginprogress myfirstshortstory dystopian futuristicPhilippines Ithuriel

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eamonrmcivor-blog · 7 years

Text

If You Were Born A Girl

~Wherein I discover my brother is not my brother~

When I was in second grade, my mother decided she was either going to buy a share in a horse, or have a third child. I do remember a few visits to a stable near our house, but the clearer memory is of the fertility clinics. Hanging out in any doctor’s office is torture enough, but the fertility clinic had a mysterious and unclear purpose (and a distinct lack of toys in the waiting room). When my parents were whisked away by a nurse, were they being taken to some sort of tacky showroom containing high-end fetuses in shiny glass jars? “We’re having a year-end blowout on the ’92 models, but you might want to wait until the ‘93s come on the lot. Ten fingers and ten toes come standard, or your money back.”

My parents eventually went with a ’93 model, with a projected delivery date in mid-September. Over the summer, my older sister Charlotte and my grandmother teased me relentlessly that the baby was going to be a girl and I was going to be outnumbered. My mother, while not framing it in a “sisters vs. brother” context, was also pretty sure she was carrying a girl. As the due date grew closer, we abandoned referring to “the baby” and mainly used the name my parents had picked out. Rosemary.

The day my mother went into labor, Charlotte and I stayed at my grandparents’ house. We were informed that evening via telephone that my mother had given birth to a boy, Benjamin Joseph McIvor. I had gotten my little brother after all! I knew I’d have to wait a few years before he was formed and/or interesting enough to hang out with, but I was happy to have him waiting in the wings. He’d be my sidekick, my student, my smaller version of me who would be grateful for any attention because I was his older, and therefore impossibly cool, brother.

Ben was a hilarious kid. There are some home movies where he’s dressed in a red jacket and matching bowtie. Combine that with his cherub face and brown mop top, and he looked like a ventriloquist dummy come to life. The funny, charming kind; not the stab-you kind. The video was shot during a family party, and he’s darting around like a maniac, but not in a hyper I’ve-had-too-much-sugar way. He was doing schtick! He was only three or four, but he knew how to put a whole room of adults under his spell and make them laugh uncontrollably.

As much as I aspired to be the perfect older brother, I did indulge in that beloved pastime of all siblings: teasing. When Ben was in kindergarten, Charlotte and I convinced him he was born a beagle that had been shaved and given plastic surgery to look human. On his eleventh birthday, I bought him a Yu-Gi-Oh DVD, and stashed it inside a purse before putting on wrapping paper. The gag went over like gangbusters with everyone except Ben, who violently threw the purse across the room.

“If you were born a girl, we would have named you Rosemary,” was a line I resorted to with great frequency.

Once he turned fourteen, Ben grew his hair down to his shoulders. However, he was a student of Archbishop Ryan High School, and as you might imagine, the Catholics are not too fond of ponytails on men. He met with the disciplinarian on almost a daily basis, and was in danger of being suspended. I had grown my hair long as soon as I went to college, and advised him to wait until then. In his desperation, he asked my parents to buy him a short-haired wig he could wear to school. After Ben made a passionate plea to the disciplinarian that the hair was all he had, a cool head prevailed, and my brother was allowed to keep his long chestnut locks. When he began to style his hair with thick, shiny ribbons, I told him he looked like Gay Thomas Jefferson. It’s not unusual for happy-go-lucky ventriloquist dummy-emulating kids to morph into grumpy, distant teenagers, so when Ben’s personality made a sudden shift to the dark and dour, it didn’t strike anyone in the family as particularly unusual. A lifelong passion for baseball disappeared overnight, and he converted to Wicca (which, to the further ire of the disciplinarian, involved wearing a variety of silver pendants & trinkets). He didn’t join any extracurricular activities, explaining he needed the downtime on weekends to play video games and teach himself to speak Russian. Shortly before he left for college at Bloomsburg University, Ben asked us to start addressing him as Venyamina (Venya for short), which he explained was the Russian equivalent of his given name. Growing up with the frequently butchered name Eamon (my favorite mis-pronunciation is “Almond”), I asked why he’d voluntarily change his name to something so atypical, and frankly, made-up sounding. He said he was tired of people calling him Ben Franklin or Ben Dover, and wanted to dissociate himself from teasing he’d suffered in grade school. Yeah, sure, okay You’re Venya now. I still called him Ben, mostly out of habit. Who fucking changes their name after living with it for nineteen years? Trans persons do.

My mother, father and I all sat around the dining room table, waiting for my little brother to start. It was January 2013, during Venya’s first winter break. He was dressed in baggy blue jeans, a dark t-shirt and a hoody. Pretty much the uniform of the McIvor Brothers. He had checked and double-checked I would be there that night. With hesitation on his lips, and anxiety in his eyes he began to speak—

But those words are a blur to me now, and any attempt to recreate them would be a disservice to the bravery the littlest McIvor then exhibited. Confusion. Always felt different. Not like the other boys. Psychological pain. Feminine. Isolation. Dysphoria. Those sentiments, communicated in halting, hushed phrases. I wasn’t sure what the kid with the long chestnut locks was trying to say.

“Are you gay?” I asked my little brother.

“I’m a woman,” my little sister replied.

If you were born a girl, we would have named you Rosemary. You were born into the wrong body, so you renamed yourself Venyamina.

I love you, we love you, no matter what, are you sure, when did you know, wait how do you pronounce your new name again, we love you and support you no matter what, are you going to get lower-body surgery, how long has this been going on, is this why you didn’t go to your senior prom and smoked pot alone in your room instead, Ben I love you, I mean Venya I love you, are you sure? But we love you no matter what!

I asked her to go for a walk with me, because there was some apologizing to be done on my end. The Rosemary line, sure, and the purse gag, yeah. Pretty standard teasing stuff, but it took on a far more sinister edge with what I knew now. She accepted my apologies, but did let me know that calling her Gay Thomas Jefferson had been a particularly sharp dagger. I had made that quip not because I thought being gay was a bad thing, but as a comment on the gulf between her masculine clothing and ribbon-adorned hair. It had never read to me as particularly feminine, just another Ben quirk. But it was all she’d had.

Before I met my sister, I had never been outwardly intolerant of any trans persons, but was privately skeptical and unnerved by it. No matter what you “thought” you were, why would you willingly butcher your body in a way that could never be completely convincing? When Laura Jane Grace of the band Against Me! came out as a trans woman in 2012, I scoffed that she was immediately being referred to as she/her. I thought to myself, “But you haven’t gotten your sex change yet! You’re not a real girl!”

But these were my issues and my projections. I have body issues. I turn from mirrors the way a vampire turns from the cross. I worry about what people think of my appearance. That thinning hair, that disgusting mole, those stretch marks. But my shit is not the world’s shit. My idiotic notions of what a person should look like and my irrational fear that others are constantly sneering at my body are mine alone. “Wait until college to grow your hair long.” “Why give yourself a hard to pronounce name?” When I said those things, I was talking to myself, and not my sister.

I don’t know why I was once so attached to strict, obsessive rules for defining what did and did not constitute a man or a woman, but viewing the world solely through my own experience was wrong. I cannot question anyone’s gender because I am not them. I’m ashamed it took until someone in my own family coming out as trans for me to realize this truth. I’m not going to blame cultural conditioning for my ignorance, because I had known gay and trans persons since I was twelve.

The months after Venyamina came out were relatively calm. She would be home every few weeks for a break or a holiday. A little more make-up, capris instead of jeans, a higher-pitched voice. My father embraced his daughter’s new identity with zeal, even if he didn’t completely comprehend the particulars. He conflated gender with sexuality, and occasionally mixed up being a transvestite with being transsexual. Still, he read books she recommended and joined a support group for parents with trans children. For my part, I bought Venyamina some Doom Patrol comics written by Rachel Pollock.

My mother continued to use the he/him pronouns when discussing my sister, and usually referred to her as “Benya/Venya.” Sure, we all slipped up with the name and pronoun changes in the early going, but she clung to them far longer than was appropriate. I tried to drill it into her mind that Ben was gone, and that using those words would only serve to push her daughter away. Worse yet, she blamed the fertility treatments for “causing” the gender dysphoria. I told her there was no percentage in thinking about that; all that mattered was that Venyamina was here and that we showed her that we loved her.

Summer was hell. Once Venyamina was home from college, she barely ever left her room. She was pushing for hormones and a legal name change right away, and my parents wanted her to wait a little longer. Even I was skeptical that she was transitioning too quickly. She’d always had an impulsive nature that led to her fervently embracing things and abandoning them almost as fast. However, this wasn’t like when she’d become a vegetarian right before a fancy dinner with relatives we hadn’t seen in over a decade. This was her life.

The big sticking point was her desire to transfer to Warren Wilson College in Asheville, North Carolina. It had a trans-friendly environment, and the woman Venyamina had started dating in the spring was transferring there, too. My mom thought it was too far away, my dad wanted Venyamina to properly research and apply to three schools, and I didn’t want my baby sister moving to the South, even nestled in a liberal community. She was still in the motherfucking South. Not that I had any say in it; they were all at enough cross purposes without involving the resident court jester.

The stalemate over Venyamina’s school continued through the summer into the fall. In December 2013, just a few days before my mother was due to pick my sister up from Bloomsburg, my parents received a blistering email from Venyamina. She had been accepted to Warren Wilson and would be starting there next semester. She told them she was safe, and not to come look for her. I was devastated. This was going to be the first Christmas all five of us would be together since Charlotte got married four years before. I sent Venyamina frantic emails promising her that she could stay at my apartment and would be under my protection.

She didn’t come home that winter. She only spoke with my parents about money, and usually via text messages. She didn’t return my phone calls, and declined to meet up with me when I visited Raleigh, North Carolina in February. What the fuck was her problem? I wasn’t our parents, and I’d shown her nothing but love and acceptance the past year. Why punish me for our parents’ ignorance? Again, I’d put my selfish needs and experiences before hers. She was trying to make a clean break from an existence that had brought her nothing but pain, and all I had cared about was getting the complete collection together for a photo opportunity.

Over time, though, she and I were honest and understanding with one another and repaired our relationship. She’s visited home twice since she moved to North Carolina. I had to break up a fight between Venyamina’s girlfriend and my mom the first time, but the second visit was sans fisticuffs. That’s progress, I guess?

On the rare occasions Venyamina talks about Ben, she describes how she drowned him in the ocean after she came out. That makes me sad, because I grew up with Ben. The toddler who hid my Power Ranger zords during a vacation at the beach. The kid who wrote a fan letter to Emma Watson and told her he was half-velociraptor. The teenager who starred in my spy parody film, The Ben Identity. However, I happily lay flowers at my brother’s grave so that my sister can live.

Venyamina is still distant from my parents, but she did call them when she won a social work award at Warren Wilson this past spring. She’s starting an internship in the fall, and we’re collaborating on a writing project that deals with trans issues. I moved to Los Angeles a few months ago, so we’re farther away from each other than ever, but somehow, the closest we’ve ever been.

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