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mymelodyheart · 3 years

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Save The Date Chapter 5 ~Roses and Thunder~

Previously in Maybe Baby ...

"How do ye feel?"

She rolled over and summoned herself to tell him what's on her mind. "I-I feel good ..."

The light in his eyes dulled at her dithering. "There's a but coming. Tell me what's bothering ye. Maybe I can help," he offered.

She shut her eyes."There's something I've meant to ask you. I know it's a big ask, but ..."

"Out with it, Sassenach," he pressed gently.

She held on to their connection generated by the intimacy of the moment. "Do you think you can take some time off to come to London with me for Hawkin's book signing? It's just that ...I-I really need you to be there ...by my side."

To her surprise, a slow smile formed his lips. "I can do that."

She let out a sigh of relief but wished she could articulate to him why she wanted him to come other than the fact she loved having him by her side. She reasoned there had been enough revelation for one day, but she knew it was just a feeble excuse. She needed to come clean even if her troubles seemed inconsequential, but it would have to be for another time.

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Tom found a vacant slot in the parking area at Inverness airport and neatly pulled in between a van and an SUV. Claire took out her compact mirror from her bag and checked her hair. It was a muggy day, and she'd heard on the news earlier it was forecast to rain later this afternoon. She sighed as she smoothed the unruly tendrils back. There was no use. Her dark curls almost always went impossibly frizzy in the humidity. Feeling way too chipper to worry about the state of her hair, she quickly dabbed on some lipgloss and checked her phone.

"We're slightly early," Claire observed absentmindedly. "Are you sure you don't mind tagging along for my dress fitting?"

When Claire had heard Mary Hawkins was on the same flight as Annalise, she'd offered the author a lift with an invitation to attend her dress fitting before heading to Broch Mordha. Mary had eagerly accepted and even suggested Tom be their chauffeur for the morning, knowing there would be bubblies served.

Tom grinned as he turned off the ignition. "I've freed up my schedule for Mary. So wherever Mary goes, I go. I'm sure it'd be an interesting experience to witness a gaggle of lassies gush over dresses and gowns."

Claire laughed. "Don't worry, my friend Geillis will be there with her boyfriend. He'll keep you company. And there'll be smoked salmon, crowdie and oatcake canapés to ease the pain and boredom of putting up with us."

"Fine by me as long as naebody asks my opinion on anything that has to do with gowns."

"I wouldn't dream of doing that. It would be a fruitless endeavour."

He let out a hearty chuckle. "Shall we then?"

Claire gave up on curbing the idiotic smile forming on her face as she stepped out of the car and almost skipped alongside Tom. Her cheery disposition hadn't anything to do with the excitement of seeing her bridal dress but more to do with just having left behind a six-foot-three inch aroused male lying in a tangle of sheets, wheedling her for one last quickie before he went to work.

Glancing around with a dreamy sigh, she realised she was lagging behind, and Tom was already holding the entrance door open for her. She quickened her pace and slid past him, hoping he hadn't noticed any tell-tale sign of her dirty thoughts.

Resolved to concentrate on today's events, she allowed Tom to steer her through the throng of crowds while she went through her mental checklist, reminding herself of items required, things to be done, and essential points to be considered for the day ahead. Mrs Abercombie from Juneberry Boutique was closing her bridal shop for the whole morning to accommodate her second dress fitting, and someone had arranged for food and drinks to be served for their small party. Jenny, her future sister-in-law, should be there by the time they arrived as well as Geillis, her friend from Glasgow who would be accompanied by her police boyfriend, Finlay. If Claire had anything to say about it all, she thought it was all too much of a big fuss for just a dress fitting, but she'd long ago decided to go along with it if it would keep everyone happy and off her and Jamie's back.

Today everyone was in a good place and thrilled to be part of her upcoming nuptials. She should be more grateful for her friends and family's efforts to make her wedding special. After all, this was an exciting time, and it was almost her duty to enjoy herself. Annalise and Mary would arrive any moment, and it was time to loosen up a bit and take part in the fun.

..........

Jamie grabbed a chilled bottle of mineral water from the cool box and leaned back against a tree, glancing up at the sky. It wasn't midday yet, and already the air felt sticky and oppressive. Heavy thick clouds were forming, and by the looks of it, he was pretty sure a thunderstorm would be due soon. There were still heaps of work to be done before the rain came, but he allowed himself to take a breather and cool down, making way for his thoughts to flow.

The weekend had ended well, better than he'd expected or hoped for. Quentin had obviously enjoyed his visit at Lallybroch, so much so he'd stayed there for the night and didn't return to the cottage until Jamie had been about to leave for work. Not that he minded having Quentin around, but the time on their own had given Jamie and Claire ample opportunity to reconnect and smooth out any doubts between them. At the mention of babies, his shock reaction had caused Claire distress, and Jamie hadn't liked seeing her upset for one bit. When he'd reassured her his response had nothing to do with not wanting bairns and that he needed more time before embarking on parenthood, she'd seem placated and been her usual charming self for the rest of the weekend.

Suddenly remembering Claire's schedule for the day, he wondered if she was at the boutique already for her dress fitting and if she was having fun. Jamie hoped she was because she deserved every simple pleasure life had to offer after the year of ups and downs they'd had.

His phone ringing brought him back to the present. Pulling it out from his pocket, he wasn't surprised to see Claire's name popped up on his screen. Whenever he thought about her, more often than not, she called. It often seemed as if they read each other's minds.

"Sassenach!" he answered. "How is it going?"

"Mary and Annalise arrived on time. So all good. I'm in the changing room at the moment."

"Mmm, dinnae put anything on just yet ...I'll be right there," he teased.

"Sorry, but Mrs Abercombie is about to come in and help me with the bustier. I swear to God, I think she'll enjoy putting me in this torture device. I wish I hadn't eaten that greasy breakfast uncle Lamb whipped up for us yesterday. I feel bloated."

Jamie laughed. "Ach dinnae fash. There's more meat on a butcher's pencil than on ye, lass."

"Actually, I called to find out if uncle Lamb made it back. He's not answering his phone."

"Saw him this morning. He told me he's feeling a bit rough, whatever that means. I presume he had a bit to drink and will be taking it easy today."

"Good," she sighed in relief. "He's got a flight tomorrow, and I've been worried about him all morning. You and I know, Uncle Lamb, Murtagh and alcohol never mix well. The only thing that kept me from stopping by Lallybroch this morning was knowing Ellen would have taken good care of him."

"Aye, there's that. If anything untoward had happened, we would have found out soon enough. So stop worrying and enjoy yer day with yer mates."

"And how are you feeling today?"

Jamie grinned as he thought of their vigorous activity between the sheets last night and this morning. "If ye must know, ye've worn me out. I'm totally knackered."

"Is that so?" Claire's voice lowered a notch. "If that's the case, you and I should have a night off tonight. Maybe watch a film for a change."

"Perhaps. But I doubt if ye'll be able to concentrate long enough to watch a film without yer hands creeping into my pants."

A sound of incredulity passed her lips, making him smile. "Oy! You seem to have a short memory. I haven't forgotten the way ye were begging me to come back to bed this morning after I came out of the shower. Or do you need reminding?"

"I only begged ye to come back to bed because ye were looking at me like ye wanted to have me for breakfast. And here I thought ye needed a bit of push to take what ye want."

"Unbelievable!"

"And I love ye." Jamie heard feminine chatter in the background, and he knew he'd taken enough of her time. "Go, Sassenach and have some fun," he said. "Give me a call when ye're back."

"Will do. Love you too."

..........

Claire was sprawled faceup on the chaise longue, squirming and fidgeting with the edging of her bustier in the hope to try and get air into her system. Not even Nat King Cole singing L-O-V-E through the shop's speakers could get her in a love-up mood. "Jesus, this wasn't this tight during my first fitting. I'll probably have to buy a new set of bridal lingerie."

Mrs Abercombie pulled the curtain that divided the dressing room and the reception area where Tom was sat with Geillis' boyfriend, Finlay. The boutique owner frowned at Claire. "Ye must have gained weight, lass. Did ye get yersel' pregnant by any chance?"

"Wot?" She struggled up into a sitting position with the help of Annalise. "God, no! Of course not. I've just over-indulged a bit over the last few days. I'm a writer, and writers have weird eating habits."

"Weel, that's always good to know in advance," Mrs Abercombie said, bustling about. "We still have plenty of room for alteration and one more dress fitting before the big day."

Annalise gave Claire a sympathetic look. "Hey, I'm here for a week. We'll get you in tip-top shape in no time. We'll join a fitness program."

Claire groaned out loud. She had never been into exercise or fitness anything, even though it was Jamie's thing.

"Not to worry," Mrs Abercombie clucked, hanging the plastic garment bag that contained her wedding dress on a hook. "That's what dress fittings are for, and that's why I insisted on having yer dress made two sizes bigger."

Geillis, Claire's fiery red-haired friend, looked over with critical eyes as she popped open a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. The Champagne lightly spewed over the top in her distraction but caught it in time when she poured the fizzing alcohol into the neatly lined coupe glasses. "It's supposed to be a bit uncomfortable, Claire," Geillis reasoned. "That's the price of looking fabulous on yer special day. I promise ye, it'll be worth it when Jamie gets a load of yer awesome tits."

Claire tugged at the mesh panel of her bustier and grimaced. "He's got a load of them plenty of times already, and he still can't get enough."

Mary cackled as she grabbed a Champagne and offered a glass to Claire. "That's why he's marrying ye."

Claire took a sip of her bubbly and handed it back. "Ta, but I need a clear head for this. And speaking of Jamie and tits ..."

"Hello, excuse me!" Jenny interrupted, slapping her clipboard against her thigh. "We're talking about my brother here."

Mary shoved a glass of Champagne towards Jenny. "Oh, drink up and lighten up a bit, Jen! We're mainly talking about Claire's tits here and speaking of ...I remember once Ian saying he sleeps best when his head is resting on your delicate pillows of love. You didn't seem to mind then."

Jenny's eyes widened, and before she could come up with some rejoinder, Mary had already disappeared through the curtains and slipped into the front room.

Claire continued to tug and fidget. "What I was trying to say is ...when it comes to boobs, it just goes to prove that men can concentrate on two things at once. That's men's selective focusing for you!" She fell back once more onto the chaise longue. When Annalise offered her a hand, Claire shook her head, determined to get on her feet on her own. She knew she could do it if only the boning structure didn't painfully dig into her skin. She tried to sit upright again but struggled. "Shit, I'll never get up from here."

"Turn on yer tummy, hen," Geillis suggested while plating canapés.

Claire did as she was told, pushed up and slid backwards off the ornate sofa. "Ah, that's better. Now I need someone to pick me up and plonk me into the dress."

"No need ...just step over here, pet, and we'll do the rest," Mrs Abercombie assured, pointing at the circular, elevated platform. "And please stand with yer back to the mirror."

Claire nodded and climbed onto the raised surface, feeling suddenly conscious of her half-naked state. Wrapping her arms around her, she tried not to fidget as she anticipated the next brand new torture.

Mrs Abercombie shook her finger at Claire's friends. "Remember, no comments until we've fitted the dress properly and Claire has seen the result."

The girls nodded like good little girl scouts, their lips twitching in an effort to suppress their amusement.

As Claire waited patiently for Mrs Abercombie's assistant to take out the wedding dress from the garment bag and smooth out the fabric, she glanced over at her future sister-in-law. "Alright, Jenny, you said you wanted to give me the low down of the wedding details. Let's all hear about it."

"Right. Wedding details! I thought you'd never ask." Jenny reached out for her leather satchel bag and pulled out a binder. "Let's see what we have here..." Taking a sip of her Champagne, she opened a folder that revealed colourfully tabbed sheets and scanned the pages. "We'll skip the wedding guests part for now since the replies are still coming in." She flipped on to the next page as Annalise and Geillise gathered behind Jenny and peered over her shoulders. "Wedding favours! As we've already discussed, all welcome gifts will come in woven baskets decorated with tartan patterned ribbons. Male guests will receive a miniature engraved quaich pewter, and for the ladies, a silver dragonfly hair comb. All baskets for adults will contain an Oxford treat box with assorted dinky chocolates, a wee bag of tablet fudge, a packet of wildflower meadow seed and a couple of bottles of miniature single malt, personalised with the bride and groom's names. As for the bairns, they'll receive various sweets, biccies and an activity and game bag to keep them occupied."

"Wow! The wedding favours sound marvellous, Jen," Claire said as she stepped into the wedding dress that was being held out for her. "I would never have thought of those things. I'm bloody useless when it comes to organising stuff like that."

Jenny smiled genuinely for the first time that morning. "I'm glad you like it, Claire."

"Of course, I love it! How about the videographer and photographer? Uncle Lamb has constantly been harping about it."

"It's sorted!" Jenny waved a pen in the air. "We've locked in Gregor McLellan. He's excellent and very sought after."

Claire had never heard of the name, but whoever he was, he sounded expensive. Sucking in her stomach, she straightened her back for Mrs Abercombie as she felt the back zip tug. "Anything else?"

"Well, we've already discussed the caterers and the menu, and that's already agreed on. Mrs Fitz will be making the cake, and she will get in touch with either me or ye to arrange a date for some cake sampling. As for the drinks, Da will organise the open bars and beverages."

"Sweet heavens! All I need to do now is give Jamie a nudge into deciding what he'll wear. He doesn't want to have anything custom made for him. He says he has a couple of kilts and a few formal suits tuck away in Lallybroch."

"Oh, that! That's taken care of. Willie and Murtagh will make sure yer Jamie scrubs up well on yer wedding day."

Claire let out a sigh of relief. Though Willie was outdoorsy like his brother, he had a refined taste when it came to formalwear. At least, she could rest easy knowing Jamie was in good hands. That sorted, for now, she refocused on other matters. "How about the guys at the marquee hire? The Grants, isn't it? Do we have any more updates from them?"

"Aye, the Grants. They're on the case, alright. The latest email I got says they'll arrive at Lallybroch four days prior to the big day to set the wedding tent up. Helpful guys, the lot of them, if I may say so. They've even advised me on how much square footage we'll need based on the number of guests and caterers. Of course, not to forget, the size of the dancefloor and the number of persons in the band."

Claire did a semi-whirl. "Band? Couldn't we just hire a DJ or something? I'm kind of fond of pop music and oldies but goldies."

Jenny bit her lower lip. "Yer uncle Lamb insisted on a ceilidh band. But they're not only folk and bluegrass musicians. They're a function band and have some modern and pop repertoires up their sleeves as well. They're quite good and have outstanding reviews online. If ye want, I'll send ye some Youtube links of their gigs."

"What's the name of the band?"

Jenny grinned. "Papa Shandy and the Drams. A great name, isn't it? Quentin personally picked and booked them. Ever heard of them?"

Claire shook her head in response and glanced over at Geillis and Annalise. They merely nodded their approval and uttered, "cool name." Though her friends could be opinionated at times, she was surprised they haven't shared any of their thoughts or offered any input. From what Claire could garner, they seemed impressed with the details so far as well as her future sister-in-law's meticulousness and attention to detail. If Claire wasn't mistaken, she was quite certain this was Jenny's way of making amends after their relationship had taken off to a bad start. And the fact that they were moving forward from the past gave Claire hope for their budding friendship.

"Well, sounds like you have everything under control," Claire smiled, making a mental note to buy Jenny something special.

"Getting there," she sighed, ticking off some list on a page. "Anyway, I have a summary here for ye and Jamie to take home. Go over it, and if there are any changes ye wish to make or add something, let me know. I want to have it finalised within a week." She clapped the folder shut and smiled. "So that's it! Any more questions?"

"Where're the shoes?" Mrs Abercombie interjected. "And accessories?"

Before Claire could reply, the girls had already sprung onto their feet and scattered in different directions, going through bags and handing over bits and bobs. She'd been instructed by Jenny to bring everything she'd need for the wedding, and she'd done just that and much more. There were all the pieces of jewellery Claire owned, hairpieces recently bought, a variety of clutches and undergarments and even make-up remover. It was over the top, but after all the efforts Jenny was making for the wedding, the least she could do was try her hardest not to forget anything.

All the fineries finally laid out on the table, Mrs Abercombie began making adjustments to the bodice and skirt while the assistant tweaked at the hem. Claire sucked in her breath for the most part and cooperated with every instruction, knowing that the sooner she was done, the sooner she could go back into her comfortable clothes.

"I need to let out an inch here at the back," Mrs Abercombie remarked. "If I were ye, I'd stay away from those canapés. Either that or ye need to do more exercise."

The girls laughed out loud at the older woman's blunt declaration, but Claire simply took a deep breath and gave herself over to the convenience of being attended to, adorned and even bossed around. A vague recollection of her mother making clothes for her when she was a child suddenly surfaced. She saw herself standing on a stool as her mother sang and pinned the hem of her dress. A wave of nostalgia evoked a longing for her parents and bittersweet memories of her childhood, making her wish they were here to see all these.

"Right, let's take a look," Mrs Abercombie announced, breaking Claire's brief reverie and stepping back to assess her handiwork.

Claire twisted her hips and sashayed on the spot, making the girls laugh and whistle. "So ...how do I look?"

"Nobody says a thing," Mrs Abercombie firmly reminded Claire's friends. "I want to hear and see Claire's reaction first when she sees herself in the mirror."

Even though everyone remained tight-lipped, Claire could see the approval and awe shining from their eyes. "So, when do I get to look then?" Claire asked, suddenly giddy with excitement for the first time.

"I think you need these first," Annalise said, carefully placing a pair of shoes at her feet." Slip these on, and I'll strap it on for you."

Taking Geillis hand, Claire slid her feet into a pair of Jimmy Choo's ivory satin pearl sandals. Not used to high heels, she wobbled a bit before recovering her balance. "Oh dear, I think I'll need lessons walking in these," she laughed nervously. "And there's no way I can wear these all day and night."

"That's why I bought ye a pair of these," Jenny said, holding a pair of white sneakers studded with tiny pearls and embellished with an ivory bow. "It even has the date of yer wedding adorned at the back of the heels."

Overwhelmed by Jenny's thoughtfulness, Claire clapped her hands over her mouth to suppress the tears of gratitude threatening to spill. "Oh Jenny, that's so sweet. Come here and let me give you a hug."

"Hugs later," Mrs Abercombie ordered, raising a hand. "We don't want to spoil the dress. Right Claire, whenever ye're ready, please close yer eyes."

Claire did as she was told and held on to readily assisting hands as she slowly pivoted on the spot. Anticipation hung in the air, and the sanguine expectation made the moment all the more seemed endless. She envisioned her mother before her and the emotions the image conjured - excitement, hope and fear of the unknown tightly knotted together, creating a fourth emotion that was hard to define. Whatever it was, it tickled like she had a handful of butterflies fluttering in her belly.

"Ye may look now," Mrs Abercombie said in a hushed tone.

Claire slowly lifted her eyes and took in the reflection before her, and gasped. Statuesque was the first word that came to mind. She'd never been the type to wear a gown, but this beautiful dress dramatically transformed her, accentuating her height and doing wonders to her curves. She was so glad she'd opted for a sheath gown against the better judgement of her friends. Annalise had thought the style would have been too restricting, and Jenny had been convinced Claire would look better in an A-line classic. But this ... this was even better and well beyond her expectation.

Her hand shakily hovered over the body-hugging material, taking everything in from the off-the-shoulder style to the translucent tulle base intricately hand-embroidered with beading and thread work. Her eyes were restless, admiring every detail, but there were so many things to look at and no words adequate enough to describe the beauty she'd been transformed into and what she felt at that moment.

"Mrs Abercombie, it's beautiful," Claire whispered.

Mrs Abercombie smiled triumphantly. "I'm glad ye like."

Like? Are you kidding me? Claire wanted to correct the older woman, but she understood that Mrs Abercombie was giving her the prerogative by remaining impassive. The prerogative to be thrilled for this moment and be filled with anticipation for her wedding day, when the man she loved would see her looking beautiful and splendidly dress like a movie star.

"Goodness, gracious me, you look like an earth angel all vamped up!"

Everyone's head snapped towards the curtain divider direction, and there stood Mary cradling a bouquet of blood-red, long-stemmed roses. "Oops! Sorry for startling everyone ...I couldn't help myself." Mary clutched her throat and shook her head. "Good Lord, Claire, you look absolutely out of this world."

Claire barely heard the compliments. "What's that?" she asked, eyeing the roses.

Mary glanced down. "Oh, these ...the receptionist told me it's for you."

"For me?"

Mary snatched the card and read out loud, "You look beautiful today, love J." She grinned at Claire. "Romance is definitely not dead. What a sweet man, your Jamie, is."

Everyone awwed, raved and gushed over the sweet and thoughtful note.

Claire frowned. "May I please see the message?"

"Of course," Mary replied, walking towards Claire and handing over the card.

Claire read and re-read the words before looking up.

Geillis touched her hand. "What's wrong, lass?"

Claire shook her head. "It's odd."

"What's odd?" Annalise asked.

"This doesn't look like Jamie's writing," Claire replied.

Jenny stepped in and peered at the card. "It's definitely no' Jamie's writing."

Annalise waved a hand in dismissal. "Maybe it's the florist's handwriting, and they've been instructed to write that message."

Claire wasn't convinced. "It's not Jamie's style," she explained. "He usually ends messages with the words love you and an X. He's quite consistent that way. He never signs J or his name. And he's never given me roses because he knows I don't like them."

"Oh, that's right," Annalise said, suddenly remembering. "You've never been keen on roses."

"Maybe it's from John, your former boss?" Mary implied. "He's quite fond of you, you know?"

Claire shook her head. "Fond, yes. But John is practical when it comes to giving gifts, and he thinks buying flowers are a waste of money. Sending these expensive roses would be a gesture out of character for him. Besides, why would he send these? For what occasion?"

"Oh, oh ..." Jenny's eyes lighted. "Maybe it's from Jamie's therapist? His name is Joe, right?"

Claire chewed her bottom lip. "No, not Joe. Definitely not. That would be too weird, and I don't think his wife, Gail, would be too impressed if she heard about these expensive roses. I don't think that's his style, and on top of that, I hardly know the bloke."

"Well, who the fuck gave you these roses then?" Gellis asked, the furrows on her brows intensifying.

Everyone looked at Jenny.

Jenny sputtered. "Me? Of course, it wasnae me, ye bunch of dafties."

"Weel, there's only one way to find out who the sender is ..." Geillis suggested.

"Eh, how?" Mary asked.

"My boyfriend is a police officer," Geillis answered. "We'll get him to interrogate the florist. I can see the tag of the flower shop on the wrapper."

Claire groaned out loud. "Oh, for God's sake, Geillis. Do we really need to get him involved? It's not important. Soon enough, we'll find out who the mystery sender is."

Geillis' smile was wicked. "Just hang fire," she said before shouting, "FINLAY!"

"WHAT?" Finlay shouted back from the other side of the curtain.

"Get yer sweet, hairy arse in here! Pronto!"

..........

Later that afternoon, Claire walked into the cottage, attempting to forget about the unexpected delivery at the bridal boutique while the sound of thunder rumbled across the sky. She'd given the bouquet to Mary, citing allergies as an excuse. It might as well have been the case since she didn't like roses, especially coming from strangers.

Geillis had sensed something was off and had sweet-talked her boyfriend to find out who'd sent the flowers using his influence as police. But the quick investigation had come up blank. Claire had been informed that the flower shop owner had found an envelope on the counter by the cash register. It contained a hundred and fifty quid, instructions and a notecard, and the florist had only happily complied with the request. Reviewing the video surveillance recording hadn't produced any results either since the person who'd left the envelope had been wearing a sports cap and a hoodie, obscuring most of the face.

The thunder clapped once more, and she realised anytime soon, it would start to rain. Rollo was safe in the house, but Adso was nowhere to be found, and he hated thunderstorms. She needed to find the cat before it came pouring down.

Grabbing Adso's treats, she made her way out through the kitchen backdoor. She clicked her tongue and shook the packet of cat biscuits to entice Adso while searching and scanning through bushes and shrubs. With no luck, she decided to check the surroundings of the shed.

"Claire!"

Her heart lurched, and as she whirled around, she toppled backwards, hitting her head on something hard. A sharp pain exploded on her skull, causing her to squeeze her eyes shut.

"Oh, God, Claire! Ye alright?"

The agonising pain was momentarily dulled by the familiar voice. She tried to open her eyes, but her vision blurred.

"Easy now there, Claire! Dinnae move. I rang yer doorbell, and when ye didnae answer, I walked around the house. Ye forgot yer handbag in the car, and I came back to bring it to ye. When I called out yer name, I must have caught ye by surprise, and ye slipped and banged yer head."

Tom? It was only her friend. Damn those roses! She'd been on edge ever since that bloody bouquet arrived, and now she'd panicked over the sound of her Tom's voice.

She tried to speak, but it hurt to talk.

"I've called 999 just in case yer fall had caused more damage. I've sent a message to Jamie and Annalise as well. I'm terribly sorry for sneaking up on ye."

"It's alright," she managed to croak.

"Tell me where ye are hurting," Tom asked calmly.

She was about to reply, but another shearing pain fired at the back of her head, so excruciating it almost robbed her of air and made her see shooting stars. She felt the beginning of rain dropping on her, and suddenly she felt cold and began to shake. And just before the world went dark and silent, she heard the wails of sirens.

Dear Readers,

Did I promise you drama in the last chapter? Oh yes, I did. Oh, and the drama in the end! Well, where have I heard this line before? "...along with the sunshine, there's gotta be a little rain sometime ..." Just like in real life, Jamie and Claire get to experience a bit of rain too. But in Jamie and Claire's case, they're experiencing a bit of a thunderstorm. Hang in there with me, and we'll get through this together. Alright?

Drama aside, thank you all for your readership and feedback from my last update. It's been a pleasure reading the comments. Though I'm not great at replying to each individual message, please know that your thoughts, words, and inputs are greatly appreciated and motivate me to write for you.

Looking forward to your reaction, and until then, stay safe and enjoy the summer! X

#melodyheart #wonderwall #savethedate #Jamie Fraser #claire beauchamp #claire beauchamp/jamie fraser #outlanderfanfic

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void-knights · 4 years

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It isn't fair: Chapter One

Square Filled: Bed Sharing Pairing: Loki / Original Male Character, Tags: Sharing a Bed, One-Sided Attraction, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Asgardian politics, Magic, Slight magic kink, Einherjar, Bisexual Loki, Pansexual OMC, Pre-Thor AU Summary: Forced to share a bed with Loki during an investigation into a group of raiders Faolán confronts his feelings for Prince Loki. Word Count: 10,358 Written/Created for @lokibingo

AO3 Link

A/N: I uh... went to far with this one, when I have time I might write a sequel I kinda like this one. I only meant to aim around 2000 words. Sorry for it being so long! Tumblr Chapter Masterlist | AO3 Link |

There were seven people, which is why when they were preparing for this adventure Faolán had packed seven tents and seven bedrolls. So it came as a surprise when they came to a stop for the evening that he found three tents and five bedrolls.

He counted them trice to make sure he had not lost his memory or sanity during the last fight against the hydra. No, no there were three tents and five bedrolls.

“There are four tents and two bedrolls missing,” he announced when going over the cart a third time just to make sure. The other Einherjar had all their equipment, so why was this one caravan missing key items?

Sif and Loki were the first to come up to the caravan to check that Faolán hadn’t simply overlooked four tents and two bedrolls. No, he was right they were gone.

“But we have more food than we know what to do with,” Sif said lifting a bundle meats that had been securely packaged to keep them dry and warm but not overcooked.

“And alcohol,” Loki realized lifting a smallish barrel of mead, the trio turned to the other three. Hogun and Fandral stepped away from Thor and Volstagg, of course.

“We can ask the Einherjar to give up a couple of tents and share with their comrades,” Fandral suggested, that seemed an acceptable answer to Thor and the warriors three.

Faolán rolled his eyes, of course they would be that inconsiderate.

“Brother, you are already dealing with a morale problem amongst the guard do not make the situation worse,” Loki sighed rubbing at his temple, he had been looking forward to a good nights rest.

“I don’t know why you are complaining Loki,” Thor wrinkled his nose, “You should have a tent and bed squirrelled away.”

That was a good point, both Sif and Faolán turned to the younger prince who was not pleased to admit that he assumed that a tent at least would be easy not to lose so no, he had not packed one in his pocket dimension.

“Yet you packed a more than one cape?” Sif asked him, the fresh cape had become muddy as well but at least this one was not weighed down like Thor’s.

Faolán hopped off the back of the caravan, “Then there is only one solution,” He announced to the group, cursing his luck for having selected for escorting the royal party.

Sif quickly caught on, “I am the only woman here, I am not sharing with anyone,” She put her foot down. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her friends, it was that she just did not want to share with any of them, previous experiences had left lasting impressions.

“If Prince Loki-” Faolán began but of course Loki had issues with the idea that he’d not even been allowed to finish.

“I am not shapeshifting into my female form just to appease Lady Sif,” Loki barked, oddly touched that Faolán would even suggest such a thing. Usually warriors would rather not remember that Loki shifted between whatever gender and sex he wanted whenever the mood struck. Besides, Sif had her own terrible sleeping habits.

A round of arguments that lasted an hour, (enough time for Faolán to cook, be mocked by his fellow einherjar when he escaped for a reprieve and clean his armour and weapons,) ended with Hogun suggested the democratic process of drawing out rune stones from a bag.

“If your stone matches you share a tent,” the usually silent man said holding out a brown leather bag.

“There are three tents,” Fandral quickly pointed out, as though they had all suddenly forgotten the issue at hand.

“Three tents, three matching sets of stones, two Halaz, two Sowilō, three Laguz,” Hogun announced.

Meaning that two tents would be divided amongst four people while one tent would be shared between three people.

Thor and Loki went first, Thor drew Laguz much to his annoyance while Loki drew Halaz, Sif and Volstagg went next both drew Sowilō, Faolán dipped his hand in and pulled out the matching Halaz leaving Fandral and Hogun with Laguz and Thor.

“Best two out of three?” Fandral hoped.

Faolán being cursed with a rather soft heart almost agreed to the idea, until the younger prince grabbed his blue cloak and pulled the Asgardian warrior away from the Vanir.

Sif had to agree of the bunch Volstagg was the better draw.

Though she may have preferred Thor to herself and Volstagg being the largest of them meant less space for her she was simply grateful not to have Fandral with his roaming hands and quips, Or Hogun and his tense silence, or Loki and his constant need to pamper himself.

Loki knew this, that is why he had charmed the bag, Volstagg being married with a dozen children was the safest draw for Sif who would embarrass herself should she be partnered with Thor. Hogun was much too grim for the younger prince, he would be the perfect counter to Fandral and Thor who tended to be inconsiderate bedmates.

Faolán was the wild card, polite and respectful of status and boundaries he had shown himself to be kind and considerate to those around him. Loki settled on him.

“The next time we pass a town or village we should try to resolve this shortage issue,” Faolán wisely suggested much to the agreement of everyone else.

“But that still leaves us two bedrolls short,” Volstagg said, Sif was quick to claim herself one and Volstagg a second, leaving three bedrolls.

“I can sleep on the ground,” Faolán offered, leaving the other four to squabble amongst themselves over who should have a bedroll, he did not want to get in between two princes and two Vanir Lords.

It was safer to just put up with not having a bed for the night, even if it was chilly and the ground was hard with the days frost.

With a resound sigh he set to work putting up the tent making sure that everything was safe and secure, meanwhile in the background Thor and Loki were shouting at each other with increasing volume. The one benefit of travelling with the royal party meant that he could at least sleep on the ground in a luxurious tent.

The tents the Einherjar were provided weren’t always the best, some had been used so many times they had developed holes and patches that never seemed to dry. This tent was new, he could tell, it was large to, big enough outmatch the size of his room in the barracks.

Rubbing at the back of his neck (as best he could in full plate armour) Faolán sighed heavily, this was going to be long night. It wasn’t going to be easy sharing with the younger prince, he had admired Loki for so long that he was sure his smallish attraction boarded on a little obsessive at times.

It was best to just ignore what was happening tonight and hope the next town had tents for purchase. Removing his helmet he set it aside in one corner. Just as he began removing the rest of of his plate armour Loki marched into the tent looking annoyed.

He had managed to claim a single bedroll for himself, he glanced around the space provided annoyed, “Remind me to construct a tent when we return to the palace,” he snapped tossing the bedroll onto the ground.

“Yes sir,” Faolán said clearly as training demanded, he kept his back to the prince afraid of what he may or may not see as he stripped off his vambraces. He could sleep in his under armour, the cloth and leather would protect him against the cold.

As quickly and quietly as he could he arranged his armour in a manner that would not take up to much space. Perhaps he should have wished to have drawn Lady Sif instead, at least they were of equal social standing.

Settling himself on the covered ground Faolán could feel the cold of the frost outside seep into the fabric that acted as their floor. He shook off that chill as best he could by using his cloak to create a thin barrier between himself and the ground.

He had slept in worse conditions, heats that bordered on torture, bogs that stank with decay, this was nothing. Or it would be nothing if Prince Loki wasn’t sat on his bedroll studying Faolán who was starting to itch at the attention. Nervously so not to appear concerned he turned to the prince who rather than look away like most would narrowed his eyes at Faolán.

“Is there something wrong my prince?” He asked nervous that somehow he had managed to offend Loki without trying.

Thin lips pressed into an even thinner line, as though there was something on Loki’s mind though he did not know how to say it. Rather unusual for the silver tongued prince who could talk himself out of a room with no doors or windows.

He really was quite lovely to look at, Faolán realizing he was staring turned his focus to the tent’s roof, outside Thor and his friends were squabbling about something that didn’t seem all that important. He closed his eyes hoping to shut out that feeling of Loki’s continued staring.

Thankfully the prince put out the lamps, with a flick of his wrist the lights died down and soon he settled down into his bedroll. Easy. Simple. That was that.

Faolán shivered. The night was long and the winter never waned in its desire to see him chilled to the bone.

The next morning Faolán woke with an ache that had settled deep into his bones, as though rime itself covered them. He shivered while Prince Loki stretched himself looking rather refreshed and ready to face the day.

Back in his armour they set off towards the next town, they would need to investigate the town before moving on, which gave them time to look around for an extra tent or bedroll at least.

Sadly the moment they entered the farming town Faolán had a feeling deep in his bones that they would not find what they needed, his fears were confirmed when the warriors three and Sif failed to anyone. What did they expect when coming to this small farming town?

While investigating with his fellow Einherjar Faolán tried to shake off the cold that had settled within him, “Why are you shaking like that?” a guard asked him.

“Prince Thor and his Vanir companions thought it would be good idea to pack more food and mead, they made space by discarding two bedrolls and three four tents,” Faolán complained shivering inside his armour.

Somehow even the sun was cold.

He caught up with the royal party in a tavern when the sun had long since set, why did they pack the additional food and drink if they could have stopped at a tavern? He tried not to be bitter as the rest of the party enjoyed themselves, he focused on warming himself up.

It felt as though a jötunn had managed to push ice into his body leaving him brittle and cursed never to feel the warmth of fire or sun again. Steadying his grip upon his mead he tried to ignore the pang of pain as the cold beverage hit him, even the warmth of the food – as basic as it was, it was filling – did not do a good enough job.

“You would think the locals would be honoured to give their beds to their princes!” Thor complained loudly.

Much to his chagrin Loki reminded his brother that this was supposed to be a show that the royal house cared about the people. He was not boosting confidence nor morale by shouting such complaints to a small town that had given them hospitality.

Thor stopped complaining about that at least and instead turned his attentions to their lack of progress in this investigation. As the conversation around the table grew more heavy Faolán listened, fascinated, it was less a discussion and more of a debate.

In an attempt to still his shaking hands Faolán clasped them together, he could not recall the last time he had been so cold. When the option presented itself he went to the bar to request more drinks, the others were relieved not to have to go.

He was simply relieved not to have to spend too much time around them as their discussion delved into bickering and debates over which bar maid Fandral and Thor were eyeing up. Of course many of the maids had their eye on the older prince and dashing Vanir.

“What’ll it be love?” The woman behind the bar, a much older woman with greying red hair and a sunny but dangerous grin greeted him.

“The royal table is requesting refills, two pitchers of mead,” Faolán said rubbing his hands together.

The woman studied his hands as she had someone else fulfil the order, making sure to add a third pitcher for good measure. “You seem a tad cold lad, the others have not shared the same fate as you.”

“I am fine,” Faolán lied.

“Hm,” The woman was not convinced, “Then you shall have a warm drink and not complain will you?” he wouldn’t, he thanked her after paying for the warmed apple cider complete with spices from Alfheim. “You should watch yourself lad, the rot will set in if you stay cold for to long.”

That was an old wives tale, something shared in ignorance, it was more likely he could curdle milk by staring into the jug.

“Ah, your highness, how may I serve you?” Faolán froze (not literally of course though he still felt frozen) and turned to see Prince Loki stood beside him. How had he not noticed the prince approaching and coming to stand beside him?

“My brother wishes to know if you have more of those… pork things,” he twisted his face into a grimace.

“Ah the pork cracklings yes, I shall have a maid send more to his table,” The woman nodded while Faolán focused on finishing his heated drink.

It had helped, being inside a warm tavern that was packed to the brim with bodies helped as well, but the drink helped chase away some of the internal chill.

The short walk back to the tents undid most of the work, with final security checks completed for the evening Faolán collapsed back onto the ground. He almost wanted to cry at the chill that happily seeped its way back into his bones. There was a moment where he considered donning his armour once again, anything to have additional layers between him and the cold.

Outside the tent several voices were bickering, he recognized most of them, but the ones he did not meant he had to go and investigate. His armour back on he found himself face to face with Prince Thor, the warriors Three and a small group of nervous but furious locals.

Apparently Thor and Fandral had managed to talk a few local girls to returning to their tents, which was not unusual what was unusual was the furious locals. Half a dozen men did not like the idea of their sisters and daughters cavorting with the Prince and Vanir, though they never said it out loud, instead basing it on worried family and friends.

The winter was a dangerous season to be walking about in, Thor and Fandral conceded that perhaps it was best not to further antagonize the locals which meant Faolán was left escorting the towns folk back to their homes to ensure that nothing would befall them.

He could do nothing but offer polite apologizes, though he could not apologize on the princes behalf he could at least try and keep people happy by apologizing. The men sighed, understanding that this was not Faolán’s fault, the women were less pleased about being pushed and pulled about. The distant howl of wolves and the darkness of winter squashed some of those grievances, from a purely practical standpoint it had been rather foolish to sneak off in the dead of winter.

Once the last family were safely escorted back to their warm home Faolán began the long walk to the tents. It was long past any reasonable hour, the moons light dimmed by the cloud and forest cover meant that most of his walk was done in dimmed darkness, the torch he had barely served him.

The rest of the group had retreated into their tents by the time Faolán returned, he considered entering the tent. But then he felt an odd restricting feeling overcome him and settle deep in his gut, he couldn’t just barge in especially if Prince Loki was sleeping. He would not be proper.

Sitting himself on a nearby rock he huddled in his armour, he had slept through worse, he could manage one more cold night. He would just need to be me much more careful tomorrow.

“What are you doing?” Faolán was either too exhausted, cold or beyond reason, because he did not jump when the voice of Prince Loki sounded behind quietly.

He slid off the boulder he’d found and tried to think up of an excuse, the truth was the best policy with the god of lies. “I did not wish to disturb you, your highness,” He said trying not to shiver when the god narrowed his emerald eyes at him as if seeking out an unspoken truth.

Loki however rolled his eyes, “You warriors,” it sounded like a rebuke, one well-earned given Faolán’s current situation.

He was about to offer some sort of protest when the prince grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him into the tent. It was somehow warmer outside on that boulder than on the cold hard ground, probably because he had been forced to strip out of his armour. This time he used his cloak as a blanket and tried to stave off the chill by curling up into himself.

They should be able to purchase blankets, a rug, something, he would check in on the town come the morning before they had the chance to set off.

“Must you be so stubborn?” Loki demanded causing Faolán to stiffen in fear, now what had he done to offend the prince? He tried running through all his thoughts, nothing came to his mind.

Before he could offer up any sort of explanation there was a blanket draped over him, it was surprisingly warm. Within the fibres of the fabric he could feel some sort of energy, the prince must have enchanted the material. He turned around, remembering the prince using this the previous night over his bedroll.

He couldn’t accept the generous gift, he grabbed the blanket and draped it over the confused Prince, confusion gave away to annoyance which turned to resignation. As though he had expected Faolán to reject his offering.

It dawned on Faolán rather quickly, the magic, the enchantment, perhaps that is why the prince thought he was rejecting the gift? So few in the Einherjar were overly comfortable with magic, some would go so far as to reject any sort of magic that could not be contained in a box, bottle, piece of tech or used by a female healer.

“It is a generous gift your highness, but I cannot risk you suffering from the cold,” Faolán responded taking his place back on the floor. He stared at the ceiling hoping sleep would not evade him to long. The blanket had been nice though.

“You are a spectacular kind of idiot aren’t you?” Loki said.

“Well if I must be an idiot I’m glad I’m a shining beacon of idiocy,” Faolán muttered without thinking. He clamped his mouth shut, keenly aware of the odd silence that filled the tent.

“I did not say shining beacon, merely that as idiots go, you are by far the most stubborn I have met,” The prince retorted.

The cold must have affected his brain because why else would Faolán respond, “But you did call me outstanding.”

“Fool,” Loki snapped tossing the blanket back at Faolán, “If you die of rime rot do not curse me in Valhalla.”

“Should I return as a draugr and curse you that way, your highness?” yep, the frost had damaged him.

“Do not jest about such things,” Loki huffed before shivering and returning to his bedroll. Faolán knew from experience that bedrolls did a good job at keeping people warm, but this cold was not something one usually camped in. Kneeling beside the prince he once again returned the blanket to Loki who stared at him.

“The gesture is appreciated my prince,” Faolán said, “But your health and safety are far more important,” he added but that did not stop Loki from staring at Faolán from within his bedroll, he did not dare say how adorable he looked wrapped up like that.

Loki wanted to club some sense into the foolish solider, instead he grabbed the man and pulled him down before he could protest. Faolán was an asgardian male was strong, Loki as a god was stronger, somehow Faolán ended up wrangled onto the bedroll which had been spread out on the ground and beneath the blanket.

“Move and I shall have you executed,” The prince threatened Faolán who was deeply grateful he was face down on the upper half of the spread out bedroll. Loki could not see him blushing. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes sir,” Faolán said his voice muffled but at least Loki could understand what he had said.

His body warmed beneath the enchanted blanket, with warm layers between himself and the floor of the tent it helped chase away the chill that had infested his bones. Still, he shivered as his body slowly warmed itself.

Once he thought it was safe he chanced a peak at the prince, who of course was awake and glanced at Faolán at that exact moment. He didn’t know how to respond to that, still aware that he was blushing he tried to bury his face once again.

He could hear the rumbling from the prince before he broke out into a quiet laughter, “Does this offend your masculine pride solider?” he mocked.

That was a rather loaded question coming from the younger prince.

It was no secret that he was openly mocked and teased for his abilities, both magical and shapeshifting. He was not as… well he did not live up the perfect ideal of a warrior, the slender sorcerer-warrior was someone a warrior like Faolán should not admire, let alone have an attraction towards.

To have an interest in another man like that would open Faolán up to the same mockery. It was rather fortunate that he was also attracted to women, he could not imagine how other soldiers might suffer under the pressure of only being attracted to men.

“I would rather think I should be offended at myself, had I been a better solider I might have found a way to counter your ambush,” Faolán replied as he shifted onto his back, an ache settled itself in his body as it warmed, it was not completely unpleasant.

Loki’s lips twisted into something that could almost be amusement, “A cautious response,” he replied, “Perhaps you are not as foolish as I thought you to be.”

“Oh, I’m sure the opportunity for me to make a fool of myself will present itself before long, your highness,” Faolán answered politely.

To his surprise Loki laughed, a genuine sort of laugh causing the prince to light up in amusement and Faolán to stare. He was rather attractive when he laughed, the skin around his eyes crinkled, his eyes lit up brighter than ever, that hostile air seemed to vanish as something warmer settled within the prince.

He was never prepared for how beautiful the prince was, Faolán shifted pleased with himself for causing Loki to laugh but uncomfortable with how his dick now decided to make itself known within his trousers. The cold would prevent this sort of issue.

It would sort itself out before long, he just needed to keep thinking of unpleasant thing, being stuck in freezing mud, the smell of pigs left out in the sun, taxes, that sort of thing.

Waking up warm and refreshed was a nice change from cold and stiff, only he suddenly became very aware of the body pressed up against his back and the arms around his waist. Faolán could not move, his legs were tangled up in the princes.

Already his mind was racing with a thousand possibilities and none of them matched his fantasies, instead all he could worry about was whether the prince would be angry. This was a dire breach of protocol. He could think of a dozen legitimate reasons that the prince could use to have him reprimanded, expelled from the guard or worse.

To many fears ran through him until Loki said, “You began to shiver in your sleep, this was the best way to keep you warm,” Loki’s breath was warm against the back of his neck.

Norns , he couldn't blame his dick for stirring this time he just wished it didn’t, this was not the ideal time or place.

Suppressing his nerves as best he could Faolán responded, “Thank you, but you needn’t have gone to such trouble for me,” even to his own ears it sounded odd. Why would anyone say such a thing?

Thankfully any weirdness (of which there was plenty) vanished the moment a loud scuffle and shouting erupted outside the tents.

It turned out to be Thor and his friends all fighting over the last of the provisions. Which seemed odd to Faolán as the only reason they were sharing tents and beds in the first place was because the older prince and his friends had replaced the necessities with additional food and drink supplies.

“Even Volstagg could not have consumed our stocks overnight,” Loki pointed out inspecting the area, Faolán squatted down to pick up the remains of the cloth sacks, they had been shredded.

“Wild boar,” Faolán said indicating to the tracks not that the rest of the group cared to see, instead they would rather fight amongst themselves.

“Yes he can resemble a boar at times,” Loki folded his arms across his chest, how was he not cold in so few garments? “Though a boar does possess far more manners than our Vanir.”

“How about I cleave that tongue from your venomous mouth?” Volstagg snarled at Loki, this of course lead to further bickering so Faolán used his common sense and left to procure more supplies, enough to make a decent breakfast at least.

The other Einherjar took pity on him, patting him on the back, this was the reason nobody wanted to be the personal guard and escort of the princes. This is the reason they had to draw lots. Oh, it was easy and a well sought out position once inside the golden city but never outside. Everyone knew that the princes rarely made things easier for themselves let alone their assigned guard. How does someone go about protecting a god who can shapeshift into a fly or one who can fly with a swing of his hammer?

It was only when he began making breakfast did the others cease their arguments, looking at him like he had been the one to steal from them or at least was acting very odd.

“Wild boar that had not been able to hibernate had made off without supplies,” Faolán explained, once again pointing to the tracks this time people took notice, “The additional food stocks must have attracted them.”

“And the cider?” Lady Sif asked.

“Swine in general eat fermented fruits, an apple is an apple regardless of form,” Faolán explained.

“Or my brother decided to drink the last of it the previous evening before drinking at the taverns,” Loki also added.

“That… might be the more plausible answer,” Thor admitted sheepishly.

While the others got themselves cleaned up and dressed Faolán made stew, it was simple but it stuck to the ribs and filled the belly that would keep the party filled and warmed for a while at least. Even if they complained about the basic meal. He had just enough confidence in his cooking skills to offer it up to the others.

Volstagg thanked him with a cheery smile that made him feel better about spending two hours in the cold cooking. Fandral and Thor were to hungover to muster much of anything while Sif, Loki and Hogun offered a polite “Thank You”.

He sat a little distance away from the others annoyed at himself for not securing the caravan better. He should have known better, basic training covered these sorts of incidences. Angrily chewing a carrot he looked over the plans for the next couple of days, more investigations, more travelling between towns and villages and hopefully a return to the city by the end of the month, if fortune favoured them.

There wasn’t much stew left for Faolán once he had made sure the others got more than enough food to eat, the supplies had been limited after all. Not that the others noticed, not that he wanted them to notice, he could try and procure more rations in the next town or try and hunt a couple of rabbits. The way this group ate they needed all the rations they could get their hands on.

They soon packed up their camp (with help from Loki’s magic) and walked on to the next town. As they walked they went over the findings, well Faolán mostly listened in on the sporadic mentions of their investigation before Prince Thor got bored and started talking about anything else to pass the time.

Chancing glances towards Prince Loki Faolán tried not to attract too much attention to himself as they continued their march. He suspected Loki noticed a couple of times, though he said nothing about it, why would he?

The next town was another dedicated fishing town located on the edge of the realm, complete with market and merchants and freezing cold winds. Shuddering in his armour Faolán cursed the winter gods and the air for being so bloody vicious. Even the full face plate helmet didn’t help, if anything it made things worse thanks to the wind seeping into every available opening.

Meeting up with the other guard Faolán went over their notes, so far the raiders seemed one step ahead, but in this climate that wasn’t to surprising. A small group were easier and faster to move than a large group. His captain asked if he needed to change, give someone else the opportunity to watch the princes and while he was tempted one glance around the tent all but confirmed nobody else wanted his job.

“No sir, I am managing fine,” aside from being hungry, exhausted and once again cold, his Captain nodded and sent Faolán along to rendezvous with the Princes group.

It was a short meeting, dull to the princes, but they at least paid attention and listened to everything the Einherjar had uncovered, they to had made some headway so while the group stopped off at a tavern Faolán relayed this information with his Captain.

“You’re looking exhausted,” His Captain said quietly.

“Can you blame me?” Faolán joked but his Captain was not pleased with this response. An exhausted Einherjar was a danger to not only himself but his fellow guard and most importantly of all those that he was meant to protect, “I am fine Captain, I would say so otherwise.”

If any hopes of finding a meal presented themselves they were soon dashed by Prince Thor exiting the Tavern and greeting him with an overly cheerful grin announcing that they were to retire for the night. The cold seaside town seemed to mock Faolán as once again he was forced to follow the princes out to the tents.

Maybe the next town will have a good place to rest, one that would give him a reprieve from the icy tents. That small flicker of hope kept him going as he watched the group argue amongst themselves about a matter that didn’t seem all that important. Apparently one of the bar maids had taken a fancy to Sif, though she denied it her cheeks did bloom with a potential confirmation.

“I will remain in the town a while longer,” Prince Loki announced confusing the group and Faolán.

The Captain sighed, “I can spare some guards to-”

“-This one will do,” Loki clasped his hand on Faolán’s shoulder, “You and your men can return to camp.”

The Captain was one of those men that did not like Loki for what he was, he felt the younger prince was a stain upon Odin’s ‘good’ name. A thing that did not belong amongst the royal house, Loki however was Odin’s son and therefore belonged no matter who or what he was.

Faolán tried not to get in-between his Captain, who stared at Faolán as if he would protest to Loki’s suggestion, (after all why would he want to spend time with the younger prince over the older) and Prince Loki who waited for the Captain’s answer.

“As you say, your highness,” The Captain bowed and departed with the others.

Once enough distance was made by the two groups Faolán turned to Loki a little concerned, had he decided to reprimand him after all? “You have not eaten all day,” was not what he expected the prince to say, “Let us eat in some modicum of peace.”

“I hate seafood, especially fish pie,” he should not snub food, he really shouldn’t, especially when it was offered to him by a prince but the idea of eating seafood turned his stomach.

“Then you at least have decent taste, they add whole boiled eggs to their fish pies here,” Just a simple mention turned Faolán’s stomach.

The prince found a smaller tavern, the one that they had not yet visited, it was right on the edge overlooking the oceans and void of space, not that the incredible sights could be seen from within the small tavern with the stain glass window and ridiculously thick stone walls.

A place by the fireside was opened up for the prince (and his guard) and while he felt guilty about taking what was the best seat in the place (as far as he was concerned) Faolán was selfish enough to enjoy it.

“You are overly considerate of everyone else,” was Loki’s first words and Faolán did not know what to say to that, “For instance I could sit here and eat a full-course meal by myself, which by Asgardian royal standards is seven whole courses and you would not say a word.”

Faolán did not know where Loki was going with this line of questioning and quite frankly he was too exhausted to be overly cautious of the potential traps, so he kept things simple, “It would be improper of me to dine with you, your highness.”

“Because of our differing social standings?” Loki asked watching as Faolán sipped his heated cider, the one that he liked rather than the one made with berries that he despised.

With a slight nod Faolán responded, “Yes sir, that and the fact that I am on duty until both you and Prince Thor retire for the evening.”

“You barely ate this morning,” Loki pointed out, “I noticed you made sure everyone had more than their fair share leaving you with what could not have been more than a couple of mouthfuls of stew.”

Again Faolán tensed, “I could not leave you, Prince Thor and his friends-”

“-Yes you could,” Loki leaned back lit by the light of the fire he was quite breathtaking, not that he wasn’t beautiful or handsome already but the warmth of the fire brought out the deepest greens of his eyes.

Faolán ducked his head, “Forgive me Sir but I could not, my duty means keeping you, Prince Thor and his friends safe, that includes making sure provisions are kept safe and secure. A task I failed to do as evidenced by the boars making off with our provisions.”

For a few moments Loki was silent, giving him time to study Faolán, the odd guard with the strange mannerisms. Most guards would jump at the chance to be amongst Prince Thor’s group, but this guard seemed less inclined towards Thor and more inclined to him . Which was especially odd for a seasoned guard and warrior, most did not like Loki let alone want to spend any time with him.

He suspected the younger warrior harboured something that was more than a passing interest or fancy.

Too many moments of silence passed between them forcing Faolán to look up, nervous that he had probably done something wrong. Loki studied him, he was average as warriors went, brown hair and matching eyes, tanned skin even in the dead of winter and oddly the man seemed to smell of elderflower, something he had picked up on this morning.

“Will you be reprimanded for the lost supplies?” Loki asked as their food arrived, the prince already knew the answer to that question and it was,

“Yes,” Loki who had been about to take a bite of his game pie paused, studying Faolán confused, the answer was No, it should be no.

What guard would report the matter when it was easily ignored? Thor certainly would not have the guard punished for something that was out of his control, he was overly fond of the guards in general. It must be a warrior thing.

“No, the answer should be No, you made one mistake, in the days you have travelled with us you have given up enough to ensure that our party remain safe and warm,” Loki said.

Faolán of course refused to eat with him, so he stared at his plate, “I already reported the matter to my Captain, your highness. The appropriate measures will be taken upon our return to the city.”

“Eat,” and for good measure added, “That is an order,” Faolán was at first awkward about the issue but gave into his hunger, “And what are the appropriate measures?” he asked.

Faolán paused just as he was about to take the first bite of pie, “The appropriate measures vary depending upon who I am guarding at the time. Since I was guarding a royal party it will at least mean suspension without pay pending a review of my failings, your highness.”

The realization sat like a heavy stone in the bottom of Faolán’s gut, reminding him what a stupid man he was to have overlooked something so innocuous but important.

“And the harshest punishment?” Loki asked.

“I would be dishonourably discharged for dereliction of duties,” Faolán said.

Loki paused, surprised, “Surely it would not come to that for something so simple?” suspension alone seemed like overkill to him.

“It is more likely that… that is the punishment I shall receive your highness,” Faolán answered, “I failed to secure supplies for the royal party, thus – especially in this season – opening you up to potential hunger and starvation, which should we be ambushed would mean you would have a lack of energy to defend yourselves. It was my own oversight and negligence that lead to the loss of the food… I am sorry for failing in my duty to protect you and your brother, sir.”

Faolán was no longer hungry, the weight had only made him feel nauseous, centuries of hard work, battles and war and this is how it ended.

“You should have lied,” Loki said cutting up a piece of carrot to eat, Faolán frowned.

“I mean no offence to you, my prince, but I would rather be honest,” Loki was not offended, more amused that Faolán might think he could offended by such a simple thing, “Besides if had I not reported the incident someone else would have done so.”

“Ah so you have enemies within the Einherjar?” Loki asked.

“None that I am aware of,” Faolán’s answer baffled the prince, “It is no secret that the Captain is due to retirement, so of course the race to be noticed for promotion has been a long one. One that has resorted to many underhand tricks and schemes.”

Loki smirked, “Ah politics then, which would imply by your very words that you are in fact a strong contender in becoming a Captain,” Loki chewed his piece of rabbit thoughtfully, “Which would explain why you were selected to guard us?”

Faolán sighed, “Yes sir, I am a strong contender but there are at least a dozen others just as strong as me, then of course there is still time for those not yet noticed to become noticed. My suspension or discharge would mean a place in that running opens up.”

“You would be forced to drop out of running for the captaincy regardless of what the outcome is?” Loki asked.

“Yes sir,” Faolán nodded, trying a piece of rabbit, his appetite once again getting the better of him, he managed a few more bites, carefully taking his time.

“A lie would have been preferable,” Loki continued, Faolán once again frowned.

“Perhaps I am not cut out for the role of Captain if that is the case,” Loki looked up surprised, “My mother says that I am cursed with an honest disposition.”

“I, too, curse honesty,” Loki said sipping his own warmed cider, he was surprised how nice it tasted alongside his food. “So you are to be dishonourably discharged then what?”

“Should the charge be deemed worthy of further punishment I will be sentenced to whatever timespan high royal highness deems enough within the prisons,” Faolán said.

“All for two sacks of vegetables, hams and one sack of salt?” Loki demanded.

“It is not the items that were lost, it is my negligence of duties on trail,” Faolán ducked his head ashamed that he was even permitted to eat with Loki especially with the upcoming future.

“The deck is stacked against you, you are punished for honesty,” Loki said.

Faolán didn’t agree with that, “It is to protect-”

“-It is politics, plain and simple, and you my naive fool are all too happy to be a scapegoat! No doubt someone with family connections to the previous captain will be elected in your place,” Loki’s harsh words cut deep.

Faolán instead chewed a piece of carrot and remained silent, what else was there to be said?

The return to camp was fairly short, giving Faolán the chance to clear his head before turning in for the evening. After doing a final perimeter check and meeting up with the night guard to ensure all was safe and secure. One gave him a solemn pat on the back, news had travelled then.

He lay on the cold hard floor of the tent, his eyes turned to the ceiling of the darkened tent, “You are impossibly stubborn,” Loki said, Faolán turned to him confused, before he could argue he was once again pulled onto the spread out bedroll, only this time there seemed to be more padding. More blankets, a heavier blanket covered the pair of them.

“I… you purchased more blankets?” Faolán asked surprised he would do such a thing, if that were the case did they need to share a bedroll? Probably not, but he was not about to complain.

“No I conjured them from thin air,” Loki sarcastically uttered, usually people responded with wide-eyed awe or fear and asked ‘ really? ’

Faolán surprised him by saying, “That is impossible, something cannot be produced from nothing.”

“And what would you know of magic?” Loki asked.

“They teach us how to read,” Faolán muttered trying not to blush as he focused on a particular spot above him, the details had been lost in the dark, “I can even count.”

Loki grinned, “Well I am shocked, usually they leave that sort of higher education until you are ready to become a commander,” To Loki’s pleasant supply he managed to glean a rumble of laughter from the warrior, “Any other useful talents you may possess?”

“Aside from curling my tongue, none that I can think of,” Faolán of course had many talents, being such a long-lived being meant he had time to study and expand his talents and skills, but that would only bore Loki.

“Pardon?” Loki asked turning his head towards the warrior who immediately looked away the moment he turned his head to face the prince, ah so not just a passing interest then , his cheeks were ruby red.

“Uh, curl your tongue, you know?” he did not, so much to his embarrassment he demonstrated the process.

As soon as he turned away Loki tried it, he found he couldn’t do it, he could do many things with his tongue but apparently curling it was not an option. He caught Faolán snickering, ah, so he had been noticed.

“It is regretful that you have been put in this position,” Loki said which surprised Faolán, “You are not the worst bed companion I have had.”

That did the trick .

Faolán visibly stiffened, his entire face burning hot enough to keep the pair of them warm. “I-I um, you…” his stuttering was rather adorable to Loki who watched in amusement as Faolán tried to pretend that he was not flustered by Loki’s comment. Sense came back to Faolán who turned to the prince and asked, “Dare I ask who could be worse?”

“A rather fetching Lady who for some reason genuinely believed that I was sexually attracted to horses, so she dressed up as one and waited for me in my bed,” Loki said.

Faolán didn’t know whether that was the truth or a fabrication, it sounded like a lie but at the same time too strange to not be true, but the mental image made him laugh anyway much to Loki’s delight. The man had a rather attractive laugh when he wasn’t being a dour guard half freezing and starving to death.

At least that night was better than the previous nights, even with his impending punishment looming on the horizon.

Three days and nights spent on the roads walking to the next town while investigating the routes along the way had completely exhausted everyone.

Not because of the freezing biting winds, but because they had quite by accident run into the raiders that they had been pursuing. They were not the criminal masterminds the Einherjar commander made them out to be, rather they were just lucky. Ridiculously lucky, so lucky it could only be divine intervention.

It was not a good fight, fought in the hard cold muddy forest roads it was pure chaos. There was not a soul (not even a god) that was not left exhausted and aching by the end. Faolán was certain that he had somehow managed to break a couple of ribs, he certainly was bruised.

Thankfully the large merchant town they had just passed had some places to rest and recuperate. Though Faolán firmly believed that they would not have been given (for a fair price of course) these rooms had the princes not been with them. The rooms spread out across multiple inns were few forcing people to share once more.

The familiar sense of dread filled Faolán as he watched everyone follow that exact same routine they had taken when first sharing the tents. Hogun dropped rune stones into a bag which the others grabbed in hopes of getting a much better companion this time around.

Sif this time had to share with Hogun instead of Volstagg, this left Fandral worried he might have to partner with Thor and Volstagg, that much body mass would crush him. (There was no way any of them would sleep on the floor) Then Loki pulled out a runestone matching not Fandral’s, but Thor and Volstagg’s did. Faolán swore he could hear a whimper come from the blond Vanir.

That meant once again Faolán was sharing with Loki, this time Faolán was suspicious, “Why do you get the guard, again ?” Sif asked, which hurt he thought they at least bothered to learn his name after spending so much time together on the road.

“Luck was on my side it seems,” Loki preened.

“Luck or trickery, lets do this again and this time no magic!” Sif warned Loki.

“You would risk sharing a bed with Volstagg and Thor?” Hogun countered quietly while the other three bickered about who slept in which position on the bed. Fandral refused to be in the middle.

“Or Volstagg again?” Loki offered up. Sif’s expression said it all, as cheerful as he was as a companion Volstagg’s size, girth and habit of farting in his sleep left a lot to be desired, especially in a tent.

“It’s not fair,” Sif complained.

“We would all rather have the guard, alas Loki was merely more cunning,” Hogun said putting his weight on his right leg to not to further injure the left as it healed.

I have a name , Faolán wanted to protest but no longer had the energy to do so.

While the other continued to argue amongst themselves Faolán set to work gathering supplies of which this merchant town had plenty. He managed to procure more food and drink for the royal party, not to mention more bedrolls and blankets at least that way everyone would be as comfortable as they could be on the travels back to the city. He had not managed to find any suitable tents that would protect them in this kind of weather.

His ribs still ached as he returned to the Inn, exhausted beyond all measure and relieved of his duties thanks to the other guards and Thor attempting to seduce every woman in a three-mile radius (aside from Sif) Faolán marched up the stairs to his assigned room.

At least he had been given the chance to bathe, though as he examined his wounds he sighed, not broken but defiantly battered and bruised. A good nights sleep and he would be fine.

“That looks painful,” Faolán jumped nerves getting the better of him.

Looking down Faolán sighed, “It is nothing, your highness,” he pulled his black tunic over his head covering his torso, he noticed the prince was still damp from the bath as well, “Is there something I can assist you with?” he asked after to long of staring by the prince.

“No,” answered Loki sitting down on the edge of the bed, he claimed the left side that was furthest from the window, “What do you intend to do should you lose your position amongst the Einherjar?” Loki asked him quite seriously.

Faolán of course had a plan, of course he did, it was foolish to assume that all his life’s plans would magically work out, and he would never need to consider alternatives.

He sat on the right side of the bed wincing slightly with the effort, Asgardians may heal quickly, but he envied the gods increased healing capabilities. The small cuts and scraps Loki had after the fight were long gone, a testament not only to his combat prowess but his physiology.

“Even disgraced I would be accepted in the Úlfhéðnar,” Faolán said causing Loki to look back stunned into silence.

“You would willingly throw your life away to become a wolf warrior? The life of a Einherjar is hard, the life of a Úlfhéðnar is unnecessarily brutal in this day and age,” Loki argued.

“I suppose I could leave Asgard and join the Vanir royal guard, I hear they accept anyone,” Faolán’s joke did not earn him a laugh.

“Because nobody is that dumb to join a guard that is beyond incompetent,” Loki derided, “You truly are a stubborn fool.”

“What would my alternative be?” Faolán asked, Loki frowned, “It is not as though a disgraced warrior would be welcomed amongst warriors within the golden city.”

That much was true. And all because of a couple of supplies that had not meant to be there in the first place.

“You should rest, your highness,” Faolán suggested.

The room warmed by the hearth made the bed comfortable, then again any bed that was not sagging, broken, made of ground or had horse hair (which Faolán was allergic) amongst its filling was a good bed in his books.

He lay down ignoring the ache in his right side and instead looked out to the moonlit night where the cosmos itself was on full display. He settled down thinking it was best to try and sleep off the heaviness that had become a familiar friend as of the missing supplies incident.

Faolán was almost asleep when he felt a hand press up against his ribs, he stiffened not out of fear (who else would it be other than Loki?) but out of surprise. Loki was surprised to feel Faolán relax a little, perhaps it was more than a mere attraction?

The warrior turned hesitantly to the prince, but twisting his body made it ache so he had to lay on his back, “Is something wrong?” he asked again.

“Your ribs are injured,” Loki supplied which yes, that tended to happen in combat, especially when someone with a war hammer gets a good hit in.

“It happens,” Faolán breathed carefully, expanding his chest to much made his ribs ache, it didn’t help that Loki still kept his palm against Faolán’s ribs.

It happened because Volstagg did not watch his left side forcing Faolán to step in and save the unaware warrior from having his skull caved in. Had Faolán not had the skill or training he would perhaps be lay in the dirt body crumpled instead of heavily bruised.

It only occurred to a sheepish Volstagg after seeing Faolán decapitate the raider what the Einherjar had done for him. Not that anyone else would listen, he was credited with felling the raider captain while Thor felled the raider commander. Volstagg of course insisted that Faolán should get the praise. Nobody believed him.

Faolán lied, saying Volstagg was being modest which earned many laughs.

This annoyed Loki, “You should-”

“-It happens, your highness,” Faolán smiled in a tightly controlled way as Loki pulled back the blanket folding it just above Faolán’s waist to inspect the damage done. It was now that Faolán somehow realized his tunic was not on his person but resting on the back of a chair by his bedside.

“Many things happen,” Loki said his hand lighting up with his magic, to his constant surprise when it came to the stubborn warrior, Faolán did not flinch, pull away nor call him vile names believing he was cursing him. Instead, Faolán lay still breathing a little deeper with each breath.

It was a strangely incredible feeling, the power he could feel push through from Loki, the mending of flesh that he did not think battered and torn. It was like taking the first lungfuls of fresh air after being trapped in a dank mouldering house for days without reprieve. Everything felt better, greater than better, he could not fully describe how warm and wonderful the magic felt.

Then of course his body decided that this was quite amazing, his dick stirred, maybe it was the birth of some kind of kink? Or maybe it was Loki in general? Could someone develop an attraction to magic? It certainly seemed possible given his current state of arousal.

“Many of which are unfair,” Loki continued, studying Faolán who’s cheeks once again lit up ruby red only this time the light cast from Loki’s magic bathed him in a strange not unattractive green light.

“I can no more predict the future than you can devour the sun, your highness,” Faolán then turned to Loki, “You need not concern yourself over me. What happens will happen.”

“Oh?” Loki asked closing the distance between them, yes he thought, he is quite the attractive bed companion . Faolán smiled uneasy, on one hand it would be a dream come to (or at least fantasy) to pull Loki into a kiss, to feel his body against the god-prince. On the other hand…

Obviously it would simply be a one time fuck, Loki could have no long term relationship with a man, especially that of such a lower rank and an Einherjar (and possible disgraced warrior) no less! Which somehow made it harder and easier to pull away from the prince gently placing some space between them.

Loki reassessed everything, had he read Faolán’s attraction to him wrong?

Faolán blushed as he sat up, the ache long gone in his ribs though now his cock was demanding to know why he suddenly gave up his fantasy, this was an opportunity to fuck or be fucked by Loki, and he was not taking it?

“Do not think I am not flattered-” Faolán was cut off immediately

“-Most men would be offended,” Loki pointed out, annoyed at himself and rethinking where he might’ve gotten the wrong impression. A shame to, the man possessed such an attractive figure and face.

“Ah, well I am one of those odd sorts attracted to people regardless of sex and gender I’m afraid,” Faolán flushed crimson, admitting it out loud was dangerous and oddly terrifying, especially when confessing such a thing to a prince.

All he could think was how he should not have confessed such a thing, it was ridiculous but old fears clung tightly to his bones.

He was more than flattered by Loki’s advances, flustered, overly keen, he would, if younger and more reckless, accepted and responded without thinking of the consequences. Instead, he knew better, he was older, wiser, he knew not to start such things, even if it were just for one time.

His ribs grew cold without Loki’s touch, the lingering doubt and want cascaded into a complicated set of emotions that he dared not name or give too much attention to.

He turned to the Prince, who seemed angry, not at Faolán, he was certain the Prince could rend his bones to ash if that were the case, no he was angry at himself, so Faolán attempted to say something. Perhaps a last ditch attempt to be cordial.

“Do not bother with pleasantries,” Loki said rolling onto his side so that his back faced Faolán, “It will make things awkward.”

“I was not going to apologize, your highness,” Faolán admitted, Loki turned to him confused, “I simply think you should not be wasting any effort or time on me.”

There was a moments pause, where for one naive moment Faolán thought that the prince would argue, instead he sighed a heavy sigh the sort that left one feeling empty.

“You are not as foolish as I first assumed then,” Loki said betraying no emotion that he may or may not feel.

Faolán rolled back onto his side, aware of how his heart ached. It was safer this way, the prince may have simply been looking for stress relief after a fight but Faolán knew his own heart could not handle that.

They lay in a strange sort of silence until one or both of them fell asleep, neither recalled who had fallen asleep first.

Loki had returned to the golden city a week ago with everyone else, he quite by accident forgot all about Faolán. He had been tasked with continuing the odd appearances of the raiders, their sporadic targets and plans. Clearly there was some sort of order lingering within their schemes but for the life of him he could not fathom it, nor their grander plan.

So he did something he rarely did, he took a trip down to the Einherjar barracks where he met with the captain and others. He listened to the warriors drone on board, he already knew everything they were saying, he simply wished to compare notes but the captain was old-fashioned and liked to keep everything strictly organized.

One of the prospective captains, someone who looked like someone had (poorly) crafted a younger Thor from memory and added an unintelligent vapid grin to the youthful face that could not maintain a proper beard, stood and shuffled papers about.

“S-sorry, your highness, sir,” The man said, Loki rolled his eyes, the Captain appeared exhausted, clearly this was a common thing that he had to deal with, “Y-yo-you see follow-following um, Faolán’s discharge we-uh, well he-he was the one who kept things you know neat and stuff? So we kinda, we need to learn how to do this stuff, paperwork, office work.”

Loki perked up, “Faolán? Ah yes the warrior that was… discharged you say?” something hideous settled in the pit of his stomach.

The Captain nodded, “Yes, dishonourably discharged your highness following a dereliction of duty.”

That was quick, they had not been back a week, “How long did this process take?”

“I assure you it took less than a day, now to matters at hand,” The Captain continued, he had the air of a man who would rather drop this conversation. Clearly he had not agreed with it.

“For the sake of smuggled food, mead and salt?” Loki demanded to know, others looked at him sheepish, they clearly were just as uncomfortable as their captain.

“It… was an order from my commander,” The Captain glanced to the not-Thor before dropping his voice while the not-Thor continued to search for the right documents, “My replacement was selected, he is the nephew of our commander. As you know all to well, Politics can be an ugly game.”

“Indeed,” Loki thought back on the man with the sheepish smile, he had been so earnest, selfless, uncomplaining, honest… the fool. He pushed aside the handsome man with the endearing grin and brief flickers of aspirations and passion and instead focused on the mission at hand.

What was done, was done, there was no changing the past.

#Loki Bingo #Loki/OMC #Loki/Original Character #Loki/Original Male Character #Loki fic #Loki Fanfic #Loki #Thor #Warriors three #Lady Sif #Romance #Loki Bingo 2020

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theycallmebecca · 5 years

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Can I get number 21 with Chris Evans for your challenge please

So I gotta give a HUGE shout out to @nomadicpixel for this one because she totally helped me when I was struggling with this bad boy last night. Since Tumblr can sometimes be a brat about links, I will reblog this post with a link to the masterlist, prompt list and tags.

Title: Revelations

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader

Rating: PG-13?

Warnings: some suggested adult situations?

Prompt #: 21 - “My mom is convinced we’re dating since we’re roommates.”

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

Chris was sitting in the living room watching a football game when you came into the room and dramatically sighed as you collapsed onto the couch beside him. He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

You signed again, trying to get him to ask what was wrong, but the jerk didn’t play along.

“Remember how I told you that my mom is convinced we’re dating because we’re roommates?” You asked him.

“Yes…” he replied, somewhat hesitant.

“Well, she’s hosting a family reunion at the farm this year and she wants me to bring you home,” you told him. “I tried to tell her you were a busy guy and -”

“Hey,” he said, reaching over to squeeze your knee. “I’ll come as long as I’m not busy,” he punctuated with a nonchalant shrug.

“Really?” You asked in surprise. You and Chris had been friends since he’d move to LA over a decade ago and when you’d been between apartments, he’d invited you to stay with him. That had been two years ago and the two of you had been roommates ever since; with you taking care of the house while he was out of town.

He was an easy person to live with; even if it had taken him a couple weeks to remember to put on clothes before he left his bedroom in the morning. That had been a whole new side of him that you’d never seen before; though looking back, you supposed it should have bothered you more than it had. Not to mention the times when he’d come home unexpectedly and found you in varying states of undress.

Oh, the perils of having a male roommate.

Despite the awkward situations the two of you found yourselves in, you had never been more than friends. Not that your mom (who had met Chris all of 3 times) believed you; she was convinced the two of you were bonking on the regular. Especially since, in all three situations she’d met him, Chris had been drinking and he was a very flirty, playful drinker. You’d insisted that he was like that with everyone, but your mom’s “expert analysis” (or so she phrased it) was that he treated you differently than everyone else; that you were special to him.

“Are you sure?” You asked Chris. “I can tell her you can’t make it. She’ll understand.” The last thing you wanted was for him to do this out of pity, because then neither of you would enjoy the weekend.

“Yes,” he said with a laugh. “What, do you not want to take me home?” He touched his chest in mock hurt.

“No, of course I do,” you replied. “I just want to make sure you’re prepared for a crazy a stunt or something.”

“Like what?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Like this,” you stated, two weeks later when you and Chris stood in your childhood bedroom staring at the queen size bed.

“Your mom really does think we’re sleeping together,” he said with a chuckle.

“It’s not funny,” you said, playfully shoving him.

Your push caused him to stumble over the suitcases the two of you had dropped at the foot of the bed and, in his effort not to fall, he grabbed onto you. The result of which was the two of you landing on the bed with you on top of him.

“Hey you two, oh!” Your mom’s voice said from the doorway. “Sorry! I’ll just close the door and see you later.”

As the door closed, Chris started laughing while you groaned. Wanting to make you laugh, he tickled you and you squirmed above him. In an effort to get free, you wiggled just a bit too hard and the two of you ended up on the floor with him on top of you and staring face to face. You licked your lips as your eyes focused on his lips. Then he licked his lips before he closed his eyes and leaned down to kiss you.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you kissed him back. It felt so right and so perfect, that you weren’t sure why it had taken the two of you to do this.

When the two of you parted, you muttered, “We’re not telling my mother about this. At least not this weekend. I don’t want to hear her say she told me so.”

“But we are doing this?” He asked with a raised eyebrow. His hair was ruffled from your mini makeout session.

“Oh yeah, we’re doing this,” you replied with a wide smile. “How did we not figure this out before?”

Chris shrugged. “Maybe we weren’t ready before?” He suggested as his eyes dropped to your lips again.

“That must be it,” you agreed before you pulled his face back down to your own for another kiss.

#wayward-marvel-sommer1196 #theycallmebecca #beccaheartschrisevans #theycallmebeccawrites #1k celebration prompt fest #becca writes drabbles #chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #reader insert #chris evans fan fiction

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fyrapartnersearch · 5 years

Text

Hi guys!!! I’m Crystal. I’m in my late 20s and I am looking for new RP partners. I write to unwind and because I feel like it is a good outlet for me. I can’t stress enough how open I am, please don’t be afraid to message me with basically any idea! I feel like the easiest way for anyone to read this is to use bullet points so here goes.

I like making friends with my partners so please be friendly. When I get excited about a ship, I tend to want to send headcannons and ideas to my partners randomly, so please be okay with that.

Also, please be 18+, especially if you want to write smut.

And I love multiple threads with my partners. I write both males and females but please don’t just use me for my guys! I love my girls too!

Timezone: I am in the Eastern time zone and I do have a full time job and family but I try my best to be active every day. If I am not, I will try to at least let my partner know what’s going on.

Type of roleplay I’m interested in: I love smut but I prefer for the characters to have a decent connection. I also love to write fluff and plots with some angst and drama. I also love some good hurt/comfort. I don’t mind dark(ish) plots and I am open to discussing anything.

I have a wish list of plots that I want that I am adding to all the time, feel free to check it out https://crystal-indie-rp.tumblr.com/tagged/wishlist

See below for some that I would really like!!!

I also have a few OCs that I have already created. They are very basic and can be altered for almost any plot. They can be found here https://crystal-indie-rp.tumblr.com/characters

What I want to avoid: I have very few no-gos. I’m not interested in writing anything that is illegal (rape, pedophilia, etc)

Style: I am open to any style of writing depending on the plot but I prefer 3rd person. I do try to match my partners length. I try to avoid one-liners unless they are texting because it doesn’t keep the plot moving forward but I am more interested in quality over quantity.

Method of roleplay I’m interested in using: I really prefer Discord or Kik because I am mostly mobile but I am open to other methods if you have any suggestions.

Contact info: My Discord is crystal.indie.rp#9686 and my tumblr is https://crystal-indie-rp.tumblr.com My Kik is Crysty09

Fandoms:

Roswell New Mexico (KYLEX, Malex, Mylex, Echo, Maribel, Open to any)

Harry Potter

Pretty LIttle Liars

One Tree Hill

The Fosters

Riverdale

Ask About Any Others

Wishlist plots I am REALLY wanting currently:

muse a is fresh out of prison, solitary confinement to be exact, and hasn’t truly seen the light of day for at least a couple of years. they’re adjusting to the real world; they barely speak anymore, and they haven’t experienced gentle human contact in what seems like forever. insert muse b, their new neighbor.

Muse A and Muse B grew up together; they were best friends. Muse A’s home life was awful; their parent(s) were alcoholics/drug users and could be abusive when they used. Muse B’s life was pleasant and low key. Any time the home would get explosive, Muse A would sneak out to see Muse B would calm them down and make them feel safe. Muse B was head over heels in love with Muse A and Muse A has feelings but isn’t sure what to do with them. Fast forward to their college years, they have grown apart some but are still friends. Muse A is an abusive/controlling relationship but doesn’t leave. Until one night things go too far and Muse A shows up at Muse B’s door or calls Muse B from the hospital to come save them. Muse B falls back into protective mode and while taking care of them the old feelings start to come back.

I want a plot where there’s a hard ass cop, and healways sticks by the rules and works hard and hiswork is his life and all that blah blah, but then one day he makes a huge bust in an underground sex ring and carries a girl out, and the media dub him as a superhero, and he feels strangely protective over this girl. So he goes and visits her at the hospital, and she lights up as soon as she sees him and just thanks him continuously, and he starts smiling a bit more, and she doesn’t really talk to anybody except for him because she doesn’t trust anybody excepthim. Cue her having trouble sleeping at night because of bad dreams and memories, so she calls him to help, and he does, he always does of course. And shecalls him when her car breaks down in the middle of the night and she’s terrified, and he literally drops everything for her, and its so obvious they like each other, but he doesn’t know how to do relationships and she’s just a mess from everything thats happened to her, and so much angsty fluffy goodness of them two being awkward and shy dorks at times but also staying up and telling their entire life stories to each other

someone give me a plot where muse a was arrested in high school due to drug dealing and was sentenced to ten years — except he’s let out a couple of years early due to good behavior. with no car, his feet take him to the one place he never thought he’d set foot again in a lifetime. his ex-high school sweetheart, muse b. except, when the door opens, it’s not her. it’s a seven year old little girl with her mom’s hair and her dad’s eyes. tldr; muse a gets arrested and leaves behind his (unknowingly) pregnant girlfriend at the time. years later, he’s out and he has a daughter he doesn’t know about.

i just want a damaged, broken boy who doesn’t have a lot of friends & keeps to himself & a caring, kind girl who takes interest in him & gets him to open up & rocks him in her lap when he can’t stop crying & rubs his back when he has nightmares & teaches him that it’s okay to show his pain because being strong doesn’t have to mean hiding your emotions please give me this

whispers but i would love a cliche poly plot where like two best friends are in love with the same girl but instead of fighting over her they share her but of course there is small competitions in bed seeing who can make her cum faster and !!!! and omg like her settling them both down like ‘boys please you are both my prince charmings’ and ‘i wouldn’t be the same without the other’

can i have a plot where best friends drifted as they got older because lets be real they were in love and never wanted to admit it because it scared the hell out of them so they went their own way and now 10 years later, they bump into each other and it’s like things havent changed except oh wait, he’s engaged to be married and they spend the last few weeks leading up to the wedding together and the final night they end up sleeping together (for the first time) and things get angsty because they realize that they are in love and theyre the ones supposed to be married, but she cant bring herself to ruin something he’s built without her ?????? and he pushes the wedding date because he wants her and JUST PLS

*screams* i want a plot where a guy goes on a roadtrip just wandering around the state trying to find meaning of life with his big ass doggo and one day he comes to diner where this shy young woman works and like her boss is always yelling at her and she has abusive boyfriend and her father used to be abusive as well and this guy he is the first man who ever treated her nicely and he just asks her completely out of the blue if she doesn’t want to leave with him and she’s like “why not?” so she takes all of her things and leaves with him. Pleaseee!

someone give me a plot where muse a is a cop/firefighter/military/etc whose partner/best friend gets killed in the line of work. before they pass, their friend makes them promise to take care of muse b, their spouse. muse a takes the promise to heart, helping muse b make the arrangements and becomes the rock while muse b’s entire world is turned upside down. but soon muse a begins to fall for muse b, despite their fear of crossing a boundary or being the reason for their friend’s death ( and bonus points if muse b is pregnant when their spouse dies )

#indie rp #indie roleplay #oc rp #para #long term #submission

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undothedamage-blog · 7 years

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Talking About Abuse

Strap in, this is a long one. Skip to the bottom for a TLDR if needs be.

It’s impossible to spend time in the #abuse tags on Tumblr and not run into discourse re: personality disorders.

And it’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot because I’ve stumbled across the dividing line trying to figure out where I stand. And I think both sides need to remember this:

Mental illness does not make someone abusive. But an abuser with a mental illness may be particularly cruel.

It’s a point that abuse expert Lundy Bancroft has made, and he knows what he’s talking about.

Ideally, I’d like to see the abuse community create new terminology. What exactly, I’m not sure. I’m certainly open to suggestions. Egotistical abuse? Trumpian abuse? Egocentric abuse? Conceited abuse? I don’t know (personally, I prefer Egocentric). We’re not actually trained and qualified to diagnose our abusers with specific disorders. So I’d feel more comfortable avoiding terminology that is already well-defined as something specific that may or may not accurately apply to our situations and that, imo, removes some responsibility from abusers for their choices and behavior.

That said, on the other side of things I’d say to think long and hard about whether you want to attack and possibly re-victimize somebody who is in the long, hard process of recovery from abuse for talking about things like “narcissistic abuse.” Not everything is about you. And if you have experience with mental illness you should consider using that experience to fuel compassion for victims (who are highly likely to be suffering their own mental illness as a result of their abuse) rather than launching into them because they are repeating the terminology that was handed to them by somebody else. By all means, educate people via posts on your own blog. But if you must call out a specific person (whether by reblog or anon asks), remember that the person on the other side of that screen has just spent a very long time, years or decades in some cases, being put down, attacked, criticized, shamed, and endlessly treated as wrong and stupid. If you want to engage with them, don’t do it in a way that will trigger them. And don’t treat them like just another ableist asshole. They’re trying to make sense of what has been done to them and a lot of the people providing answers and hope to them for the first time are teaching them this vocabulary. These people, the ones with a large audience and significant influence, are probably who you should be asking to reconsider their wording.

However, I want to emphasize again to my fellow abuse survivors, that not all abusers have personality disorders (in fact, most probably don’t). Not all people with personality disorders are abusive (and we should really, really hesitate to add to the stigma they face). And abusers who DO have personality disorders would probably still be abusive even if they were magically no longer mentally ill. So just as I ask people to have compassion for victims, I’d ask victims to have compassion for the mental illness community and embrace language that allows us to talk about certain flavors of abuse without co-opting words from the DSM nor contribute to stigmas that harm others (especially when we consider that the mentally ill are often more likely to be victims of abuse themselves). We are, generally, on the same team. And it really requires very little effort to just abstain from using certain phrases or words.

Again, mental illness does not make somebody abusive. Don’t let abusers get away with using mental illness as an excuse by perpetuating language that implies otherwise.

It boils down to the same problem I have with people calling mass-shooters or terrorists “crazy.” For one thing, it dissolves their responsibility and that’s bullshit. For another, it further stigmatizes mental illness. Millions of mentally ill people every day manage to live their lives without hurting a fly (though many mentally ill people are, in fact, hurt and abused by others). And, perhaps most insidious, it absolves society of any blame for helping create abusers.

It is NOT mental illness that makes, for example, a man shoot up a bunch of people because his girlfriend dumped him. It is entitlement. And we need to face the fact that our culture absolutely contributes to teaching men they are entitled to a woman’s attention, affection, body, emotional labor, etc. We celebrate media that repeats the trope that even the most mediocre of man will be rewarded with a beautiful woman that adores him. We talk about the friend-zone as if it’s a real thing and it is something that women unfairly do to victimize men. We tell women that they’re feelings are wrong and they should be flattered by sexual harassment. We legislate that women’s bodies don’t belong to them (and even afford corpses more bodily autonomy than living women). We tolerate misogyny in our music, movies, television, and government. We teach women they are responsible for preventing assault instead of teaching men not to assault. We teach generation after generation that “boys will be boys” and that girls should just tolerate their bad behavior.

So, yeah. Maybe a lot of us have, in fact, been abused by somebody with a personality disorder. But unless we’re a psychiatrist, we’re not really qualified to comment on that. And we’re shooting ourselves in the proverbial foot when we frame our discussions about abuse in terms from the field of mental health. Because mentally ill or not, abusers will continue to abuse as long as they feel entitled to do so. If we borrow language from psychiatry to frame the conversation around abuse, we make it too easy for everyone to throw their hands up in the air and say “well, we can’t really do anything about it” (especially when talking about disorders that haven’t found successful treatment options).

And that simply isn’t true.

Because, guess what, we CAN do something about abuse. Now, we can’t do much about individual abusers. Only abusers can change themselves. But, and Lundy Bancroft talks at length about this at the end of Why Does He Do That, society and individuals can absolutely do things to combat problems that contribute to abuse and to protect victims. Things like:

BELIEVE VICTIMS. The rate of false accusations of abuse is, despite what MRAs would have us believe, incredibly small. Bancroft says “There is a natural temptation to speak out forcefully against abuse until the man whose behavior is under the microscope is one of our own, and then we switch sides. But we can’t have it both ways. Abuse won’t stop until people stop making exceptions for their own brothers and sons and friends.“ He also says “Nothing would work faster to end the abuse of women than having the friends and family of abusive men stop enabling them. And that begins, in turn, with making sure that you listen carefully and respectfully to her side of the story— something the abusive man never does.” (emphasis mine)

TEACH WHAT ABUSE LOOKS LIKE. Bancroft specifically advices therapists, the clergy, etc. to “provide some basic education to any male about partner abuse. Give some examples of abusive behaviors, describe their destructive impact on women and children, and explain that a man is entirely responsible for his own actions.” I think a huge aspect of why people discount women’s reports of abuse is that they don’t recognize abusive behavior as, in fact, abusive. This comes back round to entitlement and justification as well as abusers and their allies tendency to point to worse forms of abuse to say “that’s what REAL abuse looks like, what I’ve done isn’t REAL abuse.”

REFORM THE JUSTICE SYSTEM TO BETTER PROTECT VICTIMS AND FORCE ABUSERS TO FACE REAL CONSEQUENCES FOR THEIR ACTIONS. I won’t go into the details on specific changes that need to be made. This post is already super fucking long. You can find Bancroft’s suggestions in Why Does He Do That.

I’d add that we also, as a society, need to:

REFUSE TO SUPPORT MEDIA THAT IS MISOGYNIST. If it promotes the idea that men are entitled to behave in controlling or abusive ways it doesn’t deserve our attention, accolades, or money. We should also stop handing out awards to abusive men as if separating their performances and public persona from their abuse doesn’t teach them (and others) that abusers can abuse without consequence.

CHALLENGE DAMAGING IDEAS AND STATEMENTS. This is particularly important for men to do. If you hear dudes complaining about the friend zone, or celebrating rape culture, or otherwise espousing sexist and harmful ideas, call them out. Make it clear that such views are entirely unacceptable.

LISTEN TO FEMINISTS, SJWs, AND OTHER SO-CALLED SNOWFLAKES. There’s a false notion that when progressives voice concerns or complaints about micro-aggressions or subtle sexism, or whatnot that they’re focusing on small stuff and should just get over it. But the reality is that the small stuff matters. All the various small things add up to a culture that sends abusers the messages of entitlement they use to justify their abuse. Take the Bechtel Test. I recognize it is only one step in beginning to evaluate whether a movie is, in fact, sexist. But, generally speaking, any movie that doesn’t feature enough named, female characters with dialogue about something other than a male character sends the subtle message that women’s roles revolve around the men in their lives. It says that woman are accessories to a man’s story. When feminists call for more women in the writers’ room of television and movies, it goes so far beyond just wanting to level the employment playing field (though that’s important in its own right)! More women contributing to scripts means more well-rounded women characters and less sexist tropes being repeated. It means more boys growing up consuming media in which the world presented to them is not one that revolves around men.

If you’re still with me at this point in this long-ass post I just want to say thank you. I know tumblr is usually a place for more pithy communication. But I go on at length because there is just so much to say that is so important.

That said, here’s a TLDR for those who can’t handle the endless wall of text (I’m ADHD, I can empathize):

The abuse community would do well to create new terminology to discuss our experiences that doesn’t rely on language which may inadvertently harm the mental illness community.

Be patient and kind to abuse victims if you want to talk to them about how something they’ve repeated may be problematic so that you can avoid triggering them or adding to their trauma.

If somebody asks you to reconsider your language, be kind and sympathetic and remember that they may share more of your experiences than you realize.

Society can do a lot to prevent and combat abuse.

And most importantly let me repeat this:

Mental illness does not make somebody abusive. Don’t let abusers get away with using mental illness as an excuse by perpetuating language that implies otherwise.

#abuse #mental health #ableist slur #personality disorders #cr*zy #crazy #mental illness #tldr #text #triggers #trauma #talking about abuse #language #terminology #narcissistic abuse #stigma #feminism

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azanycollectormilkshakeworl-blog · 6 years

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