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lizziestudieshistory · 3 years

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Books of 2021 - July

I read a lot this month! I’m not even sure how I managed it, especially when we consider I’ve read another 850 pages between Anna Karenina and Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on top of this lot!

I’m just going to apologise now for not proof reading this... I’m finishing this off at 2 in the morning to schedule and I’m sick of looking at my own writing at the moment.

Amnesty by Lara Elena Donnelly - Technically I read this at the end of June, however, I was on holiday so couldn’t include it in last month’s wrap up.

I’ve already spoken about the Amberlough Dossier and anyone who’s been around my blog for longer than about 10 seconds knows I love this trilogy. Amnesty was no exception. We have the return of Cyril, he and Ari working through their relationship (or not quite understandably), and the fall out from the fall of the Ospies - this world’s equivalent to the Nazi party. It’s not an easy book to read and the glamour of the first installment is completely stripped away to deal with very complex moral and political questions. I don’t necessarily agree with Donnelly’s answers, however, I do admire her for really delving into these very difficult topics. She used the speculative nature of the Amberlough Dossier to come up with a sensitive and interesting discussion on a very difficult period in history.

I’m hoping to write a proper review for the whole trilogy at some point (once I’ve finished the monstrosity that is my Words of Radiance review) so I don’t want to say too much more here. However, I do want to say I really enjoyed that Donnelly found the space to continue looking at the smaller, private, and interpersonal consequences of the Ospies’ regime, particularly for families. It’s a sensitive look into this situation and I loved every second of it - I also adore Cyril and Ari’s relationship, but I’ll dig into them in my proper reivew.

Master of Sorrows by Justin Call - this was a slightly underwhelming read for me, although I did really enjoy it. I’ve seen Master of Sorrows praised everywhere, I don’t think I’ve seen it given less than 5 stars? Yet, for me it was a solid 4 star read. I’d wanted a 5 star read (I’ve been sorely lacking them) but something was holding me back with this one - I do think the series has 5 star potential though and I’m going to read Master Artificer soon!

This is a book clearly embedded in a love of mythology and fantasy. It’s dark and gritty, especially in the second half, with plenty for the reader to sink their teeth into. I’ve also never seen such a strong focus on physical disability in a fantasy novel - it was refreshing to see and led to an interesting use of the magic system to develop ways of overcoming physical disadvantages. Although I’m hoping this is going to be explored further in later installments as, for a large part of this book, Annev was essentially able bodied due to a magical prosthetic he never takes off.

Unfortuantely the most interesting part of this book, for me, was the mythological world building at the start of each part in the book. The myths, clearly based on Norse mythology (I’m sorry but “Odar” was a bit obvious), were fascinating, particularly as they started to have an influence on the events of the main narrative. I just wanted to know more about the gods than the actual story, this is probably a me issue though... The main plotline felt generic: Annev is a boy in a coming of age story, complete with a magic(ish) assassin school, a wise old mentor, and a destiny/prophesy surrounding him. It’s a typical fantasy story, so far, and while I do really enjoy these plotlines (I read enough of them!) it’s not exactly the most original. Nevertheless, I am excited to see where Call goes with this as I do think the rest of the series will start growing into something much more interesting and I look forward to Master Artificer.

Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte - this is one of my favourite books of all time, we all know this by now... See my full review for Bronte’s masterpiece here.

The Bedlam Stacks by Natasha Pulley - July has been the month of Natasha Pulley for me because I’ve rediscovered just how much I LOVE her books. I first read Pulley back in...what, 2017? (It’s been a while...) with her debut novel, The Watchmaker of Filigree Street which I remember loving, but I never continued with The Bedlam Stacks, the only other available book by Pulley at the time. To be frank with you, it’s because at 18/19 I wasn’t that interested in Peru. However, I now really want to read The Kingdoms, Pulley’s new release, but I felt obliged to read the books I already owned by her and hadn’t read - so I picked up The Bedlam Stacks as it’s the one I’ve owned the longest without having read it...

Not reading The Bedlam Stacks back then was the best decision I’ve ever made because I know at 18 I wouldn’t have appreciated what a stunning masterpiece this book is - it would have flown over my head because, at the time, I just wanted more Thaniel and Mori. At 23 I ADORED this book. I absolutely fell in love with the subtle whimsy and quite, understated beauty of this story. Pulley has such an elegant way of writing, it’s never overdone - she has a way of playing with words which reads beautifully but doesn’t feel like too much. She’s never flowery or purple with her prose, but she does create a work of art.

Unfortunately, The Bedlam Stacks is a book I think a lot of people may struggle with - there’s not a lot of plot, everything is a bit weird, and it’s largely a character study for our two main characters: Merrick Tremayne and Raphael. Merrick’s journey to Peru to find quinine - a cure for malaria - for the British Empire is really a set up to allow the rest of the book to focus on these two characters. It’s centred on the very slow development of their relationship together, coming to understand each other, and eventually open up about themselves - well this is more in Raphael’s case. It’s a poignant story about two people finding a home with each other that will endure across time and distance - it’s not quite a romance, but it’s certainly more than a friendship. Personally I read them as ace, but there is definitely scope here to read them in a variety of other ways depending on your own experiences. But what is certain is their deep connection, and that their love (platonic or otherwise) is what drives the outcome of this story.

It’s beautiful, poignant, and slightly tragic when you think about it... I loved every minuet of it and just wanted the book to continue, I was genuinely sad it was over! It’s not a novel for everyone, and I do think the opening section needed some more work as it did feel like Pulley was saying ‘lets get over this necessary but boring set up’. However, it was exactly what I wanted and I’m so happy I’ve finally read it.

I’m also much more interested in Peru now, so that’s something else to hold in it’s favour!

The Watchmaker of Filigree Street by Natasha Pulley - I’m falling slightly out of order here but it seems better to continue with Pulley’s books. Most of the same praise I gave to The Bedlam Stacks can be repeated here - Pulley’s writing is slightly weaker here but it’s only really noticable because I read both books one after the other and I was thinking about her prose. The same whimsical, poetic, and understated style is used in both books and it really suits the type of stories Pulley like to tell - and again it’s a style that really works for me.

The Watchmaker of Filigree Street I think is a slightly more universally likeable story - although I would argue Pulley is an acquired taste. There is a bit less whimsy, and the relationship between Thaniel and Mori is more easily quantifiable for readers. There is also a more obvious plotline to follow, whilst still developing three compelling characters with Mori, Thaniel, and Grace. Personally I don’t love Grace - I find her brash and callous - however, she does have as good of an arc as Thaniel and Mori, she’s also someone who regularly get overlooked when people talk about this book. She’s not someone I like or approve of, but I do really understand where she’s coming from and can appreciate her growth. Pulley doesn’t need us to like Grace - or any of her characters - she presents them as they are and lets us cast our own judgements on them, and I sincerely love this about her. (I’m also so up for reading more about Grace and her relationship with Matsumoto, they’re fabulous together!)

The main draw to this book is definitely the relationship between Thaniel and Mori - how could you not love them? They’re fascianting to watch - together and separately - and throughout the course of this nove you really feel them grow into their relationship. It’s beautiful to watch and feels genuine. Their bond is earnt, not just presented to us as a fact. However, what I really love about Mori and Thaniel is the slightly sinister route Mori takes to make sure he meets Thaniel. Honestly, in any other book Mori would be horrifying with his slightly callous use of his abilities to manipulate the world around him to achieve his own ends. However, with the narrative framing here he’s slightly toned down, it’s a spectacular example of framing shaping audience perspectives on a character. It’s great and I appreciate the sensitivity Pulley used to shape Mori and the relationship between him and Thaniel. I’m also really looking forward to seeing how they develope in The Lost Future of Pepperharrow.

Henry V by William Shakespeare - I don’t really have a lot to say about Henry V... I’ve never felt that strongly about this play - it’s fine? It’s a FABULOUS play to watch (I’ve partial to the Tom Hiddleston version in The Hollow Crown) but to read it’s merely okay. There are some fantastic and very famous speeches - and I absolutely adore the Chorus. However, as a whole the play is merely a decent one. I’m always left a bit uncomfortable with how Shakespeare treats the French, and I’m yet to work out where I stand on Henry as a person and the morality of the war... It’s something to ponder and maybe write something on at a later date.

Unfortunately, this one falls into a similar issue as the Henry IV plays - I just don’t like the common men plotline within this one... It’s slightly better because Falstaff isn’t in this play, except in name (I have an absolute burning hatred of Falstaff... Like we could burn him out of English literature and I’d dance on the ashes level of hatred, it’s perhaps sllightly irrational but I loathe him. I’d otherwise like the Henry IV plays but I see Falstaff and I’m immediately full of seething rage. It’s apparently very funny for my best friend.) However, I just find the common men a tedious distraction from the rest of the play. I switch off whenever I’m watching the play and they’re on stage/screen. I know why they’re there I just don’t care - it’s a me issue, I’m well aware.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling - okay I’m not going to write much on Half-Blood Prince as a whole becasue 1. Rowling herself, and 2. I’m going to rank the Harry Potter books when I’ve finished with Deathly Hallows. Overall, I loved this book, it’s always been one of my favourite Potter novels and my reread only cemented its place. The plot is genuinely interesting and well thought out, it’s one of the best books for exploring Harry as a character (I adore seeing his darker side!), and the set up for the finale is excellent. I actually perfer it to Deathly Hallows because the promises it makes are more interesting than the actual execution of the book.

However, I do want to say that this book made Snape my new favourite character - I won’t explain why yet, I need to do a full spoiler discussion of ALL the Harry Potter books, including Deathly Hallows. But Snape is by far the best drawn character in the Potter series. He’s certainly not the nicest, kindest of most likeable. Snape’s not a moral paragon, neither has he ‘done nothing wrong’ as I’ve seen argued. But he is the most interesting and morally complex.

Everytime I’ve read Potter before, Snape’s a character I’ve not really thought about - which is shocking considering how much he’s in these books, the role he plays, and the discourse around him in the Harry Potter fandom. I’ve always just gone along with the face-value presentation of his character. Yet on this reread I’ve paid attention to Snape, not deliberately, it just naturally happened. Anyway, to cut a long story short - Snape is my new favourite character! Yes Lupin is still my irrational, undying favourite. But, in terms of having a genuine interest and reason for loving him Snape is my new favourite because he is so complicated! He’s someone I’ve come to understand and sympathise with. I don’t condone Snape, I still think he’s a piece of work who should NEVER be allowed around children. But he is a good person. Again not nice, likeable, or morally sound. Yet he does spend the best part of 20 years working tirelessly for good without praise, acknowledgement, or recongition.

He’s a fascinating character and I’ve adored diving into his mind, as much as you can in this very Harry-centric series, without the accepting bias of a child’s eyes. Snape’s one of the few characters in Harry Potter I’d like to read a book about - I’ve neber been one to want a Marauder’s spin off or Hogwarts founding story. But I think diving into Snape’s mind would genuinely be worth it and an interesting experiment, I just don’t think J.K. Rowling would be the right author to do it.

#books of 2021 #reading #mini book reviews #amnesty #lara elena donnelly #master of sorrows #justin call #wuthering heights #emily bronte #the bedlam stacks #the watchmaker of filigree street #natasha pulley #henry v #william shakespeare #harry potter and the half-blood prince #harry potter #severus snape

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joycecarolnotes · 4 years

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Inside a fog

Here’s a little thing I wrote a while back but never posted. It’s pretty much a bummer, set during SV season 5.

Since you lost her, you exist inside a fog. Your joy comes from difficult places. It’s been months since you have really seen a bird.

You eke some small pleasure from the words “I find him intimidating.” Words that have never been spoken—not about self-effacing, accommodating Jared! not about you, that is to say—before. It is a novelty, this being feared by someone, and it thrills you the way all new things have. Like telling your first joke (age 19), your first Halloween costume (age 26), the first time you swore in front of someone (age 33, and certain you’d be struck dead on the spot). It feels good, transgressive, dangerous.

It is short-lived, though, this hot spike of joy, alight like a brief candle. Then, back to wringing your delight out of an old, bone-dry dishrag. A taste in your mouth like dirt.

“And you are the applicant’s... grandson?”

“No relation,” you amend. “I’m a friend.”

“A friend!” Mr. Dodson chuckles. He leans back in his chair and rests his feet up. Easy, casual. The room reminds you of many others you’ve spent time in: the psych 101 textbooks, generic motivational art, the lovely crocheted doilies. “I’ll be frank with you. We don't get too many of those around here. Friends, I mean. Not lobbying the way you are.”

You see an in here, a sign, something only you might see, something almost imperceptible. “If you'll forgive me, I don't mean to sound too forward, but whatever it takes to get Muriel into your facility... I’ll beg if I have to. It’s just - gosh, you come so highly recommended. If there's anything I could offer. If there's anything I could do. Sir,” you say (you know they like that). “Anything.”

You pause there, feeling foolish, feeling your face flush as it is studied and considered. Perhaps you’ve been too long off the corner, perhaps you’ve gone too far, presumed too much, overlooked some crucial sign or gesture.

Mr. Dodson sets down his clipboard. He reaches a hand up and loosens his bowtie. “You’d beg, huh? You sweet thing.”

Yes, yes. Relief courses through you. So you still know what power looks like, in the hands of a man who would abuse it. At least you have that in your favor.

Muriel wasn��t like the others. She never tried to take anything from you, didn’t want to see you give any more of yourself away. From the moment you met—the lobby at the cardiologist’s office, where she pointed out your copy of the National Audubon Society digest—you and Muriel looked after each other.

She wouldn’t like it, if she knew how it was she got bumped up the waitlist. But do you regret it? No. A part of you has always liked this, and a small part of you likes it now. You like giving. You like sacrifice. You like the rugburn on your knees. Nothing feels quite real until you’ve lost for it.

You catch yourself in Richard’s doorway, hanging around, waiting for scraps like a hungry dog under the table where you’re not wanted. How you long to tell him all the things on your mind. To talk about your fears, your dreams, to talk about Muriel, mostly. It’s a disgrace, you know: this selfish impulse to prattle on about yourself. The way you’ve never been able to stop telling these stories. As if sharing fragments of them will somehow make you whole.

You miss her. You miss him. You miss the taste of friendship, savored like chamomile with honey on your lips. You miss being a friend to someone, having something to do with your feelings, a target to focus your friendship on. You miss that maybe most of all.

With so little left to love, your love hardens into something harder.

You see Holden across the room. You watch with disdain as he struts around the office, as if he believes it’s already his own. You hate how little he seems to care, how little he has worked or lost for, how little he appreciates the unfathomable opportunity that’s fallen straight into his privileged lap.

This could be your chance: to find out if you have power, if confidence could ever be a color that suits you, in spite of what your fourth grade teacher said. You try them on, the harsh words and withheld compliments. You even put on a splash of the cologne that Gavin wore. The scent turns your stomach. It puts you in the proper mindset.

“We’re going to need some additional support staff. At least a couple more folks in operations, marketing, government relations.”

You’ll take care of the interview process, you say. The on-boarding, an extensive, three-day affair you’ve been excitedly planning for weeks now, replete with all the team-building exercises and safe space charades and trust falls usually reserved for your most decadent fantasies. The new hires will report directly to you. That much, at least, you as COO can happily take off your diligent captain’s already over-full plate.

“Yeah, ah. Jared. About that.” Richard glances around the room, careful not to make eye contact, as if he’s searching for an emergency exit, for some sort of shortcut out.

“Yes?” you ask. Sometimes that’s all it takes, you know. A gentle prod. A little course correction. It’s so easy with Richard. You rest your hand on his delicate shoulder and nudge him the right way.

“They - look - the HR department. They said they can't have you involved with all that.”

You laugh—“ha!”—a squawk, joyful and full-throated. “How silly! And what did you tell them? Why on earth would they say a thing like that?”

Richard scratches at his neck. You can sense he’s nervous and, with that, panic begins to rise inside your chest. “There’ve, well. There’ve been complaints. About the way you were with Holden. Jared, you’re just - I’m sorry, man - you’re not a good supervisor. And we’re gonna need to, uh - to keep you away from the new hires.”

Not good. Not good, Donald. You feel the blood in your ears. Your heart hammers. Not good not good not good.

“Are you saying”—you pause here, breathe and swallow, your fingers twitch into a fist—“that indolent - slothful - that Holden issued a complaint against me? Because I swear to god, Richard, I - ”

“No,” Richard says. “Not Holden. I did.”

It used to frighten you so, to think that you might become one of them. Perhaps if you let your guard down, failed to be sufficiently vigilant, if you let the darkness creep just a little too far in. You hadn’t meant to do it, not exactly. But perhaps you were always going to do it either way. Violence was a seed planted inside you, putrescent and rotten. Over years and in the thrall of different leaders, it took root. Chipping and chipping away, just as you were chipped and chipped away at, all the wounds and cuts and scrapes. The thing that lived inside you, put there by someone else.

Your hand is shaking. Your voice is shaking. You feel your face about to crack in two, in spite of your valiant effort to prevent it. You fall onto your knees, onto the floor in front of Richard. Your soft cheek rests against the rough of Richard’s jeans.

“Oh Richard,” you say, and it feels good, at last, to confess it. “How I resented him! How he got to be close to you when I didn’t. I was so lonely. Muriel, Gloria. Goodness, I missed you so much. I couldn’t bear to see it, how ungrateful he was, how he didn’t even know how lucky he was to serve you!” You sob, miserably, into Richard’s slender thigh.

“You know,” Richard almost laughs, “that’s not what everyone wants here? To ‘serve me’ or whatever, right?” He clambers, indelicately, out of the CEO chair and joins you on the floor.

You feel him draw close. You nod, press your eyelids closed, and await the punishment that must be duly meted. You deserve them now: every back that will turn toward you. And you would almost enjoy it, yes, it might almost feel good, knowing you could spin this—like straw into gold—to be about your grief and then, in turn, punishment for your selfishness.

And do not resent his rebuke, you think.

Your foster mother used to say that.

“Do you see now,” Richard says, “how trying to practice ‘emotional abstinence’ or whatever on me didn’t help? Fuck, Jared. It hurt us.”

“I’m so sorry, Richard.” You wipe your nose, indelicately, on the back of your large, pale hand.

“Jared,” Richard says, and you expect to hear get out of my office, to hear you're fired, to hear you selfish, treacherous, treasonous ingrate, I never want to see you again.

“Can I hug you,” Richard says, instead.

Outside, a bird perches on the windowsill. The fog begins, slowly, to lift.

#jared dunn #jarrich #jcn writes

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anangelicday-mrwolf · 3 years

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Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 33 – Nice to See You at Last, You Rat

“Lady Lunark...?”

The voice could not be softer, but the werewolf warrior jerked as if she were touched by fire.

In turn, she caused an almost identical motion in the young warrior who addressed her.

“Uh... Your order, please...”

She turned her head, doing a terrible job of hiding that she is dreadfully keen on her leader’s mood.

Lunark directed her eyes towards the two rookie warriors, who were just as conscious of her as they stared in waiting.

They happened to be standing in one of Union’s facilities, officially dubbed as “dispository.”

Based on the Union dictionary, “disposal” comes with a definition different from its counterpart in the civilian world.

The process of disposing something does exist, but irredeemable, permanent disposal is a highly rare case in Union.

Because it is Union belief that even the most useless, outdated file or source could one day shine in the future.

For this reason, every file or source deemed “to be disposed of” follows two steps: (1) its online copies are deleted, and (2) it is duplicated into physical, hard-copy format to be disposed-slashed-stored.

And this is when a dispository comes in handy.

Although she was once an elder of the Union, Lunark could not remember the last time she was at a dispository.

She was back to her main task: discovering and shutting down Union’s facilities, especially those that were in possession of Crombell.

She remembered how she could only suck her thumb as she came across one facility after another already shut down by someone else.

However, for once she landed upon a facility with its doors locked, not sealed for good.

Which is why the three young warriors assigned for today’s mission seemed clueless about what to do.

“First we must get rid of all evidence that could hint our presence. Judging by the location and the order of shutdown for each of the facilities we ran upon, the rat who had been ahead of us all this time will be here. So let’s get ready for our guest.”

The warriors immediately got busy, and so Lunark was given time to get engrossed in her thoughts.

Her reasons were hammering her head that she should not let herself get distracted when she is outside for business, but her head was beyond her control.

She could not help but recall once again the conversation she had prior to this trip.

*****

In spite of the invasion by Union’s weapons against noble heads of clans and failure in initial activation of QuadraNet, werewolves regained peace.

Or rather, they could shake off the confusion, which unfortunately did not apply to everybody.

For instance, a certain werewolf who ended up thwacking her human crush’s lips with hers was still very far from peace.

The problem was that she had to make it so obvious that something was bothering her, and wherever she went she made the occupants tiptoe with nervousness.

In the end, Muzaka summoned her in privacy for a talk.

“Are you really planning to zip your mouth for good?”

“...I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, my lord.”

“Playing pretend, are we? Well, I should’ve known, based on your atmosphere for the past few days.”

Her eyes were sore, and her tongue was tied. However, her head had never been nimbler.

‘What do I do? Did he notice that I’ve feelings for Frankenstein?’

Lunark was aware that Muzaka does not take kindly the relationship between human and wolfkind. She would not be surprised to find out that he was outright opposed to the idea.

And she would rather make herself Maduke’s stepdaughter than to have Muzaka look into what lies in her heart.

Plus, she knew Muzaka would rather give Maduke a peck on his face than to offer his blessing for her and Frankenstein.

“Is it because of Frankenstein?”

And just like that, Lunark started to wonder if she should start calling the dead werewolf daddy.

Muzaka smirked at how Lunark’s face turned stony.

“Honestly, it’s not that hard to guess. There were only a very few changes in our land lately. Union’s invasion. That blondie’s visit. And trouble with the QuadraNet. But since that blondie happened to have gone around the time you changed, anybody would be able to guess he did something to you. So, is it because of him?”

Despite knowing that silence is definitely not the remedy right now, Lunark could not utter a sound.

Muzaka, on the other hand, was quite unfazed by her silence, which made her question whether she should take it as a good sign.

“I’m sorry, but I say no.”

Muzaka yielded what Lunark had been predicting from him all this time, although the fact that she saw this coming did not stop her mind from crumbling to pieces, to the very bottom of her stupefied body.

“I know I don’t get to play a vote in your relationship. And it’s not like I have power to officially ban you from a relationship. But if I dare give an advice, I do not think this is recommended, Lunark. And I’m sure you know why I can’t say yes. Racial difference serves as no bars in love. I truly loved Eileen, and Ashleen was a gift like no other. To me, they were my entire world.”

Lunark could feel her heart throb as she watched how Muzaka spoke of their names without the slightest flinch.

She could not imagine how many rakes in heart and how much the magnitude of pain he would have gone through until his own family’s names turned mellifluous upon his lips.

Which is why on the other hand, she felt guilty as hell. She actually made Muzaka bring out his deceased family.

“However, our story did not meet a happy ending. Yes, there were bastards that intentionally set fire upon our path. But it does not change the fact that our story is a masquerade of blood, tears, and death.”

Muzaka’s voice remained as placid as it was, but Lunark could not even dare make a face that she wanted to comfort him.

“And as far as I know, I am the starting point of our kind’s taboo regarding relationship with humans. It’s been alive ever since my first era of reign. And I do not wish to see you suffer even little by eyes and ears against relationship with humans.”

“My lord...”

This time Lunark spoke; she did not want to keep her mouth relieved of its duty for the rest of their meeting.

Nonetheless, she could not manufacture any sound afterwards.

“And I have a practical reason as well. As you’d know, Frankenstein is in no situation to get involved in a relationship. Let’s be frank here – and I’m not trying to accuse you – you don’t think you can strike up a good relationship with him at this moment, do you?”

Lunark’s chest seized even harder; this time Muzaka sounded much more legitimate.

“And it looks to me that your feelings are already taking effect upon you. Need I remind you, you’re a warrior – the most influential one, next only to Garda. You should know that you have tons of work allocated to you, and I believe you’re smart enough not to make yourself a hindrance in our kind’s pathway due to unrequited love. However, should you make yourself a hindrance because of your feelings, I must take proper measure as your lord.”

Muzaka sounded strict, stern, pulling down Lunark’s head even further towards the ground.

Lunark even felt dizzy because his words were as veritable and unbreakable as they could be.

The only reply she could produce was a confirmation, a gratitude, and a promise to be careful.

Her reply was halfhearted, but he would anticipate her to stay true to her words.

And she knew that. She knew that awfully well.

*****

Now that she returned to her field work, she could see that Muzaka was right.

She happened to be agonizing over her feelings at the very scene where she is supposed to get bustling.

She virtually scolded, slapped, and slammed her head to knock it off. She recognized the problem, and she wanted to fix it.

Alas, an elephant is bound to dance in one’s head the more they try not to think of it.

‘Frankenstein... What would you tell me if you figure out what’s with me?’

Would he poke fun at her with that oh-so-impish face, making a condescending show of how he did not expect her to fall for him?

Or would he snap at her that he will have none of her feelings whatsoever?

Lunark could only roll her eyes in her shoes, hopelessly tied to her heart racing to the far end away from her head. That was when the new warriors returned to her.

“Lady Lunark...”

“We just finished the job.”

“Now what should we do?”

Lunark barely managed to hide her wince and answered them.

“Now let us wait. Brace yourselves, all of you. It could take us hours, days, or weeks until we get what we want. But we are not leaving empty-handed. This time we will catch that rat still going about and nipping away what should be our duty.”

Lunark regained her stance as a senior warrior, tall and proud and authoritative.

The new warriors, overwhelmed by her posture, bowed their heads in mixture of anxiety and motivation.

“Now, positions, everybody. You know what to do.”

The three werewolves sang “understood” in synchronization before they jumped into the air, and Lunark followed suit, sneaking into the corner of the dispository that provides the best view of the entire space.

She wished, however, that they would get to stay as long as possible.

She knew that there is no good in taking so long until they could leave.

Yet she wanted to return as late as possible; otherwise she would get to meet Frankenstein again rather too soon.

Lunark grit her teeth in the lowest volume she could pull off, feeling how her lips would boil with heat every time she thought of him.

Sadly for her, it turned out that Lady Luck was certainly not on her side for the day.

She could hear clicks of heels, drawing nearer and growing bigger every second.

In reaction, her muscles tensed with automatic alertness.

After she waited to make out the profile of someone who had been ruining werewolves’ tasks all this time, she got to stare at and scan from head to toe the said someone.

Then suddenly, the visitor’s head violently rotated to a corner of the dispository, and Lunark’s eyes enlarged as she reminded herself who happened to be hiding there.

Bam! Came a thundering noise and a groan of pain.

“What are you? Who do you think you are to spy on me? Well, doesn’t matter. I don’t know how you found me in this place, but you saw my face. Which means you just earned yourself a death sentence.”

Clenching the least competent warrior in the room by the throat, the unknown figure sliced the air with her other hand.

Thud!

Dust and wind were whipped up one more time, along with the impact from Lunark’s feet, when she jumped in just in time to stop a potential carnage.

“And who do you think you are to lay that filthy paw of yours on our warrior? I hope you’re ready for your consequence.”

The woman’s eyes twitched, in clear recognition of the former 5th Elder.

“Nice to see you at last, you rat. You might wanna call your parents right now; you won’t be going home tonight.”

As Lunark bickered, Helga did not even cringe, instead squinting her eyes in a way her eyeballs would bulge out with hostility.

(next chapter)

At last, Muzaka noticed lol. And at last, Lunark found Helga. I may be the writer, but I feel kind of bad for throwing Lunark into two troubles at once. I really wish I can write something fluffy for her very soon! By the way, “dispository” is my creation for this fic. There is a reason why I came up with this facility; however, I will save the reason why for later, for as of now it could serve as a spoiler. Please stay tuned to find out why!

#korean webcomic #korean webtoon #fanfic #noblesse #frankenstein #lunark #frankensteinxlunark #wolfsbane

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isidar-mithrim · 4 years

Text

Letters from Hogwarts – Hermione

For more than a thousand years, every summer, in the United Kingdom, the lives of a lucky cluster of eleven years old are radically changed.

These are the stories of four of them.

The fourth is that of a girl rational enough to know she was special, but too rational to admit it.

{Fourth installment of the ‘Letters from Hogwarts’ series, but it stands alone}

{‘Letters from Hogwarts’ on tumblr: Neville, Gus and Remus; on Ao3: Neville, Gus, Remus and Hermione}

________________________________

Thanks so much to @siderumincaelo for betaing this story!! ^^

And happy birthday, Hermione! :D

This is a companion piece of Night in Transylvania (on Ao3), but the stories can be read independently and in whichever order you prefer.

_________________________________

Of Matilda, War and Peace

°1985°

“Excuse me, are you the librarian?”

The man with the white beard behind the counter raised his head, offering Hermione a radiant smile.

“I am,” he said with a little bow. “At your service, milady.”

“I’m looking for a book, sir.”

He winked. “You’re in the right place, then. Do you remember how it’s called?”

“Well, I’m not looking for a specific one, just for one with a real story. I can’t keep reading books for little kids with pictures and nursery rhymes anymore.”

The librarian chuckled with amusement. “You are a bright kid, aren’t you?”

“And a very particular one,” said her mum with a smile, caressing her hair. “It turns out that Elmer the Patchwork Elephant is too simple for her.”

“I finished it in thirteen minutes!” It was obvious that she would have found it simple.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll manage to find a real book that suits you.” The librarian walked around his desk with a delighted expression and gestured for them to follow. “Come, I’ll show you the junior section.”

Hermione nodded, pleased, and she followed him over the stairs, making an effort to keep up with his steps.

“So, young lady, may I ask you how old are you?”

“I’m five years and a half old,” she answered promptly, her chin held high.

The librarian turned toward her, his eyes wide in surprise. “Five years and a half? Then you’re even smarter than I thought!”

“I’m the only one in my classroom that can read proper books,” said Hermione, happy to clear things out. “The other girls still play with their Barbies.”

“Once in a while you could play with them too, Hermione.” Her mum gave her a gentle smile. “There’s nothing wrong in it, and books don’t run away.”

“Oh, well, sometimes our books do!” said the librarian with mirth. “One day they vanish, and they never come back.”

Hermione’s heart missed a beat, and she swallowed hard. “ Vanish? You mean… into thin air?”

Her mum squeezed her shoulder, but the librarian chuckled again. “More like at somebody’s place. I’m afraid not everyone remembers to bring back the books on loan, but I’m sure this won’t be your case.”

Hermione’s heart calmed down. There was nothing to worry about: books couldn’t just vanish in thin air. Nothing could: her teacher had said it very clearly when Julia had made up that her Barbie had suddenly disappeared while she was playing.

“And here we are! This is our junior section.”

Only the label at the entrance distinguished it from the rest of the library: there were shelves upon shelves filled with books, real books, and Hermione nodded in approval.

“Give me a minute to pick something that might intrigue you, then you’ll tell me which story appeals to you the most, okay?”

Hermione stared in awe while the librarian checked rack after rack, grazing the covers with his fingers in search of the right title. Once in a while he stopped to pull out a book: sometimes he nodded satisfied and held it under his left arm, other times he put it back, shaking his head.

He seemed quite pleased when he finally came back to her, laying four books on a little table.

“Et voilà!”

The old man took the first book and showed her the front cover, a picture of a beautiful girl with an aquamarine dress.

“Swan Princess. It’s about a princess cursed by an evil sorcerer and –”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve already seen the animated movie,” cut in Hermione. “And I don’t want a princess story, anyway.”

The librarian raised his eyebrows, taken aback. “No princesses?”

Hermione shook her head, making her bushy hair dance in front of her eyes, and he chuckled with amusement.

“I reckon I should have seen it coming,” he said good-naturedly, winking at her mum. “Now I understand why you said you have a particular daughter.”

Mum smiled. “I knew you’d agree, eventually. I should have warned you that at the moment princesses aren’t her cup of tea.”

Hermione huffed, annoyed. How many times did she have to explain to her mum that she didn’t like that kind of stuff anymore? “It’s not my fault if princess stories are all the same.”

“I can see your point,” agreed the librarian. “I won’t waste your time suggesting this novel, then.” He moved the second book at the bottom of the pile and picked the third one. “This is The Secret Garden. It’s about a girl that finds out how to sneak into a garden and starts exploring it with her friend Colin. What do you say, think this might suit you?”

Hermione studied carefully the drawing on the cover. In the middle of the page, a girl with curly blonde hair and a red coat was peering through a hedge.

“Maybe,” she conceded with a hint of curiosity. She wanted to see the last book as well, before making a decision.

The librarian clapped his hands cheerfully. “Particular, and prudent! In all frankness, I think you’re right to be cautious, because it’s time to see my fourth – well, third – recommendation.” He leant closer and spoke in a whisper, his hand around his mouth as he was confiding her a secret. “And I assure you it’s no coincidence that I kept it for last.”

He held the book in front of her with a certain reverence. A girl with straight brown hair and fair skin sat on a wooden box with a big volume opened on her legs, and piles and piles of coloured books rose from the ground around her.

And just like that, Hermione knew.

“It’s the story of –”

“I’ll take this one.”

The librarian gave her a bright smile. “I knew you’d pick Matilda. Or maybe I should say the book picked you…”

°1991°

June

“It’s about a witch that falls in love with a vampire, and there are werewolves too! It’s amazing.”

“Thanks, Fardly,” said Mrs Stendeer, writing down the title on the blackboard. “Granger?”

“Well, I believe spending the summer reading about children’s fantasies such as sorcerers, unicorns and vampires would be a real waste of time, since these things don’t exist,” stated Hermione. “I’d rather suggest trying out War and Peace. A light reading, I finished it in eight days.”

The teacher gave her a strained smile before writing the title below Night in Transylvania, then she turned again toward the class.

“Mitchell, what do you propose?”

“So, how many votes for Night in Transylvania? Five… ten… Castark, is that a raised hand? Then thirteen… fifteen… twenty-one!” Mrs Stendeer wrote down the number beside the title. “It seems you were very convincing, Fardly.”

Hermione huffed loudly, trying at the same time to convey all her disapproval and to ignore the excited giggles of her classmates.

“Now, how many votes for War and Peace?”

It was definitely harder to remain indifferent to the scornful laughs that broke out when she raised her hand, but Hermione held her arm up until the teacher had written ‘one’ beside War and Peace.

When the last bell of the year rang in the halls, her classmates screamed like little kids and rushed to the door, shoving each other in their haste to leave.

Hermione looked away and her eyes caught the line she had just written down.

Homework for the summer: read ‘Night in Transylvania’ by Stacey Moore.

She slammed her homework planner shut and shoved it in her packed schoolbag. After standing up, she slung the heavy backpack on her shoulders, adjusting the straps to balance the weight better.

“Have a good summer, Mrs Stendeer,” she said with cold courtesy.

“Thank you, Hermione.” The teacher took a deep breath, and for a moment Hermione thought she was about to add something meaningful.

She was clearly wrong, though, because “Good summer to you too,” was everything Mrs Steender deigned to add.

Hermione gave her with a curt nod, and walked out of the door.

Jayne was twelve years old and she had long black hair, intense blue eyes and a petite figure. In short, on the surface she was a girl like every other, if it wasn’t for a tiny detail.

Jayne was a witch.

While the other mothers taught her friends how to cook, her mum made her brew magic potions; while her classmates learned to dance, she studied spells to move objects. While normal girls’ only worry was not to get their clothes dirty, she trained to hunt vampires.

Hermione closed the book with an abrupt thump.

She hadn’t finished the first page yet, and she already hated it.

How silly, she thought with deep annoyance. Nobody can move objects without touching them. Nobody, not with their thoughts, not with magic.

“Magic doesn’t exist,” she said through gritted teeth. Of that she was sure: magic only existed in books – books for stupid kids.

Six days had gone by since the last time Hermione had opened Night in Transylvania, but now that she had finished Les Misérables she had run out of excuses to procrastinate her assigned reading.

She took the book from her bedside table and sat down at her desk. She usually read on her bed, but she wasn’t going to qualify something this insipid as ‘reading’.

It’s homework, Hermione told herself. And homework shouldn’t be done in bed.

After finding where she had left off, she heaved a long, resigned sigh and began reading.

Because that was her family’s specialty. Hunting vampires was an art they passed on from mother to daughter for generations, and it would continue until all the vampires in Transylvania were eradicated.

Her mother had very similar features: she had the same bushy brown hair, the same hazelnut eyes and even the same protruding front teeth.

Hermione froze, her heart beating loudly inside her chest. Her eyes feverishly skimmed over the last sentence and then went back to gaze at the first lines.

Hermione was eleven years old and she had bushy brown hair, intense hazelnut eyes and protruding front teeth. In short, on the surface she was a girl like every other, if it wasn’t for a tiny detail.

Hermione was a witch.

She dropped the book like it was burning hot, and jumped from her chair in shock when it actually caught fire.

“Please, go out, go out!” she squealed, horrified. “Please, please, stop!”

A moment later, there was only a pile of ashes on the unmarked desk.

Hermione looked at it in bewilderment, her breath still ragged.

As if by magic, the little fire had died out, even faster than it had flared up.

No, not by magic, rectified Hermione, taking a deep breath. The fire extinguished itself only after consuming the whole book, or maybe the wind put it out.

And yet, the window was closed. Hermione opened it to let in fresh air, even if she couldn’t sense any burning smell, then she lifted her bin near the edge of the desk and swept the ashes inside with trembling hands, fighting the urge to wipe her silent tears.

This time it was going to be much harder to persuade herself that it was all a dream.

°1985°

By the age of one and a half her speech was perfect and she knew as many words as most grown-ups. The parents, instead of applauding her, called her a noisy chatterbox and told her sharply that small girls should be seen and not heard.

By the time she was three, Matilda had taught herself to read by studying newspapers and magazines that lay around the house. At the age of four, she could read fast and well and she naturally began hankering after books. The only book in the whole of this enlightened household was something called Easy Cooking belonging to her mother.

Hermione was immediately won over by Matilda’s incredible abilities.

I wish I was that clever, she thought with a hint of envy.

An instant later, though, she felt terribly guilty. It must have been horrible for Matilda to have parents like that.

One and half pages later, Hermione had understood two things.

One, that her next book had to be The Secret Garden, since Matilda herself had read it.

Two, that she didn’t want to be Matilda anymore.

She would have much, much preferred having her as a friend.

That afternoon Hermione devoured page after page without ever stopping, except to write down the books Mrs Phelps recommended.

As she read, she was indignant over the dishonesty of Matilda’s father, warmed by Miss Honey’s kindness, enraged by Trunchbull’s hammer throw, impressed by Bruce Bogtrotter’s resilience, and when dinner time came, she hadn't even realised she was hungry.

Hermione ate in a hurry and then crawled under the covers.

She was laying on her stomach with the book on the pillow when the story took an unexpected turn.

Slowly Matilda sat down. Oh, the rottenness of it all! The unfairness! How dare they expel her for something she hadn’t done!

Matilda felt herself getting angrier . . . and angrier . . . and angrier . . . so unbearably angry that something was bound to explode inside her very soon.

The newt was still squirming in the tall glass of water. It looked horribly uncomfortable. The glass was not big enough for it. Matilda glared at the Trunchbull. How she hated her. She glared at the glass with the newt in it. She longed to march up and grab the glass and tip the contents, newt and all, over the Trunchbull’s head. She trembled to think what the Trunchbull would do to her if she did that.

The Trunchbull was sitting behind the teacher’s table staring with a mixture of horror and fascination at the newt wriggling in the glass. Matilda’s eyes were also riveted on the glass. And now, quite slowly, there began to creep over Matilda a most extraordinary and peculiar feeling. The feeling was mostly in the eyes. A kind of electricity seemed to be gathering inside them. A sense of power was brewing in those eyes of hers, a feeling of great strength was settling itself deep inside her eyes. But there was also another feeling which was something else altogether, and which she could not understand. It was like flashes of lightning. Little waves of lightning seemed to be flashing out of her eyes. Her eyeballs were beginning to get hot, as though vast energy was building up somewhere inside them. It was an amazing sensation.

The description was written so well that even Hermione could feel that warm, electric sensation in her own eyes. She went right back to reading, filled with curiosity.

She kept her eyes steadily on the glass, and now the power was concentrating itself in one small part of each eye and growing stronger and stronger and it felt as though millions of tiny little invisible arms with hands on them were shooting out of her eyes towards the glass she was staring at.

“Tip it!” Matilda whispered. “Tip it over!”

She saw the glass wobble. It actually tilted backwards a fraction of an inch, then righted itself again.

She kept pushing at it with all those millions of invisible little arms and hands that were reaching out from her eyes, feeling the power that was flashing straight from the two little black dots in the very centres of her eyeballs.

“Tip it!” she whispered again. “Tip it over!”

Once more the glass wobbled. She pushed harder still, willing her eyes to shoot out more power. And then, very very slowly, so slowly she could hardly see it happening, the glass began to lean backwards, farther and farther and farther backwards until it was balancing on just one edge of its base. And there it teetered for a few seconds before finally toppling over and falling with a sharp tinkle on to the desk-top. The water in it and the squirming newt splashed out all over Miss

When Hermione moved her gaze to the next word, a patch of water started expanding on the page, blurring all the letters.

Hermione looked at it with horror. The book from the library! she thought in despair, blowing on the paper in the faint hope to make things better.

Dry up, dry up, please dry up!

That’s when the book caught fire.

Hermione squealed and threw it on the ground, grabbing a slipper and hitting the book with it. Go out, go out!

With a last hit, the fire went out.

Hermione leant against her bed to catch her breath, but any chance to calm down vanished as soon as she saw the state the book was in. How am I going to explain it to the librarian? she wondered with anguish.

A moment later, she heard the door opening, and with a quick push she sent the book beneath the bed before her mum could see it.

“Hermione!” she exclaimed with worry, rushing at her side to help her get up and gently rubbing her back. “What happened, darling?”

“Just… just a dream.” Hermione’s voice was trembling, in part because of what happened, in part because of the lie and the ruined book hidden beneath her.

“Did you fall from the bed?”

“I… I think so...”

“Don’t worry, honey. Everything is fine now.” She gently kissed her forehead, and Hermione felt a bit relieved. “Now get under the covers, so I can tuck you in.”

Hermione lay on her side and hugged the pillow, letting Mum fuss over her. Her heart was still pounding, so she made a conscious effort to breathe slower. Even if her mind kept running to the ruined book beneath the bed, Mum’s soothing caresses helped her calm down.

She was finally drifting off when Mum kissed her forehead and stood up.

“What is this?” she asked a moment later, reaching down to grab something at her feet.

Hermione jerked awake and watched in horror while her mother picked up the book.

When Hermione saw it, though, her horror turned into astonishment.

Mum smiled knowingly, glancing at her bedside lamp. “You fell asleep while reading, didn’t you?” She held the undamaged copy of Matilda in front of her. “Would you like me to read it to you until you fall asleep?”

Hermione shook her head, unable to speak.

“Good night, then,” wished Mum, before turning down the lamp and leaving the room, closing the door behind her with a low click.

As soon as the sound of her steps faded away, Hermione turned on the light, eager to understand how the book could look as new.

She grabbed it and turned it over in her hands, flippin through the pages: not a patch of water, not a single word washed-out, not a corner blackened by the fire.

The book looked as if nothing had happened.

She focused on the cover, and froze when she recognised herself as the girl of the picture. She shut her eyes, and a moment later Matilda was back, lost in thought.

Clearly, it had really been just a dream… After all, only in fairytales little girls were smart enough to make things happen with their mind.

In that instant, Hermione decided that the next time she would give the librarian even more specific instructions: no princesses and, most importantly, no magic.

#fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #harry potter #hermione granger #young hermione granger #mrs granger #mr granger #granger family #minor original characters #letters from hogwarts #pre-hogwarts #missing scene #matilda #the secret garden #library #long post #two-chapters story #happy birthday hermione!

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lokifiction · 6 years

Text

Unsinkable

A temporarily exiled god. A young woman with insatiable wanderlust. By chance they met, but when it became clear to them that their love was meant to be, they took matters into their own hands. Their story became an ocean-borne fairytale, until inescapable ghosts from the past and a certain iceberg threaten to ruin everything.

Category: Fanfic

Rating: Mature

Notes: Guess who said they were going to post more often but still has enormous lapses in updates??? This admin!!!

Guys, I’m sorry for being the absolute worst. This chapter was originally going to be longer, but I cut it in half so I could get it out sooner. I really hope you enjoy it, and thanks for dealing with me and my busy life!

Warnings: None for this chapter.

Tags: @silverhart93 @daddysbunnyprincess92 @sallyanne0606 @shelearnedtoloveherself

If you’d like to be tagged in this or any of my other fanfics, please let me know and I’ll add you to the list!

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Part Five: April 11, 1912

Morning

Loki groaned and shifted once more, rubbing his sore back before returning his arms to their tightly crossed position. He was quickly learning one thing about mortals: they built their furniture much too small. The chair he was sitting in would be better suited to a child. His bed was an improvement on comfort, but he simply couldn’t go back to it and try to sleep. Not after Camryn kissed him.

Ever since she slid back into her stateroom like a summoned ghost completing her task and returning to the grave, he had been unable to sit still, his blood positively humming with a multitude of foreign emotions. He tried to pace to calm himself, but noticed after a time that his legs were trembling. Ashamed even though no one was there to witness it, he seated himself in a chair and crossed them firmly to stop their motion, running his thumb over his lips as if it would bring back the sensation of Camryn’s mouth against his, contemplating what her action meant with his thoughts running at a breakneck speed.

He eventually swore, the stateroom that once seemed large and luxurious seeming to suffocate him. He needed fresh air, and the air at sea was the most calming and would surely clear his mind. In a rush, he dressed for the day that had not yet come and made his way to the deck, where the sky was the deep purple that signaled dawn approaching. Drawing in a long breath, he stepped over to the railing and leaned onto it, casting his eyes upward to the last tenacious stars fighting for their time in the sky, which was so clear and expansive he seemed to be able to see the turn of the planet on its axis. The air was deathly still, the only sound coming from the lapping of waves against each other and against the ship, providing a lull that was frightful and comforting all at once.

The environment should have relaxed Loki and cleared his mind, but all he could think of was having Camryn there with him, and what it would be like if it was her hips he gripped instead of the rail. What was once an exploratory mission he assigned himself to pass the time during banishment had turned into an unbreakable attachment to Midgard. He began to dread the day he would be called to Asgard, and hated that he had no idea when to expect it.

He took one hand from the rail and splayed his fingers to relieve the tension that had gathered from gripping the bar so tightly, then ran it through his hair, tugging slightly on the ends. He tilted his head back and drew in a deep gulp of cold air, filling his lungs to the brim before letting it out in chuckles as he ducked his chin and pushed his hips backward, resting his head on the cool metal keeping him on the beautiful, magical ship that brought them together.

“Camryn Potts, what have you done to me?” he whispered to the wind, his voice high. “You have no idea of your power. You’ve rendered a god and a prince entirely powerless, and to the point where he would willingly kneel at your feet like a slave.”

Loki had come out with the intention of using the cool night air to confirm his thoughts, but instead spent the moments until dawn dreaming of Camryn’s smile and all he could do to put it there. Though, he supposed that those fantasies were confirmation enough.

When shy fingers of pink began to paint a gentle golden sky, causing the water all around to sparkle like the stars of the night had dropped into the sea, Loki realized that he couldn’t wait any longer to speak with Camryn about how he felt. He knew that she wouldn’t be awake at that hour of the morning, but he knew that he had to at least slip a note under her door and set a time to meet. His feelings were so urgent that it felt like his heart would beat right out of his chest.

But, it soon appeared, that relief was near, for the moment he rounded a corner to descend back inside, he found her already up and about, reclining with her feet up in a long chair, golden gossamer gown pooling around her legs and shimmering in the new sunlight. Some iced drink rested on the table next to her, and she wore a wide-brimmed yellow hat with a veil. Through the sheer fabric, however, Loki could still see her furrowed brow, widened eyes, and parted lips, her gaze focused intently on the ocean. If he looked close enough, he felt as if he could almost see projections of her thoughts on her irises.

Drawing a deep breath to stay his nerves, Loki approached Camryn and lowered himself into the chair next to hers. Her heart skipped a beat and her breath caught in her throat as she noticed him, for her thoughts had also been raging about what she had done the night before, wondering if she had been too bold and worrying that Loki didn’t reciprocate her feelings. When he appeared in her eyeline, for a moment she thought he was a vision from yet another one of the endless mental scenarios she created, detailing how he could react.

“How are you feeling?” Loki began, noticing the slight purple shadows under her eyes. “You had quite a bit to drink last night.”

Camryn toyed around with her lace gloves. “I’ve got a bit of a headache, but other than that, I’m much better. Thank you for your concern, Mr. Odinson.”

“And,” Loki swallowed, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple seeming to make Camryn’s heart move in the same path, “how much do you remember?”

“If this is about the kiss, Mr. Odinson, I remember it.” Camryn flipped her veil over the brim of her hat and regarded Loki with impossibly bright eyes that seemed to give him the universe. “And I don’t regret it.”

Loki deflated in relief and laid his palm over hers, running his index finger along the knobby lines of her thumb. “I don’t, either.”

“So…” Camryn inhaled deeply, switching the position of their hands so that both of hers gripped his. “I hate to be the one to ask this question, but what does that mean for us?”

“Well, I suppose it means what we both hope it means. Or, at least, what I think we both hope for.” Loki paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts and the knowledge he gathered of Midgardian culture. “We entertain each other while we’re on this ship with the intention of courtship in our minds, and when we get to New York I’ll speak to your father and make the relationship official. Then, we’ll go from there, I suppose.”

“Why wait?” Camryn’s voice, once proper and almost timid, had suddenly turned frank and sure, and she fixed Loki with a loving expression that could inspire salvation into the hearts of the darkest sinners.

Loki’s breath caught in his throat, and all he could choke out was “Come again?”

“Why wait?” Camryn repeated. “We’re so close now, even without any official titles, and you’re already such an important, unremovable part of me. Whenever we get to shore and we have to start dealing with titles and rules, we’ll have to change our dynamic to please society and we’ll be pulled apart until we’re able to marry. I don’t want to wait that long to get as close to you as I can, and discover just how much my budding love for you can grow. So while we’re here, in the middle of the ocean where the world can’t be seen, let’s treat it like the world doesn’t exist, and-”

Loki cut her off by taking her face in his hands and kissing her firmly, holding her with such passion and tenderness that it brought tears to her eyes.

“I take it you agree with me, then, Mr. Odinson?” she gasped when he pulled away, giggling in spite of herself.

“Most certainly.” Loki dragged his thumb across her pink, swollen lips. “Though, if we are going to go through with this, you ought to dispense with the propriety and call me Loki.”

“Alright then, Loki.” Camryn savored the way his name felt on her tongue. “Then you ought to call me Camryn.”

“Alright then, Camryn,” Loki echoed, and with a girlish laugh, Camryn twirled her fingers into the hair at the base of his neck and drew him in for another kiss.

“Princess Camryn! Is that you?”

The pair broke apart at the call, and Loki’s blood ran cold at the sound of Mr. Grant’s voice. Camryn sprang from her chair and straightened her dress, and Loki hovered close enough over her shoulder to be inappropriate for an acquaintance, betraying their new status of togetherness to all that saw them. Mr. Grant’s eyes narrowed at the sight, but his smile remained unchanging.

“Mr. Grant, I haven’t been called that name since I was a child. I think I’ve outgrown it.” Camryn cleared her throat and mustered up a warm expression. “How do you do this morning?”

“I’m well. And you could never outgrow that pet name. It suits you too well.” Mr. Grant drew a few paces closer to the couple. “I’m disappointed that we didn’t see each other again yesterday, but I know we were both terribly busy.”

“I suppose that’s the life of a businessperson.” Camryn forced a chuckle.

“Well, what’s say we make it up. Will you join me for luncheon?”

Camryn’s heart sank, for she had been dreaming of an uninterrupted romantic day with Loki, but could think of no good reason to refuse. Even Loki, the God of Lies himself, was having difficulties, and while he would have gladly flogged Mr. Grant for no more than his lustful glances in Camryn’s direction, he understood that Camryn’s inheritance put her in a difficult position and that she had to maintain every business relationship she could.

“I would be delighted,” she finally replied. “But my attendance depends on a condition.”

“What would that be? Jewels? A designer gown? An estate?” Mr. Grant cracked a boastful grin.

“No, nothing like that.” Camryn glanced down at her gloves. “My condition is that Mr. Odinson may come along.”

“Oh?” Mr. Grant raised a brow and locked eyes with Loki, his expression menacing. Loki, however, was unfazed by his mortal intimidation tactics, and merely fixed him with a smug expression.

“Anything for my princess,” Mr. Grant continued at last, breaking eye contact with Loki and staring at Camryn with barely veiled hunger.

Loki sensed Camryn’s immense discomfort at the name and balled his hand into a fist, very much wishing that he could tie Mr. Grant down with his own intestines. Camryn merely smiled through it, however, the picture of professionalism.

“Please, Mr. Grant,” she giggled. “I’m no longer a child. I’m a woman in my own right now, so please, for all the affection you’ve carried for me throughout my life, treat me as such.”

Mr. Grant drew even closer and was inches away from whispering his next words directly into her ear.

“Whatever you say, Camryn.”

Loki’s remaining seidr was enough to cause the boat to jolt with a flick of his hand, and Camryn gratefully stumbled back into him. As he made a show of righting her, he gently squeezed her shoulders to remind her that the filthy Mr. Grant would never lay hands on her.

“The sea is being playful today, eh?” Mr. Grant straightened his coat. “But luncheon is a couple of hours off. What’s say we have a game of shuffleboard.”

“That sounds lovely, Mr. Grant, but I’m afraid I have to decline.” Camryn reached behind herself and took Loki’s hand. “I have something to attend to right now. Good day, Mr. Grant.”

Before Mr. Grant could reciprocate the goodbye, Camryn took off with Loki in tow, steering him back inside and down the hall toward her stateroom.

“It was clever to tell Mr. Grant a lie to get away,” Loki said once they arrived, leaning against the wall and tucking one foot behind the other rather gracefully. “Though isn’t it a bit scandalous for a courting couple to be alone in a room together?”

“I thought we were dispensing with propriety for the time being, and besides, you’ve been in here before. While I was changing, no less.” The corners of Camryn’s ever-red lips quirked up coyly. “But I wasn’t telling Mr. Grant a lie. I do have something to tend to.”

As soon as she finished speaking, a knock sounded on the door. Since Loki was closest, he opened it, and noticed with an almost lustful pride the scolding look the maid gave the unmarried couple when she wheeled in a tray packed with sweets.

“That’s quite an interesting breakfast spread,” Loki teased once they were alone again, coming up to stand behind Camryn as she overlooked what had been brought. Her hair had been loosely tied up under her hat, but a bit had come loose to rest on the curve of her neck. With chilly fingers, Loki brushed her baby-soft skin almost sensually before capturing the strand and tucking it back into place, his body mere millimeters away from hers. Camryn knew that she was the one to propose dispensing with proper courting rituals and diving right in with each other, but at the moment she wasn’t sure if her fluttering heart could take it.

“It’s not for me,” she eventually cleared her throat and declared, though her voice was an octave higher than her usual alto tone. “This has to do with what I used to get away from Mr. Grant.”

“And what is that, exactly?” Loki asked, moving slightly backwards to avoid being bumped by her elbows as she began to wrap the cakes up in napkins, watching her actions with bemused confusion.

“You’ll see.” Camryn gathered the sweets up in her arms and flashed him a wide grin. “Follow me.”

Loki was soon swept up in another one of Camryn’s unexplained journeys as she once again made her way back out to the deck, her long legs making for a quick stride that even Loki had to exert a bit of effort to keep up with. The other first class passengers glanced at her curiously, with her arms full of cakes, quite purposefully walking down the deck made for leisure. Some even flashed Loki a sympathetic look, as if sorry he had to deal with her, but he was proud that people so naturally thought they belonged to each other. Though, he was admittedly very confused about where she was going, as the deck seemed to be ending, and grew even more so when she started to descend stairs that led down to a third-class deck.

“Camryn?” he called after her, catching up at last. “You do know this goes to a third class deck?”

“I know exactly where I’m going,” she insisted, pushing on ahead until she was stopped by a uniformed crewmember. At the sight of him, her lips pulled into a sickly sweet smile but a blistering intensity shot out of her eyes, an expression Loki had never seen and one that, quite frankly, frightened even him.

“So we meet again,” she purred. If her eyes hadn’t gone harder still and the crewmember hadn’t shrunk backwards in obvious fear, Loki would’ve been angrily jealous.

“This is the third class deck, miss,” the crewmember informed, voice high and shaking. “I can’t let you through.”

“I think you can.” Camryn cocked a thick eyebrow. “After all, I’ve paid a handsome sum to be on this ship. And since people like you are so classist that you won’t allow those that didn’t pay more than your life’s savings for a ticket have decent living situations while on it, you’ll have to let me, a superior being to you according to your philosophy, explore every inch of the ship many would have died to be on. And-” she stepped closer to the crewmember, leaning right up to his ear. “If you don’t let me through, I’ll have to make good on my promise.”

The crewmember balked, and did nothing more than step aside. Camryn grinned in triumph, pushing past and gesturing for Loki to follow.

“Erm.” Loki coughed gently, and Camryn turned to him with the wide and bright eyes he was used to. “What was that about?”

“Oh, that.” Camryn giggled lightly. “I may or may not have threatened to kill that crewmember yesterday for being a classist arse when I was trying to board.”

Loki shook his head incredulously. “What, may I ask, did I just get myself into?”

Camryn smirked sweetly, swinging her hips. “The best mess of your life.”

WIth that, she took off again, cutting through the natural path that was made for her on the deck as the steerage passengers parted in her presence, every eye fixed on her, whispers of wonderment breaking the sudden quiet in the air, a few young hands reaching out to touch the expensive fabric of her gown but pulling away before they could get close enough. Camryn, as bashful and introverted as she was, seemed to be quite used to the attention, and flashed charming smiles to as many as she could before reaching the railing, where a weathered man held his pink-cheeked son up to see over it.

“Miss Potts!” the boy gasped in delight when he looked over his shoulder and discovered her, jumping down and into her arms. The sweets she carried would’ve been ruined had it not been for Loki quickly casting a simple spell to make them float for a split second so he could gather them into his arms, working with just enough speed so that no one would notice a thing was amiss. Camryn certainly didn’t, for she giggled and twirled the boy once, situating him on her hip even though he was likely too old to be held.

“Hello, Joshua!” she exclaimed, then turned to his father. “And hello again, Jacob. Are you well?”

“We are, Miss Potts.” Jacob began to blush, and eyed Loki a tad nervously. “Joshie really loves it on this ship.”

“Oh? Is that true, Joshua?” She turned to the boy, and he nodded excitedly.

“Mmhm! Daddy says that today the land will go away and it’ll be all ocean around us!”

“Well, that will be frightfully exciting, won’t it? It will be such an adventure!” Camryn squeezed the boy tightly, then turned so that she was facing Loki. “Joshua, I’d like to introduce you to someone. This is my very special friend, Mr. Odinson. Mr. Odinson, this is Joshua, and his wonderful father Jacob.”

“How do you do.” Loki politely shook Jacob’s hand, for he seemed a good person, but was still lost as to how on Earth Camryn made his acquaintance.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Odinson.” Jacob turned to Joshua. “Joshie, why don’t you climb down from Miss Potts and shake this man’s hand?”

Joshua jumped down instantly and grasped Loki’s hand with one barely large enough to wrap around his fingers. “How do you do, sir?”

“I’m well, young Mr. Greene.” Loki couldn’t deny that the smiling child’s face warmed his heart. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Listen, Joshua.” Camryn knelt down behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders. “I’ve brought a present for you.”

Joshua’s mouth dropped open. “Really?”

“Mmhm!” Camryn took the bundle of sweets from Loki and opened them. “Sweets from the first class dining room. Some of the best cakes in the world.”

If Joshua’s mouth dropped open any more, his jaw would fall off. “All for me?”

“Yes.” Camryn re-wrapped the bundle and put it into his arms. “All for you.”

“Miss Potts, that’s too kind,” Jacob, insisted, cheeks positively ruddy. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Nonsense. Of course I should’ve! Those treats are so accessible to me that I get sick of them. It seems outright evil that a child shouldn’t get to experience some simple luxuries.” Camryn rose to her full height and approached Mr. Greene. “And I spoke to my father. He can definitely provide you employment. He’s having some communication with one of his managers right now, and I’m to take you in for a meeting when we make it to shore.”

“Oh, Miss Potts.” Jacob’s eyes welled with tears and his legs went so limp Loki feared he would collapse. “You’ve just saved our lives.”

“Please, Mr. Green. It’s my pleasure.” Camryn squeezed his hand.

“Why are you crying, Daddy?” Joshua, miffed he was being left out of the conversation, wrapped his arms around Jacob’s legs.

“Because Miss Potts is a very, very good person, Joshie,” Jacob replied.

“Yes she is!” Joshua bounced on his toes. “She’s just like a princess!” Loki had to admit that for a mortal, Joshua was quite precious.

“Oh, Joshua. You spoil me.” Camryn leaned down and gave the boy a kiss. “I’m afraid I have to leave for a luncheon engagement. I’m so sorry to leave so soon.”

“I won’t have you apologizing. You’ve done more than enough,” Jacob insisted. “No need for you to feel sorry for not giving us more time than we need.”

And so Camryn and Loki said their goodbyes and left the third class deck, the crewmember shrinking away as Camryn passed. Camryn had her arms wrapped tightly around Loki’s and had her head resting on his shoulder with a familiarity that stunned but didn’t upset either of them.

The pair eventually passed by the chairs they were sitting in before, and, upon finding them still vacant, made a silent decision to sit down again. The shape of the furniture, however, wasn’t optimal for closeness, so instead of reclining like one was meant to, they both perched on the edges, linking hands in their laps.

“I’ll admit that I was skeptical at first,” Loki began, “but the Greenes are lovely people. I am, however, very curious to know how a corporate heiress made such a close acquaintance with them.”

“Oh, yes. It really is a lovely story.” Camryn drew circles with her finger at the spot below Loki’s thumb. “When we were boarding yesterday, I was all alone with my massive amount of baggage. They noticed my struggle and offered to help. We got to talking, and I found out that they’re immigrating to America, meeting up with a wife and a little girl, but Jacob had no idea how he’d support them monetarily once they arrived. My father’s company has an endless amount of jobs, so I figured I’d be a positively nasty person if I didn’t offer to get him one.”

“You’re many things, Camryn,” Loki declared, still savoring the way her name felt on his lips, “but you’re certainly not a nasty person.”

The two chatted for a bit longer, gushing about Jacob and Joshua and casually debating issues of class. Being raised as a prince in a feudal society, Loki was a bit more closed-minded on the matter, but as Camryn discussed how high-class citizens despised people born in a lower caste but made it nearly impossible for them to ever change, he began to come around on her reasoning. They spoke without a lull until the luncheon bell rang, and the two immediately rose to join the migrating crowd, Camryn wrapping herself up against Loki once more. She had a contented smile on her face, but the moment they came in sight of the dining room, her expression turned sour.

“What’s wrong?” Loki asked softly, wondering if she was the type of mortal to get seasickness.

“Oh, nothing.” Camryn grimaced. “I’m just much less excited for this than I was to meet with the Greenes.”

“I agree.” Loki squeezed her hand protectively. He would’ve liked to grab a larger part of her body for more emphasis, but even if they did decide to dispense with a lot of propriety, that was a line he didn’t feel he could cross quite yet. “I get a bad feeling from that Mr. Grant.”

“Oh, he’s harmless.” Camryn waved her hand. “He’s just a bother. I feel obligated to him because of his relation to my father, but I’ve never particularly enjoyed his company.”

Loki took a deep breath to prevent himself from wrapping his arms around Camryn and using the weak seidr that remained in him to transport them off of the ship and somewhere far away from Mr. Grant. He worried that her obligation to upholding a relationship that wasn’t hers coulded her judgment and would someday put her in the way of danger. Loki feared she wouldn’t understand his godly intuition, though, and all he could do was hope his feelings were wrong and enter the dining room, where the snake himself was waiting.

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