#we need more kilt pictures though
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Re your latest post: this is your free invitation to talk about Hebitian art vs Cardassian art! (And if either impacts the clothing we see on the show)
Would also love to hear more about your read of Garak as biracial, and any scenes on DS9 that may change with this context in mind
Hoho, I do have some thoughts
So Hebitians' deal, historically, with clothing, is that it's very drapey. The most popular piece of clothing across Hebitian cultures is a "kilt*", a long piece of fabric wrapped around the waist and gathered in the hand in the front and back for leg + tail movement. Everyone had this, even if it was quite short, or another piece of fabric that also wraps around the waist but comes up between the legs and has a slit in the back.
This is reflected in Hebitian art which I picture has having a midpoint between Amarna art and Mauryan art
Other Hebitian clothes, including more "structured" Hebitian clothes, follow this.
For example, here is Garak in some pre-Union Qåmtsu (his ethnic group within broader Hebitian culture) clothing. His "kilt", as can be seen, isn't a long pieve of fabric gathered in hand each time its worn- its made of several pieces of fabric sewn together (though it is a wraparound). Additionally his blouse here retains the simpler gathered look, and it's held closed with pins.
Qåmtsu clothing is the most similar to Cardassian clothing because they lived in a region where both groups really couldn't avoid each other pre-Union. Its still pretty distinctly Hebitian. A few clothes that I think have some Hebitian origin in Cardassian life are gathered dresses we see Bajoran comfort women wearing- the Cardassian stereotype of Hebitians is that they're sexually loose, so draped clothing thats viewed as similar to theirs is seen in a particular way. (And this is an example of how despite there not necessarily being very much direct interaction between the two, their treatment under the Cardassian Union is irrevocably interlinked).
Both groups had a strong calligraphy and ink painting tradition beforehand, with Hebitians traditionally usually using reed pens and Cardassian using brushes (something of an interesting incongruity considering their overall aesthetics).
By contrast I think Cardassian art really likes glassware, and what I call "relief painting". The glassware is because we actually see quite a bit of stained glass used in Cardassian architecture- I've mentioned this before when talking about what colors get canonically used in Cardassian contexts (the default Cardassian color is brown, btw). The fondness for colored glass really just makes sense to me, it's an easy way of dimming light for your poor little lizard eyes while looking pretty and potentially using an abundant resource. A lot of jewelry and household objects are made of glass- but what's really important are glass tiling and mosaic.
So we all know mosaic, and as you can imagine this is where the very geometric, colorblocked nature of Cardassians is reflected in art. There is of course, a great ability to depict detail in mosaic, but there are things that are easier than others. Cardassians don't really do asymmetry, they don't do wrinkles or visible closures**, and if they do small details they're still noticeable. If they need ease, they use pleats. The color blocking has morphed in recent years, as economic struggles make piecing fabric more common (basically if you're working with poor yardage, you can sew two small pieces of fabric together and cut the pattern piece out of the new bigger piece) to the point where its morphed into color blocking again really, and is a public display of patriotism and frugality.
Making the tiles themselves isn't an exception either, though glass cane can be made with more free patterns- theres still an emphasis on symmetry and regularity.
"Relief painting" isn't really painting at all. Relief paintings are typically done starting with a sheet of inflexible material, which is painted on with a thin clay, cement, or similar material to create texture. This is gradually built up to depict a landscape or scene, looking much like a carved relief in the end. Some artists use different colors of material to create an effect, but many of these are done in monotone to allow the skill of applying texture to stand on its own merit.
(* we're using kilt here because I don't know a better word to use than the very vague "Sarong" or maybe "fouta")
(** unless you're working class or rural poor)
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And as for scenes in the show... there's a few, such as "...you must be true to yourself..." "with beliefs like that you wouldn't last 5 seconds on Cardassia" "would you?", but the one I've thought about is "I never betrayed you in my heart". But first, let's contextulize that.
“Yes,” I answered. The benign mask was slipping, and I began to see the depth of his anger.
“And when he does, your powerful enemy now becomes an implacable one. He won’t rest until he has destroyed every trace of you.” He was spitting his words at me. “What are you going to do?” he demanded.
“I don’t know,” I admitted with tightly wound control.
“You don’t know!” he repeated with a disgust I hadn’t heard since I was a boy and failed to record all the details of one of our walks. “And I’m supposed to pass my life’s work on to someone who can’t think beyond his lust?”
“It’s not lust,” I argued.
“Sentimentality,” he hissed. “Even worse. You jeopardize our mission, the security of our people because of pathetic sentiments. And all this while, instead of giving up your life to the work, hardening yourself into a leader who could inspire others and expand the vision, you’re playing out Hebitian fantasies with another man’s wife!”
“Yes. Just like Tolan!” I exploded. “Perhaps he was my real father after all.”
Tain rose like a man many years younger and grabbed my shoulder in a powerful grip. His anger was now a murderous fury and it was all I could do to hold my stance against the pain of his grip. His cold eyes told me I had betrayed him. Worse, I had failed him. He let go of my shoulder and turned away from me. My entire body trembled. When he turned back he had regained his composure.
I've talked before about how the betrayal here in ASIT is Garak threatening to view Tolan as his real father and go "full Hebitian" as it were- that's the thing in the scene where Tain tells him he's retiring that makes Tain angry enough that Garak thinks for a second he might kill him, and the other thing they're discussing is Garaks affair with Palandine which connects with him being Hebitian in two ways:
1) Palandine is an expression of Garak's "sentiment" which is both connected to him being a massive fucking queen and Hebitian and 2) my little headcanon previously mentioned and how literally every other man around Garak seems to be a cheating manwhore, but when he (lower class, mixed race, bisexual but unacceptably gender nonconforming) does it, then it's enough justification for a man who does the exact same shit if not worse (Barkan was fucking his employee/subordinate, and I wouldnt be suprised if he went for a comfort woman too given he actually was an architectural mind behind Terok Nor and Dukat’s friend, but him doing so is not explicitly mentioned) to kidnap, torture, and possibly try to kill him.
So we get to Improbable Cause, and Garak sees his piece of shit father for the first time in at least 4 years assuming he was exiled a year before that start of the show (I think ASIT implies it couldn't have been more than 2 or 3 years living on Terok Nor, but I've seen people suggest a decade-ish, which is interesting to explore).
TAIN: You blew up your own shop? You, my friend, are a true original. If you hadn't betrayed me, things would have been very different.
GARAK: I never betrayed you! At least, not in my heart. Why do you think I'm here? I came because I thought the Romulans were trying to kill you. I came here to save you.
TAIN: I never thought I'd hear myself say this, Garak, but I believe you. You can go.
As a refresher, Garak gets legitimately emotional and upset while saying that line (which makes it a great bookend to his outburst years ago). You can say acting but- one of the things that Garak "betrayed" Tain with was his sentiment. Garak knows this. It wouldn't benefit him to pretend to be emotional.
To me, when Tain says he believes Garak, what he means is "You're still a sentimental waste and I have no use for you", and is part of why he has Garak torture someone who, while he hasn't seen Garak give an indication he cares about, tips his hand and gives an indication he cares about Garak on some level while urging him to deny Tain's offer and leave. All three of them know, that Tain isn't really expecting information, that's not the point of this (torture doesn't get you information! Certainly not accurate information! It's about power). It's Garak proving he can be a real Cardassian. Because of sentiment it's both about the toxic machismo found in fascist societies and torture cells specifically, and Garak proving his ethnic worthiness.
As an aside, I recently read an excerpt about the actions of soldiers during the Dersim genocide that had a similar interaction to the under current here, when we recontextualize Garak as mixed race- a soldier told his superior that he couldn't do as ordered and kill children, and his superior said "you Kurd, you sympathize with them because of your race, right?" and killed him on the spot.
When Garak says "not in my heart" he's saying he still views Tain as his father, but Tain can never just be Garak's father. Tain is/was one of the most important officials in the Cardassian government. Tain is not just Tain- he is Cardassia (or part of it, anyway). Garak threatening to view Tolan as his father wasn't just about their relationship, and Garak threatening to fight Tain's power over him. Its a threat from Garak to refuse Cardassia's power over him. Its a threat to stop being part of that power, violence, and oppression, and to stop serving it. Some of this is due to broader social trends, and some if it is because Tain created a specific environment to raise Garak in. At the end of that scene in ASIT, we get this
As I watched him leave, I felt completely empty and wondered how I could feel such emptiness. This sudden, wrenching reversal of fortune... everything changed beyond recognition. ...And yet ... there was no anger, no self-pity ... no fear. Only release. Release from the secrets. Release from the limbo where, ever since I was a boy, I had been trapped between imposed obligations and feelings of mysterious longing mixed with shame. I felt empty ... and free.
I think I've also talked before about the line I italicized again, being about Hebitian identity. Of course, this freedom from secrecy, obligations, and shameful longing doesn't and could never last- even if Garak quit the order, he'd have to live in secrecy because of persecution, and if he continued going deeper into Hebitian religion he'd have to reckon with the fact that after the first time he attended a meeting he considered reporting everyone there to the authorities and has been part of the system that enslaved and genocided Hebitians, and at this point was still doing that to Bajorans.
And by telling Tain he recognizes him as his father- it's a plea that doesn't work because it's very existence betrays what he is, always has been, and always will be. If Garak had walked out, maybe he'd have lived, maybe he'd have died. But Tain would still view him as a traitor. Though, hilariously- if Garak was less sentimental, he'd have been less beholden to Tain in the first place. He certainly wouldnt have come in In Purgatory's Shadow. Maybe he'd have even killed him at some point for being a piece of shit father. And Tain himself was sentimental with Garak and Mila, and he knows it. He's allowed to be. They aren't.
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We just got home from Lauren and Femi's wedding!! It was so beautiful!! I feel so happy for them!! I am so glad I got to be apart of their wedding like they were a part of ours.
And today was a good day. It was nice going back to work. I was a little nervous but of course it was fine.
I slept really well last night. I have had an easier time falling asleep and that has made me feel a lot better. It's not perfect for sure but it's been better being back on my regular vitamin schedule and back in our bed.
I woke up at 7 and felt alright. James was in the kitchen having breakfast. I said good morning and went to go get ready. And I felt alright. I was pleased to see James had cleaned the bathtub. Thank you James.
We left here and went to get breakfast and then off to the museum.
It was good to be back. I caught up with my coworkers and talk about the wedding. And then me and Kristen went to go set up the assembly line. But it was all good already so no big deal.
And while I was nervous it was of course fine. And we had the best kids. They were so chill and we'll behaved and excited. They were all really good workers too.
Doing the assembly line was a lot of fun. It was my best intro. But they seemed really on board and they did a good job building the cars. There were a few mistakes but that was all good.
We had a good ten minutes at the car for them to check out and take pictures. And then we were off to lunch. It was nice to get a little break. My throat was hurting from all the talking. I know I'm usually fine talking but I am very out of practice. I'll toughen up again.
After lunch I was just watching Aubrey leading the cannery. She is really good at the younger ages and she was super engaging. She might need some more history and context but it'll come with time. The kids obviously had a blast and that's all that matters.
After I helped get the coin bags back together I went to give James their lunch break. I got to talk to a couple really awesome guests and check in with Mike before he left for another wedding. It's wedding season for sure.
James went to 711 and got me pizza. And I had that in the back office and talked to Aubrey and Joel about the cannery and stuff. And then it was time to go!
I went up front and chatted with Angie and James about the wedding. And it was really nice. And then I made my way into the world.
I got home and cleaned up. My new fleece came. I changed into that and laid down. And would sleep for an hour.
I woke up and got ready for the wedding. I love love love this outfit. Though when I first put it on I noticed that the seams had pulled again and so when James came home I was standing over my sewing machine in my tights zigzag stitching my shirt back together.
James wore their kilt again. And they looked great. And of course we were basically the fidst ones at the wedding. It ended up being in the same area as the whole foods. Which tickled me to no end.
And the wedding was so lovely. Everyone looked great. I love Nigerian clothing. Such rich fabrics and interesting folds and wraps. Lauren wore a regular white dress and Femi wore a great suit for the ceremony but after dinner her and Femi changed into traditional wear and it was so beautiful! It was purple and gold and gorgeous.
The food was also so good. There was plenty I could eat and I got to try some great stuff. Like steam buns and jollof rice. And I got to dance with James and just regular dance. I got to talk to people. About art and work and our wedding. And I just felt so happy.
The people at our table were college friends of Lauren and were very fun talk to. The one guy asked me what it's like to be in love. And I told him it feels like breathing but it's also a choice. It's not an accident that I love James. I'm just really lucky that it's so easy still.
Me and James played Cornhole outside. I got a hole in one on my in first shot! And I won the whole game. So that was fun. And then my favorite part of the night was the money dance?? Where everyone danced and threw $1 bills on and at Femi and Lauren and it was so funny seeing they sweeping up the money.
Congrats to them. I am so excited for them. I'm so excited we are both married now. I'm so happy.
We both have work tomorrow. James with the desk, me with the market. So I had to slowly get us out of there. James had to hug everyone before we could go. I was telling jokes to Dante and some of the guys. But I was cold and ready to get to bed.
James was a little tipsy. And very silly. I drove home. There was basically no where to park so we had to circle the block for a bit. But we did find a spot eventually. Just down the street where we never park so it felt weird. But that is alright.
And now we are showered and in bed. Sweetp tried to get in the shower too because he's a goober.
But we just got an email from our photographer with the unedited pictures for us to pick!! Ahh!! We're just gonna peak. It's to late to chose. But I'm excited. The love continues.
Jess is coming tomorrow. And I have the market. And I hope it's just a really beautiful day.
Sleep good everyone. Take care of each other!! Goodnight!!
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Okay so Frederico is golfing with Charlie but I have no idea where 😂👀🙈
Also closed stories aren't that tricky! (so many of my mates use them) - love seeing a green circle! 😂👌🏻They probably just have close friends/family/school mates on there and post random/drunk things that they wouldn't want on the internet for everyone else to see 😂🙈
And no not Dolly sorry, Ellis' partner is Megan right? She's welsh and they've been together since they were teenagers I think! (partly explains his move back to Bristol as its so close to Wales also! - her family etc.)
Yeh you're right, the video will be special as its just for you! But it is kind of crazy to promise something that they didn't have previously organised no? 👀
P.S just re-read your message - are we thinking then that DK and JVP aren't actually that close?? 👀😅 I mean it would kind of make sense because DK and Fred will be bonded in a way that only happens when you've lived with someone for years, I wonder if Jack gets a bit jealous??? omg why have I never thought of this beforeeee
Also you're right, this summer has been GREAT for content. (still feel awful about sending you that 'don't hate me message' though from the Marbella incident 😳😳😢☹️ ugh I would be sickkkk
Also final point: no, I am not looking forward to constant Frederico content, nor is my phone storage 😭😭😭😂🥴
I wish I had more to show you but Charlie is lazy, just the info Fred is a golf loser.
Looks like norwich when they are together it is usually the case.
Probably Fred but Jack nah ? I have +- all his close mates and some family members and even when they show stuffs it is only repost the only drunk ones I got were from girls not his mates but I usually know where he is when he is not chilling because everyone loves to take him in picture 😂🤣 but I really don't see him being bothered with taking pictures and stories he usually doesn't do that Well when it is the mandatory ones so private ones ??? Nah... He also never had sponsors so far 😂🤣 poor bebou. Not a single tshirt to show on his bed. Unlikely to me but perhaps he does and I am totally wrong but he doesn't even show his dogs 😭.
Also do I really want to see more tractors ???? I don't think so.
Now that I think about it if one day I meet you I Will still have stuffs I cannot say over here, Sorry 🤐, to tell you 😏😏😏 and yes it is about both. The only thing I want to keep to myself, but my friend heard it when he answered so we are more than one to know, is what J was writting on his wrist before match but he doesn't anymore and in my sense it is an indicator something is bad :-( because it was part of his training with Wiggy and Ben and one acronym is what they were telling him when he was a tiny tiger so seperate from that.... is it good sign ????
I totally thought it was Nic doing the big moove haha 😂 oh I cannot wait for Cam and Molly tho... imagine the band in kilts ???
Ellis was so great for us :( I was little by little appreciating the character. Sad.
It is a disaster in organisation I almost thought it was a scam.... Also sorry but not trying to get Bondi on board is sketchy or to by pass it by talking to another player instead of reaching Jack directly makes me think he isn't the cause of the delay even with what she said about chasing him. Who does that ??? I would have better results just genuinely asking him by DM. He randomly dmed me last year so I still have our messages and could start there 🙃.
Mmmh good question ! I think they were very good mates and like ride or die at one point 2021-2022 but then Chess looks like his second best mates after Fred to me ??? Also what makes me think Jack is very caring is how well he took care of Cam and Nic dolly that they both publicly thanked him same for Taylor Gough so I think he doesn't really need a lot to get attached to people and is surrounded by bubbly people matching his energy and DK has that. I think nobody could detach him from Fredda that even when they don't need to be with each other they choose to be : on holidays or crossing Norfolk to be together... I think they have all plenty of friends but it is the only 2 that have so much crossing circles of common friends. He really might be the brother he never had and wished for to my opinion so yes I think he might be at time and must have felt rejected when they were both in England without him. I think also DK missing out so much with his injury might have affected a bit their relation and ultimately R because Fred and J doesn't have same rhythm, as someone in a relationship. They could have taken J and Fred on holidays in Greece they didn't ? Also J always bonding with Fred against Dk starts a good but little rivalry ? Football-wise they wanted to let Dk outside of their house so... Golf... :D etc. ... He never teams up with DK but against him :))) I think they are close but some stuffs might have generated some distance. Surprisingly Jack looks close from the Pollard ? 10-9 bond but still ? He followed all Marisa friends or family and I'm like ?????
oh no don't blame yourself I was more sad when you announced you will not come back rather than to see that video wich was gonna happen sooner or later so :/ but I was sick for a long moment before the other pics
I also get that because the more the content the more people crazy about them and omg I have seen some rather craycray fan of Fred around..... To another level that we are like ...
some children (sorry but minors of age are still children to me) sexualizing him when he is 22 makes me cringe a little. We could say same for me as I'm older than them but I assume it.
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Alex Fierro's Introduction Full Breakdown
Okokok so. This is going to go full English-professor mode, where I'm drawing conclusions that are gonna seem a little far-fetched. That's what's fun about media analysis! I can say something is a symbol, and even if I don't have enough faith in RR's competency to know if he meant for it to be a symbol, it's still true! That being said, a lot of these choices I'm sure are intentional, either at a literal or subliminal level. Page numbers are going to be used not to assert a kind of authority or whatever— this is a Tumblr post, not an essay— but to help readers find the pages I'm referencing in case they'd like to do some digging of their own. Also, this is going to be really long. Really sorry to anyone with ADHD; I might make an audiofile of this so you can get the information without having to read the whole thing. With all that, let's get into it!
To kick off, let's talk about Alex being in the form of a cheetah when she first meets Magnus. Of course, there's the obvious impact of him seeing her but only so breifly, as well as introducing the conflict between her and the rest of Hall 19. But that could have easily been accomplished by almost any animal. The choice of a cheetah being implicated implies two qualities of Alex that will be recurrent throughout the two books she's in: 1. She has a tendency to run away, as we'll later learn when she describes how she became homeless, and 2. To Magnus, she's elusive. She can't be caught or held down. The event that shows this so transparently is how Alex refuses to define their relationship at the end of the series, despite it clearly surpassing the normal bounds of friendship.
But the cheetah isn't the animal Alex is in the form of when Magnus first gets a good look at her; she's a weasel. Weasel's bring up all kinds of connotations: ferocity, slickness, a lack of charm. When we want to describe someone as an untrustworthy person, we call them a weasel. RR had Alex take this form to play up her comrades' feeling of distrust towards her. She could be a double-crosser. But paradoxically, the up-front and vicious mannerisms of a weasel also have a transperency. She does not try appealing to her Hallmate's sense of goodwill because she doesn't have anything to gain from it. So even though there is the implication that she might be an antagonist, there's also evidence from her actions and mannerisms that she isn't. The weasel's long and skinny frame also allow for a smooth transition into Alex's actual body, which is convenient.
As Alex transforms into her usual human form, Magnus describes her as "a regular human teen, long and lanky, with a swirl of dyed green hair, black at the roots, like a plug of weeds pulled out of a lawn" (pg. 50). That simile at the end is of particular interest. Let's compare it to another time Magnus describes Alex's hair, in Ship of the Dead: "Her hair had started to grow out, the black roots making her look even more imposing, like a lion with a healthy mane" (pg. 136). By contrasting these two different examples, we can see the development of Magnus and Alex's relationship. The first time he sees her, he thinks of her hair as something nasty— note the word choice "weeds." Later on, though, he becomes more affectionate towards her, more complentary. The immedient negative reaction is less his actual impression, though, and more the reaction he expected to have based on everyone else's reaction to Alex.
Her clothes are equally as interesting; as Magnus describes it, Alex wears "battered rose high-tops, skinny lime green corduroy pants, a pink-and-green argyle sweater-vest over a white tee, and another pink cashmere sweather wrapped around the waist like a kilt" (pg. 50). Aside from the obvious fact that this outfit is a) bizzare, b) fire, and c) Alex's signature colors, which add a layer of style to what can otherwise be a somewhat boring series fashion-wise (excuse me, Blitz), the outfit reveals a crucial facet of Alex's backstory in a kind of subtle way. These are expensive clothes, like the Stella McCartney dress in Alex's room. Note the mention of fabrics (corduroy, cashmere) and patterns (argyle). These indicate wealth and status. Even the high-tops; shoes like that don't come cheap. But I'd like to return to the very first word of the section: "battered." Alex's wardrobe show-cases a proximity to wealth, but also shows that that proximity has been strained and lengthened, maybe for an extended period of time. Alex dresses like a rich person, but she isn't one. Least, not anymore.
The last word of that outfit-introduction is also of interest: "kilt." At the current moment, Magnus thinks that Alex is male. No one has indicated otherwise to him. Everyone has been referring to Alex with he/him pronouns. Samirah called Alex her "brother" (pg. 29). His first thought in seeing what he at first perceives as a guy with a jacket wrapped around the waist is That looks like a kilt. This thought tells us about Magnus: despite being open and accepting, he still has some lingering notions of gender conformity from his years in wider American society.
Magnus also indicates that the outfit "reminded me of a jester's motley, or the coloration of a venomous animal warning the whole world" (pg. 50). This is rather self-explanatory, but it's still worth noting that Magnus sees the outfit as something bizzare, strange, and even perhaps comical. This places Alex at odds with the other people Magnus has met. It also reveals that Magnus has zero fashion sense. But we already knew that.
After finishing up staring at the ensemble, Magnus finally gets around to actually looking Alex in the face. First Magnus says that he "forgot how to breathe" (pg. 50), which, yeah, relatable. This is justifed by saying that Alex has the same face as Loki, but the very same sentence that asserts that that's the case also suggests an alternative reason: Alex has "the same unearthly beauty" as her father. Here we can see the beginnings of Magnus's attraction to Alex, though at this point, he still has a lot of internalized homophobia. Though there's certainly some truth in that Magnus was unnerved by Alex's resemblance to Loki, the idea that Magnus pointed out that Alex was pretty without elaborating on that thought until about a chapter later— after he was informed that Alex was presently a girl— can tell us a lot about how Magnus perceives sex and beauty.
Of course, Alex's eyes are given special attention. She has cool eyes; what can I say? But I'd like to focus in on how Magnus here depicts Alex's heterochromia as "completely unnerving" (pg. 50). Again, let's contrast this with how he describes them after getting to know Alex a little better in Ship of the Dead. In Chapter 3, Magnus describes "[Alex's] dark brown eye and his amber eye like mismatched moons cresting the horizon" (pg. 25). Once again, this shows the development of their relationship— but this time, it's in a much more personal way. Eyes are the windows to the soul; they are culturally important and biologically important in inter-personal connections. In you look into someone's eyes, you're giving them your full attention, and you're implying a kind of closeness. The way that Magnus describes Alex's eyes in the second passage is downright intimate. At this point, he is in love with Alex, and it is clear when contrasting the two descriptions.
As my last point, I'd like to discuss Alex's first words on page: "'Point that rifle somewhere else, or I will wrap it around your neck like a bow tie'" (pg. 51). First of all, Alex saying this with a "perfect white smile" (pg. 51) on his face implies that she is used to being threatened. She is not afraid of being shot; she counters the promise of an attack with a promise of her own. This pleads the question: why is Alex accustomed to violence? What events of her past or qualities of her life have brought her to this point? The threat itself reveals Alex's trauma from being genderfluid in a society with rigid gender norms, as well as her antagonistic relationship with her father. Magnus makes a comment that Alex "might actually know how to tie a bow tie, which was kind scary arcane knowledge" (pg. 51). Like Alex's wardrobe, the idea that she may have experience in high-class fashion also implies her former status as a rich kid.
I could go on. I could break apart Alex saying "'Pleased to meet you all, I guess'" (pg. 51). There is a wealth of information in this short page span that tells us things about Alex Fierro in the present moment, quietly demonstrates things about her past, and characterizes the narrator Magnus Chase. This passage is also effective in hindsight in marking the progress of Magnus and Alex's relationship.
But I'd like to take a step back and look at not the pieces, but the whole picture. Alex Fierro gets a full page of pure description— her outfit, her face— and about a chapter of introduction. This comes after several chapters of build-up. Alex Fierro is an important character you need to keep your eyes on. Alex Fierro is emotionally significant to the main character, Magnus Chase. Alex Fierro is one of the most developed and well-rounded characters that Rick Riordan has ever written— heck, she's one of the best characters in middle-grade books period. The extended emphasis on her and her alone tells us exactly what role she's going to play in this story: she's the star.
#she IS the moment#I'm sure I missed a few things too#alex fierro#mcga#magnus chase#magnus chase and the gods of asgard#fierrochase#magnus chase/alex fierro#mcatgoa
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Little Witch | The Mikaelson Boys
Hey lovelies, I’m finally back with some Mikaleson Brothers content. I’ve had this idea for a while and rewrote it about a thousand times. I’m not sure if I love this but I needed to just finish it. I feel like it’s not that great but regardless I’m giving it to you. It’s super fluffy and a quick burn romance but, hey, who doesn’t like kissing me you just met you know? In all seriousness I hope you’re all doing well. I know life is really off right now and I hope this helps. All my love <3 until next time loves!
Description: Hogwarts and The Originals crossover, disbelief must be suspended for this one as we all know some of this doesn’t add up, soulmate AU
Pairing: The Mikaelson Boys x Female!Hufflepuff!Reader
Warnings: there are no warnings
Word count: 6.7k
Tags: FLUFF
Tag List: @activist-af , @hellotvshowtrash , @firebirdsalvatore
(Photos not mine but mood board is :) )
“There you are, sweetheart,” her gentle voice breaks through you dreams, pulling you from the same scene you’ve grown used to seeing for the last couple weeks, “you’re going to miss dinner sleepyhead.”
You awake to a familiar picture: your books sprawled across a desk in the middle of the library and a fiery redhead with a soft smile holding a semi-crumpled cardigan towards you. Her eyes twinkle with laughter and familiarity. This isn’t the first time Arabella has found you asleep after you told her you were going to be studying. When you look down at your divination textbook you notice a small pink smudge from your cherry lip gloss. You wipe your fingers around your lips, collecting the rest of your smeared makeup.
You stifle a yawn, stretching your limbs out with a soft groan, “shoot, I fell asleep again. What time is it, Ari?”
“Quarter to six, hun,” she reaches out to brush some fallen hair out of your eyes, “we should really get a move on. Are you feeling okay?”
You nod, this time the yawn interrupting any intention to answer that you had. Your head buzzes lightly with the remnants of your dream. For weeks you’ve felt something on the horizon, something meant just for you. Three pairs of brown eyes and the warmest feeling in your chest. It’s the same feeling you’ve been waking up with every night, if not a touch stronger this evening. You don’t mind it though, it layers a warmth to your bones that this winter in the castle has stripped from you.
“I haven’t been sleeping too well lately is all,” you let Arabella help you slip your cardigan back on, straightening it and your tie, evening the yellow and gray stripes.
Her hands still against your shoulders, her concerned green eyes meeting your own half open ones, “still having those dreams, sunshine?”
You nod once more, sagging slightly from the weight of your tote when she loops it over your shoulder. Your skin tingles with slight electricity, lulling your already fuzzy brain into a deeper haze. You tug your sleeves over your hands, scrunching your fingers into a fist to try and regain some awareness.
“Hmm,” Arabella pushes the same strand of hair from your forehead again, removing her headband and putting it on you instead to keep your unruly strands in place, “remind me to make you some tea before bed. I have some herbs from the greenhouse that might help with them. Let’s go get some food into you first though, ok?
She links her arm through yours, pulling you alongside her towards the dining hall. The corridors are mostly empty, spare a few behind students. Much like yourselves, they hurry in the same direction, following the wafting smell of roasted chicken and pumpkin pie. You can’t help but shiver as you watch them rush, feeling like someone forgot to tell you something. As if everyone knows a secret that you very well must have snoozed through.
“Hey Ari,” you tug lightly on her sleeve to get her attention, “why is everyone in such a hurry? Did I miss something?”
She looks confused for a moment, her button nose scrunching tight before her mouth falls open, “oh yes, that’s right! I forgot to tell you! Some seventh year prefects overheard McGonagall talking about some exchange students from Ilvermorny. They’re supposed to be here for dinner!”
Your skin crackles with electricity, the air static with anticipation, “Ilvermorny? They’re from America?”
She nods her head cheerfully as the two of you approach the towering doors of the dining hall, “I know, it’s crazy right?”
You can hear the buzz of activity emitting from the hall before you cross the corridor, a dull roar that lights you with an even mixture of excitement and nervousness.
“They certainly think so,” you motion to the giggling fourth year girls who scurry past you, their chatter no doubt about the possibility of Hogwarts’ newest additions.
The current coursing through your body sings when Arabella pulls you through the doors. The dining hall is a flurry of activity, each house no doubt wondering if they’ve gained any new members tonight. The thought of some new Hufflepuffs warms your heart. You haven’t had any new faces around in ages it feels like. You let her lead you to a few seats left open near the front of the hall, next to the small stage.
You fall into your seat with a sigh, graciously accepting the plate of food Arabella hands you. How she made it so quick you aren't sure. Magic probably, that would make the most sense. When you glance over at her she has her wand out, levitating food onto her own plate. She always puts you ahead of herself, something you can't help but feel bad about sometimes. Regardless, it warms your heart immensely to be lucky enough to have such a caring best friend. You catch her eye and she passes you a loving smile and a wink before lowering her plate.
As you take the first bite of your pumpkin pie, ignoring the nudge you get for eating your dessert first, Headmistress McGonogal taps her wand to the podium in front of her.
“Students,” she clears her throat, waiting for the noise in the great hall to quiet, “as quite a few of you have already heard by now,” she searches you all with a glint in her eye, a small smile on her lips, “we have a few students joining us.”
The great hall buzzes at her admission, a current running through the entirety of the student body and, most of all, you. Your head feels like it’s spinning. Like you’ve just drunk a litre of fire whiskey and that if you stand up there’s a good chance you’ll fall right over. You drop your fork but the clatter it makes doesn’t register with you as much as it should. Arabella looks over at you, clearly worried, and raises her eyebrows, placing a warm hand on your back.
As you go to shrug your shoulders at her, the doors to the great hall open once more, “ah, and here they are! Please, everyone, show them your warmest welcome. They have come a long way, all the way from Ilvermorny in the United States.”
McGonogal continues to speak about Hogwarts and its connection to Ilvermorny but her speech is drowned out by cheering from all over the great hall. Well, you’re pretty sure it is. Your pulse is thundering so loudly in your ears that you can’t hear much of anything at all. Arabella stares at you still, growing more and more scared as the seconds pass. You think you say something, you open your mouth at least, but whatever words come out of your mouth don’t reach your ears. Arabella tightens her grip.
You close your eyes, squeezing them shut tightly, desperately willing your senses to go back to normal. It almost works too but then you breathe in and are hit with three scents so hard that you almost vomit. Not because they’re terrible, though, they’re anything but. No, you almost puke because of how fast you’re swamped in pine and buttery leather and the entire damn sea and how quickly it makes your heart rate spike. Are you having a heart attack? What is going on?
When you open your eyes the great hall is spinning and you know for a fact that you’re the only one experiencing this carousel ride. You have to get out of here. You push away from the table, standing on legs much too shaky for your own good. Arabella calls your name and it sounds like she’s behind a thick sheet of glass, one you can’t break no matter how hard you slam against it. The trees and leather and sea wraps around you again and your knees almost give out. There’s only one thing you can think to do and you don’t hesitate to do it.
You run like hell.
No. Scratch that. You run like hell is chasing you and, well, maybe it is. Maybe hell is a person, or people, perhaps even three people, and their footsteps pound down the corridor behind you so loud they echo through your chest. Your kilt whips around your legs, your hair flying behind you as you clear the corners as they come. You can feel them, whoever they are, gaining but slowly. You can make it, you know you can.
It’s midwinter, the thick of February, and yet you feel like you’re wading through lava. The halls should be ice right now but your blood is scorching you from the inside out. You pull the sweater from your chest as you run, not thinking twice before dropping it, never stopping. Your skin is charged with electricity and you want to scream and tear your heart out but you can’t, not now. You feel them like they’re right on your heels, the triplet of scents swirling furiously around you. You need to get outside. Now.
You make it to the courtyard, practically leaping off the cement steps, but a hand catches your arm midair and you stumble. You see the ground hurtling towards you in slow motion, the cobblestone path laughing at you. You squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for the stones to bite into your side but they never do. Instead you’re wrapped in pine, two warm arms pulling you into a firm, hot chest.
You thought your skin was electrified before but that was nothing compared to what is now. Everywhere your body touches the person holding you prickles with static. You can almost hear your flesh crackle, each one of your veins roaring so loud that all you can hear is your blood rushing through you. It’s like a tsunami, waves of fire and power and fucking pine rolling over you unrelentlessly. You aren’t quite sure if you’re still breathing.
You feel another pair of hands on your back, rubbing up and down, spreading the fire like butter over your shoulder blades. Your body reacts on it’s own, your back arching into whoever it is behind you, your head falling onto a shoulder that smells like summer at the beach.
A part of you is screaming to run. To jab your elbow into their stomach and fight like hell. However, against all of your better judgement, the feeling is fading and fast. Hands skim down your arms lightly and you fight the delicious shiver that crawls up your spine. You don’t realize you’re still clinging to the first person until your fists squeeze around the cotton of their shirt. Their hands hand loosely off your hips and you don’t even want to acknowledge how much you like it.
Instead of fighting, you pry your eyes open, only to stare directly into strikingly familiar brown eyes. Your breath catches in your chest, your head still against his shoulder. He leans closer towards you, blonde hair falling down his face slightly. It looks entirely soft and you squeeze your hands tighter, resisting the urge to touch this stranger’s hair. His scent, that overbearing ocean, wraps around you again. He definitely doesn’t feel like a stranger.
“Hi love,” his voice is soft and lulls you deeper into his chest, his nose skimming the arch of your cheekbone, “you’re lucky we’re fast. That could have been quite the fall.”
He chuckles lightly and your cheeks flame, the noise like the wind chimes you hung in the greenhouse your fourth year. His laugh hits you in the gut and radiates to every inch of your skin, cooling the flames but also concentrating them lower. Too low. Your traitorous core sets on fire from the mixture of his musical laugh and mesmerizing eyes. Merlin, you don’t even know his name.
You look away from him but you can’t escape his eyes no matter how hard you try, looking directly into an identical pair of warm, brown eyes. The man in front of you, the one with his hands squeezing your hips, is also frustratingly familiar. He’s tall, his chest, the one underneath your fingertips, is broad and heaves up and down with every breath. Your body, being the wanton force of nature she is, longs to have you wrap your legs, and every other part of you, around the man in front of you. When the blonde behind you wraps his arms around your stomach, reminding you that he’s still there, you want to do the same to him as well.
Memories prickle the edges of your mind, the dreams you’ve been having for weeks now flashing behind your eyelids every time you blink. The warmth in your bones and the molten brown eyes. The same electricity that is burning through your chest and head and core, only now it’s a million times stronger. You shake your head. Not at the man in front of you but at yourself. No way are these the men from your dreams. That’s impossible, Right? And besides, there were three eyes in your dreams.
“There you guys are,” a voice, steadily approaching and as slow and tantalizing as honey, pulls your attention away from the men surrounding you, “I can’t believe you left me to explain what was happening to McGonagall.”
You meet the third pair of eyes with an audible gasp, his sharp leather scent curling around you despite the distance between the two of you. It sinks into your skin and puts you in motion, like the potion you needed to break whatever paralyzing spell you were under. You pull yourself so suddenly from the two men that they don’t have time to catch you, putting some much needed distance between all four of you. You force yourself to ignore the way your heart aches already. Your hand finds the wand in your kilt pocket. Stupid girl, longing for men you don’t even know.
You find your voice but only enough to mutter hastily, “Were you chasing me? Aren’t you supposed to be meeting, like, the whole school right now? What in Merlin’s name is going on?”
The newest male takes a step towards you, his eyes drawing up and down your body, reigniting the heat that has been slowly subsiding and lingering on your hand wrapped around your wand. He smirks at you, like he knows something that you don’t and, honestly, he probably does. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. His hair is dark brown and just as touchable as the previous two. You squeeze your fist tighter.
“One question at a time, darling,” he takes another step and you tense your shoulders instinctively even though your body is fighting the urge to run to him, “we’ll tell you everything. Can we go inside first, though? You look like you’re freezing. Is this yours?”
His question isn’t really a question, in his hands is your cardigan. He picked it up for you? You let your shoulders sag slightly and your grip loosen. He doesn’t know you, why did he bother picking it up?
“I-,” you release the wand slowly, “yeah that’s mine. Thank you.”
He’s right about the cold, now that you aren’t sandwiched between the other two men the chill nips at your fingers and legs. You go to take your sweater from him but he holds it open, beckoning you to turn around and let him put it on you for you. You sigh but oblige, tucking your arms into the soft wool with his help. His hands smooth down your arms once you’re settled, the familiar sparks following their path. You’re head squeezes with confusion and you want to scream if only to release the pressure.
You turn in his hands, meaning to break his hold but only ending up closer to his chest, “what is going on?”
He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to his chest. The ache in your heart eases drastically and you breathe in the leather once more. Merlin’s sake, this is exhausting. Even so, your limbs feel lighter in his arms. His eyes burn into yours and you don’t even try to look away, letting him extract whatever information he wants from you. You’re almost sure he can read every thought flashing through your eyes.
“Can’t you feel it?” His hand brushes your cheek, your skin buzzing on cue, “feel us? Like there’s a string pulling you to us, right? We feel warm, don’t we, and you want to be near us. You feel like you know us but you don’t know how or why.”
You find yourself nodding along to the words of a man whose name you don’t even know yet, your hands finding their way to his chest.
“Who are you,” you turn to meet the other two, your eyes wide, “all of you.”
The second man, the one who caught you, steps forward, holding out a hand for you to take. You aren’t sure why but you look back to the male in front of you, the one with his arms still tight around you, for approval. He nods, letting his arms fall almost reluctantly. When he releases you, you’re quickly pulled back into the pine scented chest. You don’t like how easily your body moulds to his, how his body seems to have some sort of claim on yours. How all of their bodies do.
“Elijah,” he rests his chin against your head, caging you against a chest that feels too much like home to make any sense, “I’m Elijah. You were just talking to Kol and Klaus-”
The hands, the same ones from before, once again rest on your back, drawing a traitorous sigh from your lips, “is right behind you, love, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Your heart squeezes dangerously at his words, letting them fill you with the warmth of his promise. Even if your rationality doesn't accept it for the immediate truth it is, every other part of you does. You pull out of Elijah’s arms and turn to the ocean of a man behind you, throwing your arms around his neck without a second thought. He, too, feels like coming home. He takes no time squeezing you against him and burying his face in your neck. You feel hands behind you move your hair away from your neck and then a nose drawing up the exposed bumps of your spine.
“I don’t understand any of this,” you mumble into Klaus’ shoulder, “I don’t understand what any of this means.”
“Of course you do, darling. You can feel it in your bones,” Kol pushes his nose against your temple, his lips skimming your ear before tugging the lobe between his teeth.
Merlin. His teeth on your skin sends heat pooling in the pit of your belly. You tighten your arms around Klaus, biting back an embarrassing moan as he laughs again. This time the sound echos through your chest and wraps around your heart, grabbing on and refusing to let go. Kol’s lips skim down your jaw, nipping lightly at your throat in a way that is completely inappropriate for a man you just met but you don’t care right now.
Arms wrap around you from behind and you sink back into them, letting Elijah spin you and haul you into his chest. Your head is spinning from how quickly you’re being passed around by men you don’t know. Your heart stings slightly, the comfort you feel in the large male’s arms screaming at you. Perhaps you don’t know them but your body has been waiting centuries for them and is more than ready to reunite. You don’t hesitate to wrap your legs around him.
“Baby,” your heart stutters and his pupils expand like he can hear it, “do you mind if we go back to our dorm before anyone sees us?” Elijah glances over your head, searching around the courtyard before landing back on yours, “This is a lot to explain to one person, let alone the whole school.”
Your cheeks flame for the millionth time and your head whips around, searching the courtyard yourself for any prying eyes. You breathe a quick sigh of relief when you don’t see anyone. He’s right and, besides, you really are freezing now, your exposed legs two icicles.
You smile gently at him, savouring the way his eyes draw to your lips, “that’s probably a good idea.”
You go to unwrap your legs from his hips when he stops you, his hands tightening around your back and thighs, “may I?”
Your eyes widen, your hands stilling on his shoulders, “you want to carry me?”
He leans his forehead against yours, his nose brushing yours gently, “very much so, baby.”
Your heart feels like it restarts, kicking your pulse into overdrive. You don’t trust yourself to speak, your entire body engulfed in pine and flames like a forest fire that you never knew could exist. You just nod, your arms snaking around his neck and pulling you flush against his chest. You can feel every breath he takes, closing your eyes when he begins walking.
The hallways, thankfully, feel empty and you don’t open your eyes, letting yourself sink into Elijah’s chest like you’ve been doing it your whole life and this isn’t your first experience being held by someone as large and strong as him. Your fingers, laying on the back of his neck, can’t resist shuffling through his hair. You’re already in his arms anyway, so what’s the harm. Just as you thought, his hair is soft to the touch and mesmerizing. You tangle your fingers through it, the last dregs of anxiety seeping from your bones.
When he starts down a staircase that you aren’t anticipating you tighten your fingers, squeezing your thighs to keep from falling out of his arms. In turn Elijah releases a breathy groan, one that hits you directly between your thighs. When you open your eyes you’re met with a coal black instead of the warm brown from minutes ago. Your breath catches in your throat but not from fear, albeit it should be. You know you should be painfully afraid of this man, whom you barely know, whose arms are wrapped around you so tight it almost hurts, but you aren’t. Not even a little bit.
Not even when he opens his mouth and you see two, very sharp looking fangs poking out of his gums, “Eli?”
You don’t know where the nickname comes from and, honestly, you don’t care. All you can think about is the irrational heat growing between your legs and his hands, once again squeezing your hips. Who is this man and why do you want him to press you against the stairs and do unspeakable things to you? You look over his shoulders at Kol and Klaus, whose eyes aren’t quite the same charcoal as Elijah’s but definitely not the sunshine whiskey that they were before. You have to bite your lip again to keep from squeezing your legs harder around Elijah.
“Come on,” Klaus steps ahead of you and Elijah, glancing back over his shoulder and smirking teasingly, “I can hear people leaving the Great Hall.”
You furrow your eyebrows at him. How can he possibly hear the Great Hall from here? You glance back to Elijah, the sight of his fangs flashing through your mind. You shake your head, not wanting to think about any of this right now. You reach a hand up, cupping his jaw and running your thumb over his cheek like any of this at all is normal.
“Klaus is right, Eli. We need to figure this out before it gets around the school.” More than it already is, you add in your head.
The four of you somehow make it to their dorm and you breathe a sigh of relief when it’s segregated from the rest of the dorms. McGonagall probably gave them their own dorm to make them feel more comfortable. You’re just thankful to be away from the open space. You already know the entire school will be talking about what happened. Merlin why is it always you? You’re just a Hufflepuff, you didn’t sign up for any of this.
Their dorm is magnificent. The doorway leads into a moody common room, surrounded with cozy browns and greens. The walls are lined with bookshelves and there’s a window looking out into the lake. The waves lap against the glass and you giggle as a few fish swim by, stopping to look into the room and then continue on their way. The room smells like all three of them. Like every plain of earth and sea and air. There are four doors leading to what you can only assume are their bedrooms and bathroom. Compared to your dorm, which you love but also share with five other girls, this place is an oasis.
Elijah sets you on an incredibly soft, brown leather couch and you pull your legs up, tucking them underneath you. Kol settles next to you, his arm resting on the back of the couch, behind your head. Klaus sits on your other side, pulling your legs from under you and over his lap, his hands rubbing circles on your calves. With your back now to Kol, you can’t help but let your head fall to the side against his arm, soaking in the warmth of his skin. The dungeons are colder than you thought they would be. How do the Slytherins do it? He laughs quietly, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you to lay against his chest.
Elijah settles on the coffee table in front of the couch, leaning his elbows on his knees and staring at you with a look only slightly less hot than before. You hold a hand out for him, one he quickly takes, threading his fingers between yours, pulling your knuckles to his lips. Klaus’ hands are slowly working up your legs, now wrapped around your knees and steadily moving higher. You squeeze your eyes tight before opening them and staring at the ceiling, avoiding three pairs of brown eyes to the best of your ability.
You sigh gently, leaning into Kol’s hands as his fingers search through your hair, scratching at your scalp in a way that makes you almost keep your thoughts to yourself if only to ensure he doesn’t stop. But you need answers now.
“Okay, I’m serious this time,” your eyes train on a bookshelf, counting the books to keep yourself focussed, “who are you? You clearly aren’t like me, you aren’t witches, but you definitely aren’t regular people,” you suck in a breath, your eyes stalling on a thick book titled The History of Mythical Creatures, “so what, pray tell, are you?”
Your eyes stay focussed on the book but you don’t want to entertain the thoughts flowing through your mind. You had to read that volume in your seventh year myth class. Just because you’re a witch it doesn’t mean you’re used to the creatures you’re taught about. There’s a reason every student at Hogwarts takes eight years of defensive magic.
“You got us, little witch,” Klaus’ hands are above your knees now, kneading your exposed flesh with skilled fingers, “clever and beautiful. The perfect mate.”
Your eyes snap from the bookshelf, from the book that you know holds the answer to their identity, to the blonde lazily licking his own extended fangs. Mate. Did he just say mate? There’s no way he just said mate. Impossible. You’re a witch. As far as being mythical goes, you’re as close to normal as it gets. They, however, are something stronger. You can feel the power rolling off of them.
“I,” your mouth falls open, your mind spinning, “what?”
Kol laughs from behind you, his chest rumbling under your back. He pulls your hair to the side again before capturing your ear with his mouth again.
“You heard him, darling,” he tugs your earlobe between his teeth, pulling a tiny gasp from you as, “your ours. And, I hate to break it to you, but we’re pretty hard to get rid of. ”
Klaus’ hands squeeze right below the hem of your kilt, lighting your skin with the delicious sparks. If his hands weren’t there you would be squeezing your legs together for sure.
“He’s right, love, I’ve tried. Many times,” Klaus smirks at Kol in only the way an older brother could and it hits you.
“Oh, Merlin,” you close your eyes again, heat flaring across your face, “you’re brothers. All three of you are brothers. What is going on, Helga help me.”
All three of them laugh and Elijah kisses your knuckles again, “yes baby, we are in fact brothers. It’s been a long millennium.”
“Millenium?” You feel faint.
He laughs again and you wish you could pluck the sound out of the air and hold onto it for the rest of your life. When you look at him all you can do is smile and run a hand down your face. A thousand years, huh? Klaus’ hands trace lazy circles on your inner thighs as Kol’s lips find your neck, his teeth scraping your skin in a way that has you sinking even further into his buttery leather arms. When he bites down a touch harder you can’t help but wonder what kind of experience a thousand years would allow a person.
A thousand years. Your chest stings unexpectedly as another thought hits you. It must be the day for that.
“I don’t think I’ll live a millenium. I probably have a few hundred years but a thousand? Not even close,” your heart stutters, a cold chill running over you, “You’ll all outlive me.”
Three growls sound in the room and you almost jump out of your skin in shock before you realize that they’re coming from them. Kol tightens his arms around you protectively as Klaus’ hands find your hips under your kilt, squeezing you like you just suggested you’re going to die tomorrow. Elijah drops from the coffee table, sinking to his knees in front of you and throwing an arm over your stomach.
“You’ll be living a lot longer than that, baby, I assure you of that.”
You reach a hand towards Elijah, curling your fingers through his hair on instinct, “I may be magic, Eli, but I’m not immortal. It’s not the same for me.”
He leans into your palm, rubbing his cheek against your fingertips, “that’s an easy fix.”
Your head spins, the pieces connecting in your head as you stare into his serious eyes. For the first time all night a tinge of fear zaps your chest. Immortality is no joke.
“You want me to become like you?” You look away from him and Klaus, who nods in agreement with his brother, “You want me to become a-”
Kol nips the back of your neck and you try to ignore the pleasure rolling through you in the midst of the most serious conversation of your life, “a vampire, darling. You can say it. We’re vampires.”
The word echoes through you, bouncing around your head and lungs, fluttering in your stomach before finally settling directly between your thighs. Merlin. You sit upright quickly, pulling your legs from Klaus’ dangerously skilled fingers, and all but stumble over Elijah and the coffee table in order to put some distance between you and the brothers. You scrub your hands over your face, your entire body feeling more alive than it ever has in your short lifetime. But you know it can’t last.
You keep your hands over your eyes, letting the open air sooth you for a moment before speaking, “I’m just a witch. Just one witch and not even a good one at that,” you peel your hands from your eyes, opting instead to tug your hair, “I’m more of a farmer, honestly. I spend all my time in the library or the greenhouses. I’m not mate material. I’m definitely not,” you swallow thickly, your throat closing all of a sudden and without your permission, “vampire material. You have the wrong girl.”
As soon as you say the words they feel wrong but they’re already out of your mouth and you have to live with them now. For a long moment nobody says anything. It’s just you standing in front of them, your eyes refusing to open and your hands ripping at your hair. Your legs tremble beneath you and it feels like your heart is trying to crawl out of your throat. If it can’t be with them then it would rather stop beating altogether. The cold air of their dungeon dorm nips at your legs and fingertips painfully and you revel in the feeling of something other than the torrent of emotions that you’ve been battling for the better half of an hour.
You feel a rush of air in front of you, forcing your eyes open just in time to see Kol standing in front of you. You open your mouth, ready to let even more words that you know you’ll regret out, but you find that you can’t speak. Not because you don’t want to, though, but because Kol’s mouth is now crashing into yours and, gods, does it ever feel like you’re breathing for the first time. Kol’s mouth is oxygen. Like before this moment you were dead and his lips are life. You grip his shoulders, your fingers digging into the taught muscle to keep yourself upright against this force of nature.
His hands wrap in your hair and he tugs gently, swallowing each moan like it’s candy and he can’t get enough. Your hands crawl from his shoulders to his hair, doing the same to him. He groans, a sound completely different from Elijah but so similar at the same time. When his tongue finds its way between your lips you see stars. Your blood sings like you’ve walked through a magnetic field, your veins buzzing with a foreign kind of power. This time you don’t feel like you’re home, you know you are.
Kol pulls back a fraction, his lips brushing yours while he speaks, “you feel that?” His hands move to your cheeks, your skin like a current where he touches you, “I know you do, I know you feel me in your veins, darling. I don’t have the wrong person. Fate doesn’t make mistakes. You’re perfect for me.”
Your eyes widen and you push back the swell of emotion rising in your chest.
A pair of arms wraps around you from behind, a riptide pulling you into an ocean of a man, “me as well, my little witch. Besides, I quite like farmers. Tell me, can you grow strawberries?”
You try to stop yourself from sagging against his chest but you can’t and you don’t actually want to. His head falls on yours as if he’s been doing it for years.
“Pumpkins,” you whisper. You don’t know what else to say, knowing full well you aren’t ready to answer the other questions, “I grow the best pumpkins in the school.”
Klaus’ chest rumbles like a cat purring against your back, “pumpkin pie it is then, love.”
You feel a hand close around your arm, pulling you from both Kol and Klaus and into a pair of arms that rival the dark forest. Elijah lifts you against his chest, giving you a moment to wrap your legs around him before he walks the two of you to the window. He looks out in the water and it eases you knowing that you don’t have to answer to his molten brown eyes.
“I know this is a lot to take in right now, baby. I know you’re scared and tired, I can feel it. You don’t have to make any decisions right now. In fact, I’d rather you didn’t. But just know that we’re here because something stronger than time itself brought us to you. No mistakes were made,” he catches your eyes through the reflection of the glass, “I’m ready for whatever challenges this brings. I’ve been ready for a thousand years, ten lifetimes, and I would wait fifty more for you,” he pulls you further up his chest, pressing his forehead against yours, “just think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”
You can’t stop yourself from pressing your lips against his, catching his bottom lip between yours, “graduation.”
He pulls back, his eyes wide and his eyebrows scrunched together, “what?”
You pull his face back to yours, stealing another kiss that he doesn’t hesitate to return, “I just need until graduation. I need to finish my last year here, it’s my home. After that, I’m yours.”
He crushes you against him as soon as the last syllable leaves your lips and you let yourself giggle freely. He looks at you in awe, a smile blooming across his face like he just won the lottery. Kol and Klaus are next to you in an instant, their faces almost mirror images of Elijah’s. Your heart soars at the sight of the three boys you met less than three hours ago who you’ve just promised the rest of your life, and longer, to. It sounds ridiculous still but nothing has ever felt so right.
“Well, brothers,” Klaus’ eyes shine happily, “it looks like we’re going to be here longer than we thought.”
#the originals#to#klaus mikaelson#klaus mikaelson imagine#klaus mikaelson x reader#elijah mikaelson#elijah mikaelson imagine#elijah mikaelson x reader#kol mikaelson imagine#Kol mikaelson#kol mikaelson x reader#Harry Potter#hogwarts#hufflepuff reader#hufflepuff#tvd#the vampire diaries
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The Bodyguard an epilogue
By Request: Our couple get married.
AO3
"No! I will walk down the aisle!” She isn’t arguing with a person but her own body. The stress of wedding planning, even with Geillis and Mary doing most of the work, has taken its toil. Mary, her maid of honor, looks at her with concern. There is a wheelchair prepared, complete with lavender and roses, ready to escort her to Jamie.
“Claire, it is okay. All will understand if you need to..”
“I know.” Since her engagement, she has been more open with her fans about her fibromyalgia. She even did an interview where she described a typical day and a bad flare day. She isn’t flaring but is close. “I just really want to have this day be perfect.”
“You are marrying the love of your life. It will be perfect.” She hugs her cousin gently. She is doing so much better, recovering well from the attack. The horrible man remains in jail and Mary still attends individual and group therapy.
“You are right.” She still meant to walk the aisle though.
It will a very Scottish wedding. The groom and his best man, Column, are wearing kilts as is, her Uncle Lamb. A bagpiper will play the wedding march. Her bridal gown has thistles embroidered in it and the crown that holds the veil. Mary now places it on her head. Pictures are snapped. They decided to allow some to be released of their preparation but none of the ceremony or reception. That will remain just for them.
Uncle Lamb enters and his eyes get teary. “You are so beautiful Claire. Your parents would be so proud.”
“Thank you Uncle Lamb. Them not being here is the only part of this day that isn’t perfect.”
“But they are love. I know they are looking down with pride.”
It is soon time. Mary gently hugs her before taking Column’s arm. Lamb looks at his niece with deep love. “This is right.” She says, almost to herself.
“That it is love. I’ve never seen two people more suited. Shall we?” She takes his arm and they walk to the door leading to wedding hall. They wait a beat for the pipes to start calling. When the wedding march reach’s them, they step out.
Jamie takes her breath. Resplendent in his linen shirt and kilt, his family’s tartan pinned over his shoulder, his eyes glow at the sight of his bride. One step. Another. Slowly they make their way towards the front. Their guests stand and watch. Many eyes are teary. Slowly as it is traditional and as it is all the bride is capable of.
Her hand is placed in Jamie’s and he whispers, “Ye okay love?”
“I am now.” She whispers back.
Their wedding vows are traditional. She knows when he vows, in sickness and health, he really understands what that means. Before the rings are blessed and exchanged, they have older vows to say to each other.
She is proud she doesn’t stumble over the Gaelic words as she vows along with him,
“You are now flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone,
I give you my body that us to may be one,
I give you my spirit until our lives be done.”
“As they have signified by the exchanging of vows, old and new, and by the exchanging of rings, they are choosing each other now and forever. It is with great honor I present Jamie and Claire Fraser. You may kiss your… ahh nevermind.” They are already doing it.
The End
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The Devil Inside - Part 4
Ugg, I did it again. This was supposed to be the last chapter but it didn’t happen. Sorry. Thank you so much for reading and your lovely comments and likes.
Pairing – Ivar x reader
Warning – jealousy, possessiveness, arguing, me making up words
For months your life ran more or less in the same way, that black Camaro like a waiting chariot, always ready to whisk you off.
Friday and Saturday nights were spent driving around, going to the movies or the mall, hand in hand with your gorgeous boyfriend, always ending up in his room to fool around. Occasionally, very occasionally, he’d give you a night off so you could stay at home and study.
Lunches were spent in much of the same way; in Ivar’s bed with most of your clothes on the floor. Kissing, cuddling, touching and tasting and... well...sucking. He had been true to his word, though, and despite the amount of time spent between your legs, you had not yet done the deed. In a way, it surprised you as he was so demanding for affection and you had done pretty much everything else. Made you wonder if he had his own hang-ups but some topics with him were off-limits.
It took some time but your friends were finally resigned to the fact that you were never around. Amanda going as far as to call you the person she used to know. They weren’t upset really but you couldn’t say they were thrilled with your all-consuming relationship. And it was all-consuming. You were in la-la land and when you weren’t with him, you were thinking about him; his cutting blue eyes, his gorgeous face, and wicked, sexy body. You had done things with him you hadn’t even known about so it was hard to imagine, once you did start having sex, how much needier he’d become. How much more he’d want you close. In reality, he craved you, and getting time on your own resulted in what you referred to as an ‘Ivar pout-a-thon.’ It was cute and if asked he would deny it, obviously.
At times it was difficult to understand his upset, his constant need to know where you were, who you were with and why. Yes, why was a big one for Ivar. Why did you need to do other things? Why did you need time alone? Oh, and why did you need to study at the library as he had a perfectly good desk in his room?
Love was new to him, like it was to you, and he just handled it differently. It was sweet though and you simply ignored Amanda’s jokes, when walking class to class, that you better text him and let him know you were on the move. Yes, on the outside, it would seem intense but Ivar was intense. Moody and brooding, in a constant state of internal struggle until you were there. You seemed to make everything better and with you, he seemed free; sweet and smiling, overwhelmingly affectionate, so incredibly loving, kissing, even in public, any part of your skin that showed. Always, always, always holding your hand. He called you his baby, his princess, bought you so many cute things, and kept a picture of you up in his car. Even texted in the morning to ask what he should bring you that day for lunch. And you were truly lucky as some boyfriends weren’t communicators. Not your Ivar; his messages were non-stop and he loved to talk on the phone at night too, always saying “just a few minutes more” until you were both half asleep and mumbling. He was beyond adorable, totally devoted and you felt cherished.
Ivar Lothbrok was the best boyfriend ever.
----
On that day, pulling out of school, he did not make the normal right hand turn to head to his place but drove straight and eventually into Maxwell Park. The flat-black Camaro roared on, hugging the winding road all the way up to the lookout, Ivar, as usual, holding your hand.
Killing the engine, he tilted his steering wheel up before releasing and sliding his seat back as far as it would go. Once reclined, he extended his arms out to you and you climbed over the console to lie on him. It took a moment to shift and settle so your weight wasn’t on his legs but then you snuggled in, eliciting from him the world’s loudest sigh.
“Why are we here?” you asked knowing by the strength of his hug and the deep crease between his eyebrows that his thoughts were heavier than normal.
“Where’s my boob?” was his response and you automatically unbuttoned you’re blouse enough for him to reach in and rest his hand where he liked to keep it.
The silence continued and you knew you couldn’t ask again so you waited and while doing so enjoyed the feel of your cheek on his broad chest and the smell of his neck; that perfect mix of aftershave and leather. Ahhh, his strong arms were wrapped around you and his lips were pressed to the top of your head. God, you loved having such a tall boyfriend and as attached as he was to you, you were a total leech.
But... it did feel strange that you were there, alone, so close and he wasn’t trying to grope you or kiss you or reach up your kilt. It made you feel a little insecure, in fact.
“I dated a girl last year for a bit,” he kissed your hair, taking his time, and you wondered where it was going. “Some chick that always hung out with my brothers and their girlfriends so... it seemed like it made sense. She was good-looking and stuff but, I don’t know... the whole time...it just didn’t feel like I thought it should. And she was my first. That’s supposed to make you feel something…like... how it feels with you,” he squeezed you tighter. “My brothers couldn’t understand why I broke it off but I know now that this is how it’s supposed to feel. Like it does with us. I would do anything for you. Anything. I love you so fucking much it hurts. And when we’re not together, it's like....it’s like...I can‘t....”
“Breathe?”
“Yes,” he exhaled loudly. “See baby, you know. You feel the same,” he kissed the top of your head again. “Don’t you?”
“Yes,” you whispered back, hugging him tighter not entirely sure you did; however, you did understand that’s how it felt for him, so…pretty much the same thing.
There was no question that you were in love! So much, but, if you were being honest, there was a small part of you, just a tiny part, you purposefully held back. It felt like the only way to keep a little power and not get swallowed up entirely. You still loved him though. Head over heels.
Tipping your head up, you looked at him and his eyes were shining with what looked like the start of tears and his expression was vulnerable and heart-stoppingly handsome.
Clearing his throat a few times, he looked down at the console between the seats.
“I wanna give you something.”
Popping open the compartment, he grabbed a small burgundy velvet box and you pushed yourself up from his chest to better see. It felt important.
Opening it, he held it up and showed you a locket inside. It was large and silver with a long silver chain and from the patina around its edges, you knew it was an antique. The entire thing was gorgeous.
“It was my mother’s,” he said quietly, watching your face as you picked it up, holding it carefully. “She always wore it.... even when things turned to shit with my dad. It was like...a symbol of her promise to him,” he shook his head as if just thinking about it was painful. “She wore it right up until the end like they might find their way back to each other.”
For a moment, he was silent but you could tell he wasn’t done.
“Baby,” he grabbed your free hand in his large one. “Let’s promise to never get lost in the first place? I want us to be together always. Hmm?”
It was hard to speak. You weren’t sure what to say but nodded your head, the gravity of his gift and his beautiful words filtering through, making your own tears rise in your eyes.
“Let me put it on you,” he whispered and took it out of your hand, spreading the chain to drape over your head. The chain was long and the pendant sat low on your chest, right between your breasts and you loved that it was so close to your heart.
“Ivar,” you picked up the locket again, running your thumb over the intricate, oval surface. “It's so beautiful. So special. Are you sure you want me to have it?” You glanced up. “It means so much to you.”
Shit.
Shifting his jaw around, you watched his face tighten and his mood begin to sink.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“I wouldn’t be giving it to you if I wasn’t sure,” he spoke in a low, slow voice, stressing each word. “Would I?” His nostrils flared and you could see in his eyes that he was hurt.
SHIT!!!
“I’m sorry,” you rushed, “that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry.” Immediately you leaned forward and kissed and kissed him, not pulling your lips away from his until you felt his body begin to ease and let you back in. “I’m sorry,” you whispered again, hugging him harder. “I love it so much and I love you. It’s the most beautiful thing anyone has ever given me. I’ll never take it off. Never.”
As if returning to the moment, he adjusted in the seat and cleared his throat, his eyes focusing on yours again. And thank god, some of the brightness from before was returning to his expression. Brushing your bangs away from the side of your face, he kissed you softly, so perfectly and with so much feeling, before pulling back and gazing into your eyes. There were instances like that, fragments in time, even after kissing you likely a thousand times, that he still looked blown away by you. Blown away that you were there and his and looking back at him with love in your eyes.
“My mother was the most beautiful and most important person in my life. Now you are. Of course, you should wear it. It is my gift to you.”
“Thank you,” you smiled unable to look away from his beautiful, sincere blue eyes. “I love it,” you whispered.
“And I love you,” he whispered back. “Forever.”
The ride back to school, holding Ivar’s free hand did not seem close enough and so you leaned over and rested your head on his shoulder. It was then that you decided that you would call him later that night and tell him you were ready to take the next step. The ‘point of no return’ you had heard it called in some psychology book or.... somewhere. In your heart of hearts, you knew that he was the one and felt that there wasn’t anything you didn’t want to share with him.
“What baby?” he asked, side glancing down at your smiling face.
“I’m just happy.”
Kissing your forehead, he mumbled that he was too.
In truth, you were also laughing at the fleeting thought of telling him right then that you wanted to have sex but Ivar was a walking hard-on! You’d never make it back to school. Instead, you decided to wait and tell him before bed on the phone. He was going to be thrilled.
Yes, everything had fallen into place. You were weeks away from graduation, you had met the love of your life and the future felt full of possibilities. Nothing could slow you down.
----
As expected, Ivar had responded enthusiastically to the news, so much so, you spent 15 minutes pleading with him not to try and sneak into your room. So, in the morning, as you dressed for school, it was a bit ridiculous that you took extra care selecting a pretty bra and panties to wear, knowing that they would last about 3.5 seconds on your body after entering his room. Some days, he couldn’t even wait to get home and made you take off your underwear while still en route. He loved stuff like that, evidenced by his nightstand full of your drawers.
So, at lunch that day, you were surprised when climbing into your waiting chariot that your gorgeous boyfriend looked rather serious and had two subway sandwiches sitting in a bag between the seats.
“We’ll eat here,” was all he said as he passed you your favourite veggie sub loaded with extra olives and pickles. Roast beef for him, of course.
You ate in silence and by the way he didn’t look over at you, you knew he was upset about something. In your head, you ran through your phone conversation from the previous night, analyzing what you could have said wrong, but your attention was pulled back when he started the car.
“We’re going home now?” you asked, trying to keep your anxiousness out of your voice.
He didn’t answer.
“Ivar?”
“Reynolds,” was all he said.
“Pardon?
“Reynolds,” he said again and pulled the Camaro out onto the road.
“Reynolds High? Why? Are you selling something to someone?”
When he didn’t answer, you reached over and squeezed his arm but he pulled it away and you were stunned.
“Ivar?” you mewed, sounding baffled.
“I want you to point out that guy you dated. The one you slept with.”
What the fuck.
“Why?” You straightened in your seat, confused but it was mostly dread that came over you. “Why?” you asked again, a little louder.
He still didn’t answer and it was not helping your nerves.
“Ivar!”
Inhaling loudly, he blew air out his nose as if barely coping.
“After we got off the phone last night, I was so fucking happy about today. But then....” he shook his head keeping his eyes on the road, “I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about the fact that you had done it already with someone else. It made me sick.”
Oh no.
“Why do you want to know who Adam is? “
“Adam!” he exclaimed, his voice shooting high. “Adam?” he glared over at you, repeating the name like it was poison in his mouth.
“Ivar stop,” you whined. “You knew that I was with someone before. God, it was nothing even close to what we have. Not even close.”
Stewing, he just kept staring ahead, his face frozen in the most miserable, disgusted look.
“Babe, pull over, please, so we can talk,” you were using your gentlest voice attempting to coax him down but he ignored you. “Okay, at least tell me what you are going to do once we get there.”
Still nothing.
“Ivar!” you shouted. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing,” he sneered. “I just want to see him. Know who he is……and I want you to tell me everything you did with him. Every detail,” he looked over again, shooting you some look as if you better not even think about lying.
“What? No!” you were dumbfounded but knew he was serious. “Ivar, it was over before I met you. None of that matters. I love you so much, Ivar.”
“It does matter!” he sneered again. “As long as I don’t know the details, it’s like a secret that the two of you share. My girlfriend is not going to keep secrets with other dudes,” his voice was dramatic as if he was talking about hundreds of other guys. “It’s enough that you’ve been fucked before.”
Woah. You felt punched in the chest. In the stomach. You felt attacked like he was shaming you and despite understanding it was all coming from his insecurities, it felt like a knife in the heart.
“Ivar?” you pleaded softly. “Please babe. This is crazy.”
“Crazy? You think I’m crazy?” he chuckled, glancing over, his laugh sounding awful and his eyes looking strange. “As far as I’m concerned, you are the only girl I’ve ever been with.
Ummm….
“Ohh-kay...,” you replied cautiously, “but that’s not actually true…. is it?”
“Tell me!” he shouted again. “What did he do to you?”
“Please stop the car. I want to get out.”
This was insane.
“Fucking tell me!” he kept at you.
“Fine!” you gave in, just wanting it to end. “You tell me first then,” you yelled. “What did you do with that girl before me? The one who was good-looking and stuff,” you mimicked him sarcastically.
“Barely anything,” he scoffed as if it was absolutely absurd that you were even asking. “She was a lump. Something that was just…. there. A body that followed me around all the time. I couldn’t cum with her either!” he announced as if that explained everything. “That’s how in-love I am with you. You make me blow my load so fast and we haven’t even had sex yet,” he shot you a sharp eye. “Your turn.”
Watching his demented expression and listening to his bullshit, you were floored. He was totally unable to see the situation from any perspective but his own twisted one. You were horrified…. possibly a little jealous and, maybe even a bit proud. It was true, you could make him finish quickly. Sidelining the thought, you just wished the hurricane storming inside of him would head out to sea.
“Tell me,” he snarled, “and then it will be over and we won’t ever talk about it again.”
That seemed unlikely, you thought.
“You’re the one dragging it out,” he added.
“Fine, I hung out with him for eight or nine months before anything happened. We started dating and fooled around a bit and then, well, we tried it,” you threw up your hands in defeat. “I can’t believe you.”
“Why did it end?”
“I just didn’t have those feelings for him. I just wanted to be friends.”
“How many times did you sleep with him?”
“Only a couple of times. I wasn’t... I don’t know... I wasn’t turned on. That’s it, okay?”
Apparently, it was not okay.
“Did he cum in you?”
“What!”
“Did he cum in you!” Ivar shouted.
“This is so stupid, Ivar.”
“Tell me!” he shouted again, the speed of the Camaro getting a little faster.
“The first time no, cause it hurt,” your eyes skipped over watching the needle on the speedometer rise. “It was my first time…..but…the second time he did…. with a condom.”
That was it, Ivar shrieked and punched the center of the steering wheel making you jump. Adrenaline surged through you and you were both pissed off and out of patience. Fuck you Ivar, you said in your head.
“Feel better?” you jabbed. “Glad you know. Are my answers everything you hoped they’d be? Done treating me like I cheated on you…before we met?”
“Don’t fucking mock me,” he growled.
“You know what. Pull over. I’m done. I’m getting out.”
“No.”
“Pull over right now,” you glared at the side of his face. “I’m walking back to school.”
Leaning forward in his seat, his hand squeezed the wheel tighter and you felt the car speed up a bit more.
Okay, you thought, he wanted to fight. Wanted to attack you and punish you for something that happened in the past. That’s fine, you could hit back, hard, and aim right for his soft spots.
Reaching up, you grabbed the chain of the locket around your neck and pulled it off up over your head. Unwinding the window, you looked over at him and dangled it out of the car.
“Pull. Over. Asshole.”
Doing a double-take, his eyes shot wide and he growled, taking a swipe at your arm holding the necklace but you shifted your hand away just in time.
“Pull over!” you shouted. “Or I’ll let go.”
His eyes blazed at you, terrifyingly, but somehow it worked. Magically, he hit the breaks and swerved off the road, the tires jumping from the pavement to the dirt shoulder on the side, jostling you both before coming to a dusty stop.
Run, your own voice screamed in your head and you tossed the necklace in his direction and at the same time pulled the handle on the door, shooting out. Thank god, there was virtually no traffic and you rounded the back of the Camaro bolting straight out into the road, across the street, not looking back when you heard him scream your name. There was an opening in the guard rail fence and concrete steps down which you took, two at a time, knowing it led to a path that cut through the neighborhood back toward your campus. It was the very same path you and Kim and Amanda used to walk back in the days before boys and cars when everything was simple.
On you ran, not stopping when you heard him call a second time and without looking back, you imagined him standing at the top of the stairs, crutch under one arm, watching you desert him. It wasn’t until you reached the edge of the grass hockey field at your school, that you stopped and bent over, leaning on your knees, to catch your breath.
It was…. The whole thing was…. What just…
You couldn’t process it. Couldn’t put thought to what had just happened. It was insanity and you felt a rise of emotion making you straighten and look up at the sky, your hands on your chest as if it might help slow your speeding heart. Were you going to be sick? Throw up? Were you going to cry? Scream? Nope. You stopped and.... started to laugh. You started to fucking laugh. You laughed until your cheeks hurt and your eyes watered. You laughed like a psycho who hadn’t just been accosted by her boyfriend. You laughed as if it was all one big fat game.
Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was something else…but it was hard to stop. Feeling sweaty from the run, you took off your cardigan and tied it around your waist, and headed off in the direction of school not wanting to be late for your chem class.
Not once on that walk over, with a dazed smile on your face, did you think about what Ivar would do next.
Next chapter
@youbloodymadgenius @whenimaunicorn @sweeneythots @funmadnessandbadassvikings @redama @mdredwine @didiintheblog @fields-and-fields-of-poppies @oddsnendsfanfics @youbelongeverywhere @hecohansen31 @naaladareia @blonddnamedhandz @lisinfleur @geekandbooknerd @edythofhastings @ivarsgoddess @where-beauty-goes-to-die @zuxiezendler @punkrocknpearls @snatcherheart @lordsexmachine @fuchsiagrasshopper @wilhelmyna @heavenly1927 @cececolbert @peachyboneless @xbellaxcarolinax
#ivar#modern ivar#highschool ivar#ivar fanfic#vikings ivar#vikings fanfic#Ivar and reader#ivar slow burn#ivar smut#ivar lothbrok#ivar romance
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Broken Things 13/24
by: mldrgrl
Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall
See Chapter 1 for summary and notes
Mulder can tell something isn’t quite right when they roll up to the ranch. The chickens are up in their coop and none of the goats are roaming around. The barn is shut up and Queenie doesn’t run to greet them as she usually does.
“Can you handle the team on your own?” he asks Jesse.
Jesse nods in the affirmative and Mulder clicks at Blondie and squeezes his calves against her sides. The horse starts galloping up the dirt road towards the barn. Mulder spots Melvin and Richard together on the rise behind the barn as he approaches. Melvin takes his hat off and waves.
Mulder pulls the horse to a stop and slides out of the saddle in one fluid move. He runs to Melvin and Richard, his heart galloping in his chest about as fast as the horse just ran.
“What’s happened?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything’s alright,” Melvin says. “We just had ourselves a little visitor yesterday that’s caused a bit of a hubbub.”
“Who?”
“Not who,” Richard says. “What.”
“A panther come by,” Melvin explains.
Mulder feels his knees weaken. “Where is she?” he demands.
“Who? The panther?”
“Katherine! Where is she?!”
“I think she’s up in the house. Let me tell you, you married yourself a regular Annie Oakley.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She shot him dead,” Richard answers. “Maimed him on the first shot, kilt him on the second. All quicker than you can say boo to a ghost.”
“And the two of you just stood by? Why weren’t you protecting her?”
“Well, hey now,” Melvin says, but Mulder doesn’t wait for any explanations or excuses. He turns tail and runs to the house to find Katherine.
When he bursts through the back door, he finds her immediately in the kitchen, setting the table. She’s clearly startled and drops the cutlery she’s holding onto a plate. He’s so glad to see her, glad she’s alright, glad she’s going about her day with normal things like setting a table. He throws his hat down, walks around the table to her, grabs her by the waist, and kisses her. Not on the cheek, not on the brow, but on the lips.
Between the two of them, he’s not sure who’s more shocked by the kiss. When he initially pulls back, her eyes are wide and that single eyebrow of hers is raised higher than he’s ever seen it. He can’t believe he’s done what he just did, but he’s not sorry for it. He shakes his head slightly, preparing to stammer out an apology anyway, but her eyes drop down to his mouth and the only thing he can think about is kissing her again. Instead of apologizing, he does just that. His arms wrap themselves fully around her, bringing her against him. She squeaks a little and her lips part against his as though she’s going to say something. He moves a hand to the back of her head to hold her just a little longer. Her hands come up his back to his shoulders and then drop down under his arms and around to his chest before he breaks away.
They’re both breathing hard. He holds her wrists where her hands rest at his chest and runs his thumbs up and down over hers. They stare at each other until she pulls one of her hands free and touches his jaw. She strokes the whiskers that have grown out since his week away and he reaches up and holds her hand to his cheek, squeezing her fingers.
“I, uh...,” he says.
“Is that your way of telling me you missed me?” she asks.
He almost sighs with relief that she isn’t angry. There’s a small part of him that took her hands in his so she wouldn’t slap him, though he would agree that he deserved it if she had.
“I did miss you,” he answers. “Did you miss me?”
“I...kept myself busy.” She smiles at him and he has to give a little laugh.
“Yes, you did.” He nods. “Killing panthers, I hear.”
“Yes, well.”
“You’re alright?” he asks.
“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know. I actually didn’t stick around to hear the full story, I just know we had a panther on the property. And that you shot it.”
She snorts a little. “Yes, a panther showed up, Queenie was fit to be tied over it. I was in here about to bake a pie when I heard her. So, I grabbed the rifle and I shot the panther. That’s all.”
“And you’re sure you’re not hurt?”
“My shoulder might be a bit sore from the recoil. It’s been some time since I’ve shot a rifle, but otherwise, I’m fine.”
He hugs her to him and sighs. “Kate, I think my heart tried to escape my chest when Melvin told me you had to kill a panther.”
“I suppose that’s why you came in here all crackpot and kissed me then?”
“I’ve actually wanted to kiss you for quite some time, I guess getting a bit spooked just gave me the courage.”
She’s slow to answer. “Well, it was nothing,” she finally says.
He loosens his embrace on her and leans back, keeping his hands at her back. “Killing a panther isn’t nothing,” he says. “I wish I’d been here.”
“Why? What would you have done? Tried to reason with him?”
“No, I’d have shot him.”
“Well, that’s exactly what I did.”
“Yes, you did. Melvin and Richard seemed mighty impressed, too.”
“Can we please move on from the panther? Tell me how things went in Fort Worth.”
“Good. We brought eight horses back with us to train up.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“I got something for you.”
“I told you, you don’t need-”
“I know, I know.” He steps back to fish the pouch and the ring box out of his pocket. “I don’t need to get anything for you, but sometimes I just can’t help myself and I’ll work on that little problem of mine, but it truly did brighten my day to do some shopping for you and I hope you’ll receive this with the intent in which I give it.”
“What is it?”
“Here.” He opens the pouch first and drops the gold band into her hand. “I wanted us to have wedding bands. We are married after all.”
He holds his hand out to her and she hesitates for a few moments, but then takes his hand and slides the band onto his finger. He smiles and pockets the pouch before he shows her the ring box for her band.
“I just don’t know that I can picture myself wearing something fancy,” she says. “I know you mean well, but I’d be terribly afraid of losing it or damaging it somehow and with all the work here, I just think…”
“I thought of all that.” He nods in understanding. “And let me tell you, the salesman had me on the hook for a beautiful blue stone called a sapphire and I wanted to get it for you more than anything, but I didn’t think it would speak to you in the same way it spoke to me.”
“I’m sure it was beautiful.”
“I got this instead.” He opens the box and holds it out to her.
She opens her mouth and then looks up at him before she turns her eyes back to the ring. She touches it softly with her fingertip. “A claddagh,” she says. “How did you know about these?”
“Well, I didn’t. Not until I noticed how unusual it was and asked about it. When I saw the stamp on the inside, I knew I had to get it.”
She takes the ring out of the box and tilts it to read the inside. “I will wear it,” she says, and gives him the ring and then her hand.
Mulder puts the box down on the table and holds her left hand with his. He moves to put the ring on, but she stops him and shakes her head.
“We’re married. The heart should be pointed down towards my hand.”
“I didn’t know.” He flips the ring between his fingers and then slides it onto hers.
“Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure. I have a few other things that I need to get from the wagon. Speaking of which, I should probably go on and help the boys with getting the horses settled. And I owe some apologies to Melvin and Richard.”
“What for?”
“Leaping to conclusions.”
“See if you can’t get things done soon, supper is almost ready.”
“I can smell it.” Mulder lifts his head and sniffs the air. “Meatloaf?”
“And mashed potatoes.”
“My favorite.”
“I know.”
“And I believe you said something about a pie?”
“Apple.”
“It’s good to be home.”
“It’s good to have you home.”
“So, you did miss me?”
She closes her eyes briefly and smiles. “Go on and help the boys. I’ll ring the bell when supper’s ready.”
He nods and turns to go. He picks his hat up off the floor and when he looks back, he sees her looking at her hand, touching the ring on her finger and smiling softly.
↭
When she thinks about that kiss Mulder gave her, her lips tingle. It was entirely unexpected, but not unwelcome. She may have presented a nonchalant response over it, but her insides had felt fluttery and jittery in a way she’s never experienced before. And then he gave her that ring.
She touches the ring now, twists it back and forth against her finger. It fits her perfectly and it’s exactly what she always wanted. Her grandmother had a claddagh ring that she had hoped would be hers one day. Those hopes were dashed four years ago. The wedding band she’d worn through her first marriage, until Jack sold it, was plain and simple. Just a gold band with a solitary opal. She thinks it had once belonged to Jack’s mother. Still, it always felt heavy on her finger. Unnatural.
After supper, she goes to her room and finds the new valise he’d promised her sitting on the bed. Inside, there are new clothes and fabric, a copy of The Taming of the Shrew, and a set of magazines. She has to sit down when she sees they are science journals, overcome with gratitude and awe. She’s hugging them to her chest when Mulder comes to the doorway. He’s trimmed his beard down and looks like he’s freshly washed.
“Thank you,” she says. “I know I keep saying that you don’t have to do anything for me, but I appreciate this more than you know.”
“I’m glad. It’s my pleasure. I was just about to head out to the porch for a bit. I’ve missed our talks.”
“Oh.” She hesitates and looks down at the journals. She’s eager to start reading.
“I’ll bring the lamp out. You could read an article or two to me from one of the magazines.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“Of course not.”
She takes her new shawl and wraps it around her shoulders and then follows Mulder outside to the porch with Popular Science under her arm. He puts the lamp on the table and she moves her chair a little closer to see better. She thumbs through the magazine for something that might interest them both.
“Here’s an article entitled ‘Origin of Color in Animals,’” she says.
“Sounds like a fable.”
She puts the magazine down on her lap. “That reminds me, I had lunch with Susannah and Monica, as you said I should do.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“Monica told me what auras were. She said that all people emit colors that tells you what kind of person they are, and that she can see these colors.”
“Huh. Well, that’s very interesting. What color do I emit? I’m sure she must have told you.”
“Blue and red, is what she said.”
“Those are good colors. I think. How about you?”
“Tan and crystal.”
“That must be very interesting for her. I’d like to see an aura.”
“You believe her?”
“If she says she sees them, why wouldn’t I believe it?”
“People can’t emit color.”
“Why not?”
“Because...because they can’t.”
“What if some scientist somewhere writes about it for one of those journals in your hand?”
“They would have to have proof.”
“Couldn’t someone’s word be proof enough? If you trusted them?”
“Well...no.”
Mulder chuckles. “Alright, Kate. Tell me about the animals and their colors then.”
She hesitates for a beat, but then smoothes the page of her magazine and brings it closer to read.
“Oh wait,” he says. “Before you start, I actually wanted to tell you that while I was in Fort Worth I met with a man who’s going to come out in a few weeks and survey the land.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve hired him to take a look at things and do some designs for an addition to the house and bigger stables, a new corral, that sort of thing.”
“Oh.”
“You sound disappointed for some reason. Are you disappointed?”
“Not exactly.”
“In my experience, that means yes.”
She twists the wedding ring on her finger back and forth with her thumb. “I guess I thought I just might have some say in the matter.”
“Of course you’ll have say in the matter. To an extent.”
She frowns. “I guess that means all your talk was just that.”
“What have I gone back on my word about?”
“Nothing. I just thought that...I thought that it was my land too. I went and paid the mortgage on the first.”
“With money that I gave you.” He chuckles as though it’s a silly joke, but she bristles at how condescending and placating what he’s just said feels. Her eyes begin to water and she angrily grits her teeth and knits her brow to push back any tears. She is so damn tired of being beholden to the whims of some man. Mulder had led her to believe he was different. She was foolish enough to think that he could be.
“It’s always been about the land hasn’t it?” she asks. “The job you gave me, it means nothing. My name on the lease is just a...just a farce.”
“Kate-”
“Don’t call me that. You only seem to call me Kate when you think I’m being unreasonable or foolish. When...when you’re referencing The Shrew.”
“I don’t think I do, and, well, you are being a little unreasonable, don’t you think?”
She gets up out of the chair and he grabs for her hand, which she yanks away, causing her to stumble backwards. He jumps up quickly and she flinches as her immediate retreat causes her to bang her hip into the porch railing.
“Sit down, honey,” he says, gesturing to the chair and holding his arm out towards her, but not touching her. “There’s nothing to get worked up about. You’ve dropped your magazine.” He bends and picks up the journal from the ground, flattens the bent page, and then brushes the cover free of any dirt.
Her wrist throbs from ripping it from his grasp so quickly and her hip smarts where she hit it. She holds her hand, rubbing the top of her wrist lightly and praying she hasn’t given herself a sprain. Cautiously, she perches at the front of the chair, takes the magazine from Mulder, and places it on her lap.
“Go ahead and do what you’d like,” she says.
“Kate...Katherine, I don’t understand why this has upset you, I really don’t. All I’ve done is hired a man to do a survey.”
She says nothing and stares out at the silhouettes of the treetops and the hills in the distance. The land is so vast it seems illogical that it should make her feel so claustrophobic, but it does. Knowing there is nowhere to go and that she’s trapped, once again.
“Talk to me,” he says. “Even if it’s just to tell me to go to the blazes, please say something.”
“I would like to go to bed.”
She doesn’t look at him, but in her periphery, she can see him twist his mouth. He grits his teeth and the muscle in his jaw jumps and quivers. She turns her head away just slightly.
“You don’t need my permission,” he says, and the sarcasm in his tone is more than a little obvious.
She doesn’t trust her knees not to give out on her if she gets up in that moment. She’s feeling so many emotions at once that she’s rendered almost paralyzed by the intensity. Anger, disappointment, sorrow, shame, regret, confusion. She doesn’t even know if she has the right to feel so hurt, but still, it’s how she feels.
“Fine,” he says, after she hasn’t moved for some time. “I’ll go.”
She swallows, the tightening of her throat a tell-tale sign that she may finally be powerless to keep from crying after so long. She will not do it. She will not cry over this. He slaps the arms of his chair as he gets up and she startles, shrinking a bit in her chair. Even his shadow in the lamplight feels overbearing to her right now.
“Do you really think I feel that this is a farce?” he asks. “If it was only about the land, I would’ve paid off the option as soon as we were married. I left the mortgage as it is because I thought you would enjoy the responsibility of it. Surely you realize it makes no difference in the end whether you make those payments or if I do if the money is coming from the same place.”
He pauses and then puts his hand on his hips and kicks angrily at the floor with the toe of his boot. “Dammit, Kate,” he says. “I bought you a ring. And you want to try to tell me I’m not taking this seriously? Or...or to imply that I don’t value or respect your opinion somehow? I don’t know how this conversation took such a turn, I truly don’t.”
She doesn’t know how it is, but words seem to hurt just as much as slaps. Her gut clenches and her hands curl into defensive fists as though she were about to fight off the blows. Her knees feel even weaker now than a few minutes prior.
Without another word, Mulder turns and goes back inside the house. It takes her a good ten minutes to be able to stand and go to her room. Her arms are still shaking and she has to hug the magazine tight and carry the lamp with both hands, very slowly. The door to Mulder’s room is closed and she shuts hers quietly as well and then curls up on her bed. She shivers and pulls her shawl tight around her like a blanket.
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Hall of Fame
Tonight, December 4, 2021, I was inducted into the NorCal Hall of Fame (It is also my girlfriends birthday. And she didn’t mind going. Score).
I am writing this, now, so when I am down or lost I can look back and try to capture the feels that I felt today....
Last night I wrestled in Petaluma and bruised a kidney (it feels like) and potentially bruised a rib (it feels like). I woke in a great deal of pain, came downstairs, and laid on the hardwood floor trying to stretch. And trying to get mentally ready for tonight. I was expected to give a speech and am planning on also wrestling. Even though as the day started I was struggling to get off the floor.
One of the things I push with the students of the SPW Training Academy is that things matter as much as you treat them like they matter. So while it was tempting to wear an old suit I felt I needed to buy new clothes. Something I never do. The only new clothes I buy are when a friend comes out when a new t-shirt.
I bought one of those vest thingy’s that you wear with a suit and a new dress shirt. To be paired with my Honor Society kilt because one must represent. Clothes are way more expensive than they should be.
I felt/feel silly to have the spotlight on me. Sure, there are matches were the story is about me, but really I am just happy to be wrestling and I have no problem with the other people being the stars. At last night’s show wrestler after wrestler congratulated me....and told me they couldn’t make it. So I was expecting a pretty sparse turnout. But from the moment I showed up and started receiving respect and love from everybody there I remembered that the people that do not come do not matter.... we perform for the people that show up. Regardless of how few there were.
And a bunch showed up. My partners (shocking). Scoot’s grand parents. Eliza’s parents and husband. Old friends. Most of the new students at spw.
Scoot and Frost, my boys, inducted me. And did an amazing job. I got emotional. My acceptance didn’t get as well as I wanted but I got a good reaction and the things I forgot to say I said in an impromptu promo after my match.
My match...... the Honor Society (almost all of us) against our senior student and three students in their very first match. The crowd enjoyed it. Everybody had fun. And I was an idiot and did way more than I should have and am now in a great deal of pain. Oh well. Whatever doesn’t kill you didn’t try hard enough.
Things that really surprised me.... how many people wanted to take pictures with me. The kind things that people said. The over all positive energy in the building.
For a moment... it felt like I actually mattered. And that is why I am writing this. So I can remember that today I mattered.
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Bloody, Beaten, Bruised or Maximum Effort
Quick Tag List: @kuruumiya @spacelizardtrashboys @enigmaticandunstable @nattinngrst @amyofaquitaine
This passage contains potentially: scenes of one (or more) characters swearing, blood, self-harm (unintentional) and scenes of a violent nature. whump content and potential tear-jerking moments.
Summary: In this 'chapter' Kirby has her first fight in New Jersey, and stay in New Jersey for a week, leading to some heavy whump content by a certain someone.
Kirby's POV:
Standard match, one on one with a ten minute time limit. Not much for a debut but it's made into a big deal upon learning the opponents were male and female and not the standard male on male.
Jobber VS Newcomer.
Andrew Strong VS Kirby 'Gluttony' Lucifarian.
The bell rings and the fight starts.
"Strong throws the first punch and misses."
"The Ogress capitalises and hits him with a Feeding Frenzy."
"Strong is backed into the turnbuckle but the Ogress continues her attack."
"The referee is forced to separate them and Strong gets The Ogress in a lock-up."
"A swift knee to the stomach and Strong is staggered."
"The Ogress hits Strong with the Organ Grinder and it looks like it's all over."
"She covers Strong and … one … two … three. She's done it! The Ogress has won!"
Walking back to the locker room, I caught a glimpse of Moolah as she sneers at me and I shrug her off, focusing on getting into some clean clothes and going back to the hotel. I change and walk out of the dressing room with my bag slung over my shoulder.
"Good work out there, Kirby."
I recognise the voice and turn to see André, "Thank you, Drey."
"Moolah, doesn't seem to like you girls."
"We're stealing the hag's time in the sun. She always hates people who do that, even if she brings them in. I'll see you soon Drey."
"See you soon, Kirby."
I start walking back to the hotel when I start hearing a voice behind me, gradually getting closer.
"Hey, Miss, I think you dropped this." A distinctly masculine voice called out.
I turned around to see what the person wanted. To my surprise they had picked up my wallet, "Huh, I didn't feel it fall out of my pocket, thank you."
The man handed it to me before introducing himself, "Paul Orndorff. I saw your match earlier, you're fast for a giant, tough too."
"Thank you, Mr Orndorff."
He looked over his shoulder, "Oh, well, I have to go, Piper's waiting for me."
"Uh well, bye Mr Orndorff."
He left without another word and I unzipped my bag slightly to place my wallet inside, zipping it back up and continuing back to the hotel. I spent the night in a cramped hotel room and went to the gym the next morning.
Setting myself up at a heavy bag and practicing as per usual, no interruptions, no one else near by to talk to.
It was as if my mind just drifted away and I went into this mental fog, no gloves on but punching as if I did, breaking through the skin on my knuckles and only stopping after I noticed smears of blood on the heavy bag.
I wiped it down and bandaged my knuckles before moving on to doing push ups, lunges, squats and other exercises that wouldn't leave me covered in blood.
I was alone for the rest of the day, so I ordered some pizza (simple, pepperoni) and relaxed in the hotel, I pulled out a sketch book from my suitcase and began sketching.
I didn't plan on sketching anything too important so I just went with what was on my mind, which happened to be Roddy, Jeez it's like I'm becoming emotionally attached to this idiot.
When I see him next I'll give him the drawing if I have it with me. I close the sketchbook and go back to the gym for around an hour, before coming back to the hotel and getting some rest.
I woke up the next morning (January 9th) and had a day much the same as the last, got up, did my morning routine, went to the gym, came back, ordered Chinese food and started drawing. It was just a shitty little thing, but once again, the Rowdy one came to mind.
What is it with Scottish men and me, is it because I'm a quarter Scottish, is it maybe because I believe in the folk tales and stories of old, of knights on white steeds, saving fair maidens and living happily ever after, while the monsters they kill or maim lie in a pool of their own blood and wish they could've had a different life?
I have no idea, and the idea of my own mind comparing me with those monsters makes me regret ever reading those stories while growing up, rather I should have stuck my head into scientific textbooks instead of tales of heroism and fantastical ghouls, then I would have never become and wrestler or met the amazing people in my life.
I look back down at the paper and decide to let Roddy have two final full page drawings on the other side of the sketches I've already drawn of him, I add in a small note on the page under a picture of Roddy that Sam had found.
The more I looked at the drawings and that lone picture, the more I realised the small details of Roddy's features, the strong jaw with a cleft chin, his hazel eyes? or are they dark blue? either way they intrigue me. And that musculature, Roddy's not slim but not a big man either, he's at that almost perfect weight to body fat ratio. Good lord, listen to me calling … Piper, Roddy, Him, perfect. I think I want to be sick, just to be rid of those thoughts.
Right as I run into the small bathroom I hear a commotion in the hallway and someone being thrown or more accurately, hurled into the other side of the bathroom wall. I take a deep breath, re-fix my mask into it's usual position and dart out into the corridor, right as the commotion ends.
The obvious victim of the bout was on the floor face down with a long, not to deep cut down the back of their left leg and was breathing heavily when I reached them.
"Woah, hey, hey buddy." I whispered to them in an effort to calm them.
"Kirby?"
FUCK
…
That Glaswegian accent, fuck, He's not even supposed to be in town, or is he?
"Piper?!" I whisper-yelled, more to myself than to him.
"Hey…" his voice trailed off, I heaved him over my shoulder and went back into my hotel room, tossing him down on the only bed and grabbing his left foot, reaching over to my suitcase and getting my personal first aid kit, nothing too fancy, some bandages, plasters, the bare essentials. I cleaned the cut and bandaged it, taping the bandage in place.
I glanced up from Roddy's leg and saw that he had passed out, "Shit." I muttered to myself, louder than I thought and his eyes flickered open.
"Kirby? Is that you?" His voice weak but still understandable.
I stood there, frozen to the spot, unable to move, I wanted to cry as I realised how badly he had been beaten up, his eyebrow cut, coming close to his eye, his hairline a mix of matted brown hair and blood that was starting to coagulate and then I started to notice more things wrong with Roddy's visage.
His shirt (a Piper classic, yellow with a wild cat graphic) was torn in several places, showing bruises and nicks in his flesh. His kilt, however, was fully intact, including his belt and sporran, though all of it was scuffed with little scratches, but no cuts.
"Kirby? Kirby talk to me, please?" He spoke so carefully and it broke me.
I dropped to my knees, weeping, and Roddy shot to his feet, before dropping down on his left side and leaning on the bed, getting only a couple of steps closer to me.
"Kirby, are you okay?"
"Roddy, look at ya," I took a deep breath in, "How can you be so beat up and worried about me? How is that possible?"
"Kirby? look at ya, you're crying over me? I thought you didn't care about me that much?"
I wiped the tears from my face and got Roddy back on the bed.
"Stay there, Piper."
"Oh, feisty."
"Roddy! Stay on the bed and don't move."
"Yes Ma'am."
I trudged into the bathroom and ran a long cold shower, and I heard him move off the bed before swearing and sitting back on the bed.
"I thought I said, DON'T MOVE Roddy!"
"Alright, alright. … feisty"
After the shower, I dressed in the bathroom after drying myself off and exited the room. I instantly noticed a sleeping Piper.
"I guess I'll sleep on the floor then."
"C'mere." He lazily waved his arm to try and beckon me over.
"No, Roddy, get some rest."
"Come here and get in the bed." He rolled over and picked up the duvet, lackadaisically blowing a joking kiss in my direction.
"Jesus, Roddy, fine."
I climbed into the bed and felt Roddy's arms curl around my waist and his face between my shoulder blades.
"Rod, get off."
"Wha'?"
"Get off of me."
"Why?"
"Aren't you married, get off."
"if I was married, there would be a ring on my finger," He waved his left hand in front of my face, "No ring, no wife."
"Oh. Still, get off."
"Now, would that be 'get off' in the, leave me alone, way or the 'get off' in the, I love you take me now, way." The latter a clear joke but it annoyed me even more.
"Leave me alone, Roddy."
He slid his arms off and rolled to face the other way.
"Small bed, Kirby."
"I wasn't expecting company, Piper."
"Your tattoos are nice."
"Sleep, Piper."
"I'm just saying."
"Roddy, you are injured, sleep."
"I looked through your sketchbook earlier, y'know, when you were in the shower, just flicked through it, and wow, you're a great artist."
"For the love of God, Roddy! would you please just get some sleep."
"Alright!, alright. No need to yell."
"One more word and I'm chucking you out the nearest window."
We both fell silent and managed to get some sleep, it wasn't until sunrise that either one of us awoke. As I stirred from my slumber I was face to face with the Scottish idiot. I yelped and, without realising his legs were intertwined with mine, fell off the bed with him falling on top of me, waking Roddy up in the process.
"Oh, well, morning sweetheart, did I wake ya."
"Rod, get ya damn 'Loch Ness Monster' away from me."
Rod's cheeks turned pink and he quickly looked down between our bodies before sheepishly standing up and hurrying to the bathroom, I took the chance to change into a graphic tee and some black jeans, not noticing that Piper had left the bathroom door wide open, until I heard his voice.
"Woah, so uh, all of you is bigger than normal?"
I yelped and threw one of my shirts at his face, before realising that I had thrown the shirt I was planning on wearing at him, "Wait, Roddy, I need that shirt."
He laughed before handing me back my shirt, "Uh, thank you … for …saving me last night."
"Were you even supposed to be in town?"
"Well no, but I …" He trailed off
"I can't hear you, Roddy?"
"It's nothing, really."
I continued on with my normal routine, mindful that Roddy was in the same room as me and injured. It wasn't until the phone rang that I had a problem, before I could reach the phone Roddy had already answered it.
"Who is this?"
I could hear a loud, angry voice on the phone and Piper got defensive.
"You think you're a hard man do ya?!"
Damien. That's got to be Damien, which means I am in some real trouble now. Thanks Piper, ya dafty.
"I'll get her to call ya back once you've calmed down."
He slammed the phone back into it's place and breathed out a hefty sigh.
"Kirby, is Damien your boyfriend?" He seemed instantaneously calm
I almost choked on air for a moment, "No! He's my manager, and he's like double my age. He's Vic," I paused for a moment, "He's my dad, as well as the other members of the D.O.D. We're not all his biological daughters though, just Vickie."
"So, he adopted you?"
"I guess you could say that." I avoided looking him in the eyes.
"Tell me the truth. Now!"
"Promise you won't tell anyone first."
"I won't tell a soul, now, why are you so, uptight, about who he is to you."
"First things first, my name isn't Kirby Lucifarian, it's actually Kirby Trevor."
"Oh, so Damien's not you're adoptive father, either?"
"No, my real parents are Heaven and Eric Trevor. Damien's Vickie's dad and only Vickie's dad."
"Are either one of your parents giants? or is it just you?"
"Just me, the closest person to me in height, family-wise was my uncle Rory. He's the reason I have the tattoo on my wrist."
I walked up to Piper and showed him the 'R' tattooed on my right wrist.
"So, he passed away?"
"Yeah. He died, eleven, no no, twelve years ago now, when I was Seventeen, My uncle Vaughn died a couple months later, he's why I have the lighter on my left arm, my uncle Vaughn was best known for being, in the nicest terms, a layabout smoker, and the smoke took him in the end."
"So, you have a lighter to remember a man who died by smoking?"
"Dark, I know, but uncle Vaughn would've laughed at it. Erik laughed at it when I explained it to him."
"Eric, your dad?"
"No, no, Erik, with a 'K', my old tag partner before I joined the D.O.D. I think you would've liked him."
"Really, now why would I like a guy I know nothing about?"
"Well, Erik's Scottish, He's from Edinburgh. He's tall-ish, then again I am a giant, so who am I to say what's tall, he's six-foot-five. He played the bagpipes when he was younger, he quit playing when he was twenty-three, same year we lost the tag titles."
"Rough," He interrupted "Continue, please."
"Uh, well. Erik's strong, very strong, he would compete in the Highland games and well, … I guess back then I thought I'd never leave him, until Damien gave me an offer I couldn't refuse and I left him. I had a whole life with him planned inside my head and I left it all behind, for what, cramped hotel rooms and breakfasts with André."
"You had breakfast with André the giant and you didn't tell me … You, You had a good Scottish man, and you left him, for," He gestured to the room, "all this?"
"Well I jus-"
"No," He held my jaw and looked me straight in the eyes, "You had a life, a man who obviously a close relationship with you, and you gave it up for breakfasts with André and shitty hotel rooms."
"I know I'm stupid."
"But you're not stupid, you saved me, I could have died in that hallway and you brought me in here, you stopped that bastard from killing me. I could kiss you."
"Please don't."
Sorry for cliff-hanger ending, but … END OF BLOODY, BEATEN, BRUISED or MAXIMUM EFFORT.
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Crash Course Love
Infinite thanks to @anna-swims and @elizabeth-beauchamp for being awesome betas.
AO3 :: Previously
16: Roses [Claire]
Tears spilled over, and I wiped them away angrily. Not again—not ever again.
I’d instinctively grabbed my mobile to get an Uber before I remembered there was no signal. Bloody fuck. I thought to my original plan to get a castle employee to call me a cab, and was just about to search for one when Jamie burst through the ballroom doors, frantically pulling his hands through the beautiful red mop of hair.
No, it’s not beautiful, you can’t think like that anymore, Beauchamp.
He spotted me immediately and I ran again, clumsily pulling up the hem of my dress.
“Sassenach—would you listen to me, please, it’s no’ what ye think—”
So he knew I’d seen them kiss. Why he felt the need to explain was beyond me. We were only each other’s alternative to loneliness, fake dates, no more than a convenient placeholder.
Why are you running then?
This small bit of logic caught up with me; I stopped abruptly in my race to the car park and Jamie ran into me, almost knocking me down. He grabbed me by the arms to keep me upright and turned me to face him. I hoped to hell I was not crying anymore, but my makeup had to be smeared across my face. I pasted what felt like a horribly false smile and slowly pulled my arms out of his grasp.
“Mr. Fraser! Thank you for accompanying me to this… event. It is almost over, though, so I think it’s alright if you leave now.” My voice shook, but I couldn’t help it.
“Sassenach, I just—”
“Don’t call me that!” I burst out, my hands cupping my elbows across my stomach. I was shivering and couldn’t seem to stop. I’d forgotten my coat inside. Jamie noticed and pulled off his fancy jacket, throwing it like a cape over my shoulders. I tried to shrug it off, but he held it firmly.
“Ye might no’ want to listen to me, but I willna have ye suffer cold or sick, Claire. Annalise and I—”
“Are none of my business. I know I’ve no right to complain; I was with you for selfish reasons too, but I have a small bit of pride left, you know.” I looked down at my fancy heels, mumbling that last bit.
When Jamie didn’t say anything, I stole a glance; I saw his expression—completely dumbfounded, mouth working open and closed but no words coming out. I huddled inside the jacket, much too big for me and inhaled the wonderful scent that permeated it.
No, stop it, Beauchamp, you can’t do that anymore.
Finally, Jamie sighed, shaking his head. “Sass—Claire, first of all, I didna ken she would be here. It turns out she’s an old family friend of the bride. Bein’ French and all, I suppose, ‘twas a great coincidence. Secondly, she kissed me. She was spoutin’ off some nonsense about makin’ a mistake, and that she wanted us to try again. I was workin’ out a way to put her off and go find you, when she was kissin’ me. I want ye to ken that I did not encourage her, or want it at all.” He shook his head again; crimson waves fell over his forehead but he made no move to push them away. I resisted the urge myself.
“What I realized then, Claire, is that the one person I did want—was you. At some point in this pretend relationship, ye became the person I wanted to see all the time, to talk to, to laugh with, to touch.” Jamie stood motionless, holding a hand over his heart. I trembled, but with something more than mere cold. “Do ye feel somethin’ like it, as weel?”
Forced on me by circumstance, he would force himself on me no longer, if I chose to reject him. We probably could not remain friends after this, however; we knew too much about each other and had endured things that took friendship off the table for good. But here was my chance to let him know, that he too had become my refuge, a best friend of sorts, in a short time—that little by little, he had provided the mortar with which I had filled the gaps left in me. I took a deep breath, my eyes drowning in the blue sea of his gaze.
“I do. Feel something like it, I mean. But Jamie… you know as well as I do what would happen if we didn’t work out. I survived it once, but I don’t think my heart could take it again.”
James Fraser, damn him, smiled widely and reached into his sporran. “Aye, Claire. Maybe this will convince ye.” He pulled out a sheaf of thick papers, and held them out to me. “Jenny made it—I just told her what I wanted to say.”
I reached out slowly, perplexed. Once in hand, it seemed like a small picture book, sewn together with twine. The cover read simply Sassenach in beautiful modern calligraphy. Scrollwork decorated the space around my name. It took me a minute to recognize the small flowers embedded in the loops—gladioli. I opened it gingerly, and my breath caught at the first image.
Bright purple heather leaped off the page. I rifled through some of the pages quickly, and realized they were all flowers. Heather meant admiration and beauty, as well as being singularly Scottish. Page two – daffodils, meaning new beginnings. Page three – violets. Loyalty and devotion. Page four – red asters for patience. Then, chrysanthemums for honesty, white camellias for destiny, morning glory for affection.
I traced the outline of a gardenia next, as tears began to pool in my eyes; like the flower, my tears symbolized joy, and I began to understand the depth of his message. A blue iris for faith and hope. I dared glance up at Jamie, who stood before me with a slight smile touching the corner of his lips, and the fingers on his left hand tapped nervously on his kilt-covered thigh. I gave him a watery smile, and tried to speak.
“Jamie, this… you—”
“Roses, Claire.” He reached over with a sure hand and turned to the last page. “Red roses.”
I heard myself gasp quietly as I took in the deep red of unfurling roses, my own name cleverly spelled out in the petals. Red roses meant longing, desire, and love.
Jamie loved me.
I felt as fragile and as brilliant as glass, as though I would shatter with a touch, and fall in glittering fragments on the floor. If I had meant to spare either Jamie’s emotions or my own, it seemed I was very much too late—I loved him too. I couldn’t speak, but I held out my hand to him, fingers trembling. I was glad of my glass face for once, and while I worked past the knot in my throat, I hoped my expression conveyed my own feelings.
He pulled me close against him, and I felt the heat of him radiating through the layers we wore. Cradling my face in his hands, he wiped away the tears with his thumbs and his mouth inched closer to mine.
“Tell me,” he whispered. “Tell me what ye want, Claire.” His lips touched mine fleetingly, the barest brush. The words slipped out before I could think.
“You. I want you.”
- - -
“Will it ever stop?” Jamie half-whispered, half-groaned in my ear. “The wanting you.”
“God, I hope not,” I said fervently, gasping at the sensation of his mouth on my neck. Frantic fingers made short work of my dress, his shirt and waistcoat, my undergarments, and his kilt. Jamie was indeed a true Scot.
As he lay me down on the plush duvet, I thanked God over and over in my mind that Crossbasket Castle was a hotel of sorts. After our car park declaration, we’d been too eager for a temporary refuge. Jamie then proceeded to explain the absence of his Jeep and his phone while I cackled with insane relief about the absurdity of our situation. We loved each other, we desperately wanted each other, and had no way of getting home.
“Well, I suppose I could ring Mary from the castle landline and have her drive us back after the party, but that would mean—”
“Sassenach, we need not go anywhere,” Jamie interrupted after rummaging in his sporran. Producing a credit card, he took my hand firmly in his and took me to the front desk. Right—Crossbasket had rooms as well. I stood breathlessly at his side while he booked us a room and tried not to blush as we received our key, waved the concierge away when he inquired about our luggage, and practically ran for the staircase that led to our room.
Now, in the room, I stifled a cry as Jamie’s tongue met the sensitive flesh between my legs. Arms encircling my thighs, his hands held my hips as I bucked and tried to both pull away and get closer.
“The walls are thick enough, mo nighean donn,” Jamie grinned, stopping in his task for a moment. “I want to hear ye.”
I obliged until release flooded through me, my back arching so I thought my spine would break in half. Jamie climbed his way back up my body, kissing and nipping and licking as he went. I took hold of his anatomy briefly and captured his mouth. Jamie gasped, shying away and I stared at him in confusion, my own body still tingling with aftershocks.
I half rose on my elbows. “Don’t you want me to—”
“Sassenach—Claire—I want to be inside you. Please.” His expression was that of pure lust mixed with wonder and adoration. All I could do was nod, but it was not enough for him. Jamie now came closer, his hands delicately framing my face. “I want to hear ye, lass,” he reminded me, his nose butting mine. “Will ye have me?”
“Yes, Jamie,” I breathed, tugging at his waist until he was positioned right above me, the length of him pressed against me. “Yes, I’ll have you. With all of my heart.”
That was the consent and encouragement he needed. Jamie entered me with exquisite slowness; I could feel every inch of him until he was seated to the hilt. There he paused, savoring the moment with a soft kiss. My roaming hands mapped the firm grace of the muscles and bones of his back as he began to move, sliding in and out creating a delicious friction.
“I mean to make ye mine, Sassenach,” he whispered, his forehead touching mine as our hips met again and again, my nails raking his sides, legs around him, trying to push him deeper and deeper. “Mine, and mine alone.”
Jamie paid me court with a humble patience I recognized as reparation—reparation for the previous year of pain, loneliness, and insecurity. While none of that had been of his own making, he understood my need, which I recognized was his own as well.
Together, we sought pleasure for each other; I pushed against his shoulder, and he took my meaning, flipping onto his back. I rode him for all I was worth, his hands on my breasts, on my neck, between my legs again. My vision finally fractured, lights bursting, spiraling sweetness coursing through my body. Jamie was not far behind; he shook in my arms at his own finish, shuddering with the effort not to move, not to hurt me by thrusting, letting the moment shatter him as it would.
I lay against Jamie’s chest, trying to catch my breath and he did the same. I was reluctant to sever our connection, and so it seemed was he. Jamie shifted my body, and we lay facing each other, his hand on my face and mine on his. I memorized the tilt of his eyebrows, the slant of his cheekbones, the slight dent in his chin. He traced the edge of my nose, the bow of my lips, and my tongue darted out to nip his finger. We laughed together, which did interesting things to the way we were joined. With a soft sight, Jamie rolled on top of me once more, the weight of him heavy and perfect in the hollow of my thighs.
“Ye were no’ the first lass I kissed, but I swear ye’ll be the last.” As I felt him move inside me, Jamie’s words crept into my ears, persistent enough to almost drown out my cries for him. They finally found their way to my heart, where they settled for good.
#outlander#outlander fanfic#jamie and claire#CCL16#one more to go#thank you for reading#stay safe and healthy
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The Kilt That Was Never Shown
For research purposes -- you know how it is -- I started to look into the Kilt That Was Never Shown. That, in turn, made me think I should write down all my findings since I find them quite interesting!
In BTS material we have these two pictures (as far as I know)
and then there is this monstrosity that made it into the movie.
Not much to go on, really, but at the same time… This is the Royal Regiment of Scotland wearing its No. 1A Ceremonial order of dress.
The No. 1A Ceremonial order of dress is to be worn on all State, ceremonial and formal occasions. Most important thing to note, though, is that according to the dress code, only officers wear the white cross belt -- WOs, SNCOs, JNCO, and Ptes do not.
This means that Merlin is an officer in the Royal Regiment of Scotland, and a highly decorated one at that. Do with this information what you want, but I for one think that there is so much fic material in here…
A quick breakdown of the No. 1A Ceremonial:
Glengarry (not worn by Merlin in the pics we have)
Archer green barathea doublet (gold details for officers, white for other ranks)
White collarless shirt with gold cufflinks (officers only)
White cross belt, worn under the sash in front and over it in the back, sword slings attached (officers only)
White waist belt with brass plate with cap badge
Crimson silk sash, worn over the cross belt in the front, under in the back, the knot should be just below the belt
White gloves
Govt 1A tartan kilt
Kilt rosettes
White hair sporran with two black tassels and white belt
Hose tops (footless stocking) in black and red
Scarlet flashes
White gaiters with 8 black buttons
Sgian dubh (knife worn in the hose) with cap badge
Black brogues
Broadsword (officers only)
Merlin wears the uniform incorrectly (the red sash is, supposed to go over the cross belt in front after all) and I really feel I need to at least point it out. Personally, I’m not trusting the production team’s eye for details in these movies so I’m just going to...
ETA: @tastymoves pointed out that the tartan very closely resembles that of the 3rd Battalion (Black Watch, infantry) which upon some more digging I found that the Govt 1A is based of that one. The more you know!
@elton-hercules-john has gone a step further and contacted the official Scottish tartan registry, who also says that Merlin wears the Black Watch tartan. They also say that the medals Merlin wears are not medals awarded to British tropes.
Thank you so much both of you! I’m loving this!!
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Supernatural Crack🩹tober
Day 2: Oops! All Flannel - Tartan Room
Plaid pillowcases. A matching bedspread. The pattern cascades off the fabric there, spilling out onto the floor in an orange and brown puddle. It spreads further, though, crawling across the walls and upholstered over every piece of furniture. Even the wooden sets, like the side table and entertainment unit, were scratched with checkered lines.
And, after using the bathroom, and seeing an ugly plaid, seat cover on the toilet, he realizes that's his breaking point. Dean storms from the adjoining room, followed by its haunting flush. “We need a different room.”
Sam looks up from his laptop, the table he sat at paired with an unnecessary picnic-like cloth. “We can’t,” he says, “you know how happy Jack was when we let him pick.”
Dean remembers. The others, too busy arguing in the car, pawned the easy job of booking a room onto Jack. Doe-eyed and eager, he leapt out of the car while Cas growled his opinion about the werewolves making an abandoned warehouse their den instead of a barn. By the time they exhausted themselves with that discussion, Jack returned. Boasting about picking the best room, one he was sure the Winchesters would love.
“This is all your fault, you know,” Cas says from the bed, flicking through channels. Dean arches a silent brow, waiting for him to continue. He grabs his duffel, dropping it by Cas’s feet. Rummaging inside for pajamas. “All you two wear is plaid, of course he’d be misguided towards this monstrosity.”
“We don’t only wear plaid!” Dean glances inside his bag, blanching at the sight of five different button-downs, all varieties of the same pattern. He feels Cas’s pointed stare, shoulders stiffening under the weight. “Listen,” he sighs, “not our fault the only shit strong enough for our line of work are these kinds of shirts.” He waves a flippant hand at the space around them, “This… this was a choice. An awful one at that.”
“And it was Jack’s choice that we stay here for the night…” Sam closes the laptop, standing. “Listen, if we work fast we’ll only be here for the one night. Think you can handle that much?”
Dean pouts, weighing his options. While he considered slipping out at night, forgoing his turn at being the little spoon for the classic design of his Baby, Sam’s needling painted a consequential picture. Of Jack waking up, noticing Dean missing. Asking him where he went, skewing his head in such a way like his father’s that his resistance will fall; Dean spewing his truth moments later.
“I guess,” he huffs, collapsing onto the bed. “The things you do for your kids…”
He feels the mattress shift, Cas slinking his way. Hooks his chin over Dean’s shoulder, nudging their heads together. “If it makes you feel better,” he whispers, “after the hunt, when we’re back home, I’ll finally watch that movie you’ve been going on and on about?”
His mood brightens somewhat, furthering when Cas’s offer is followed by a warm press of his lips against his cheek. “Okay… yeah,” he chuckles, turning his head. Meeting Cas for a kiss. “But I’m holding you to your word. You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to watch it with somebody else. Sam keeps shooting me down –“
“Because it’s a bad movie, Dean,” Sam says, going through his own duffel, “you told me that yourself!”
“That’s the point!” He puffs his cheeks, mockingly glaring at his brother. “It’s so bad it’s good, okay? You just gotta trust me – even the name. I mean, whoever thought ‘Fateful Findings’ was a good name?”
“The writer did, at the time I suppose.”
“Which makes it even better, Cas.” Dean nuzzles the other man, smiling, “You can tell he really tried, the whole things’ s’posed to be serious but you can’t make any of it make sense!” His chest hurts with aborted laughter, reigning it in to not throw Cas from his shoulder. Already he bounces from how Dean’s shoulders shake. “I promise you’ll enjoy it.”
“I’ll hold you to it…” Cas slips his arms around Dean, tugging him closer, “Now why don’t you get to bed. The sooner we fall asleep the sooner we can get out of here.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Sam left them, changing in the bathroom. Dean disrobes there, stripping into his boxers without care. Although he frowns at the undergarments, noticing the patterned style he wore. His expression sours further when he steps into his plaid pajama pants. “Do I really own a lot of plaid?” he asks Cas, joining him under the covers.
Cas caresses his face, thumb brushing along the curve of his cheek. “Dean,” he sighs, “the only plaid thing you don’t own is a kilt, and I honestly believe it’s because the thought never crossed your mind.”
“Oh… fuck you.” Dean leans forward, fingers twitching near Cas’s sides as he readied a barrage. He halts, however, when the front door opens. Cas pushes Dean off to a more appropriate distance, that won’t scar Jack. Not that he would notice, enraptured by a plastic bag he most certainly didn’t have when he left. “Hey, Jack,” he calls, startling the younger boy from his reverie, “what’cha got there? Is that the ice we asked for?”
Jack’s brows furrow slightly, then deeper as his cheeks flush red. “Oh,” he says, “I… forgot.”
“You forgot?” Cas asks, “How did you forget?”
“And what did you buy?” Dean adds, wrapping his arms around his knees.
“I was on my way to the ice machine, when I noticed this motel… it has a gift shop!”
“It does?”
He nods, smile widening as he moved closer. Opening the bag, he drags out his purchases. The sight of them causes all the blood to drain from Dean’s face. “Apparently,” he explains, “this whole town has a huge Scottish population. And the factory you were talking about earlier Cas, the one that was abandoned, used to be a clothing factory that produced –“
“Don’t tell me,” Dean mutters, “plaid shirts?”
Jack brandishes it proudly, swinging the pink-and-blue fabric like a flag. “They had this whole assortment, and I bought one for each of us!” he admits, dumping them out on the bed, colors clashing loudly. Dean’s eyes straining at the sight. “But there were a few more I thought would look nice… I plan on going back tomorrow morning, first thing in the morning. Can you believe it? We can have a whole new wardrobe!”
While Jack prattles on about the different types of plaid clothing the store offered, Dean slides closer to Cas. “Hey, Cas,” he whispers, head bowed low, “can you do me another favor, when we get home?”
“What is it?”
“Help me throw everything plaid I own into the furnace.”
(Day 1 - Pray for Sam)
#destiel#deancas#destiel fanfic#deancas fanfic#supernatural#spn#spn cracktober#cracktober#cracktober day 2#profoundnet
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The next of my follower milestone gift fics is for @chrysanthemum9484 and the prompt word is fane!
Pairing: GaaraNaruto
Word count: 1721
Rated: T+
Summary: Following a trail of rumors and dark secrets led him here to a temple so much like one he knows all too well yet this place contains something he could never have expected.
Follow the link or read it under the cut!
KO-FI and commission info in the header!
Fane and Fortune
The place was a lot dustier than he’d been expecting but by the time he finally stumbled across it Naruto wasn’t really in a position to be picky about temple cleanliness. His legs were aching, his food stores low, and his mouth was so parched for water he very seriously considered the merits of allowing one of the street curs outside to lick inside his mouth just to get a little moisture. When the monk who greeted him offered a friendly smile Naruto did what he could to muster one in return. And then he very promptly passed out.
Presumably he slept for quite some time, judging by the darkness surrounding him when he woke again. None of the rumors he’d heard painted any sort of good pictures about this place but it couldn’t really be all that bad if the monks were nice enough to care for his sand-logged, tired body. He couldn’t imagine who else might have hauled him in to a soft bed and cleaned the worst of the desert off of him while he slept. There was even a pitcher of clean water sitting on the table beside him that Naruto drained in one go without stopping, gasping with sheer relief the moment he stopped to let himself breathe again. Sweet mother but he hadn’t even noticed the pounding headache of dehydration until suddenly it was receding.
After wandering alone through desert heat for so long, the cool stone tiles felt like heaven against his feet when he swung both legs out of bed. Crickets chirruped outside the window and night blanketed the room with shadows but maybe if he looked there might be someone awake to show him where he could get more water. He would have liked nothing more than to dunk his entire head in a bucket and drink the whole thing dry. It wasn’t exactly a surprise to find the door unlocked but it did make him wonder again at the rumors that led him here in the first place as he wandered out and took stock of the empty hallway.
Naruto had been called a number of unflattering things over the course of his life, most of them boiling down to some variant of ‘stupid’. He was known in his circles for being someone willing to go places no one else would. Some might call that brave but Naruto did have at least a modicum of self awareness and he knew that wasn’t it, not really; it was more that he’d been blessed with a special sort of obliviousness that left him entirely ignorant of most dangers until he’d either walked facefirst in to them or they had already passed. Every scrap of information he’d been able to find on this temple had said it was a place to be avoided at all costs. Anyone else might have read between the lines to see the danger. All Naruto could see was his next big adventure. What could be more cool than finding the truth behind so many dark rumors and finally being the one who set them all to rest?
Being habitually oblivious did not leave him free of superstition, however, and as he wandered the empty stone hallways Naruto found himself jumping at every shadow like they might come alive to gobble him up. Maybe some of his friends were right, maybe he really had never grown out of his childhood. Only the active imagination of innocence could have him glaring suspiciously at a patch of desert flowers as he skirted around the edges of a meditation courtyard.
It was startling to realize how close the construction of this temple was to the one he’d grown up in himself. Naruto paused when he finally noticed it, the way his feet travelled familiar paths on instinct, how every corner brought him exactly where he’d unconsciously expected it to. When it clicked he could only grin. Obviously this must be why he was the only one not afraid to come here. Something inside of him must have recognized the call of home even so far away from the place where he’d been raised. Pearly white teeth shone in the dark as he grinned, footsteps picking up speed around every corner until he found himself jogging through the hallways, memory and reality merging with each other until for a moment he all but forgot that this was not his own temple, this was another place in another time.
He was brought crashing back out of his childhood days with a harsh abruptness as he careened through a door that should have led to a place of safety, the one part of the temple not even the old monks dared to set foot in. Naruto had always been safe there no matter how much trouble he caused - but this was not his temple. There was no ratty old fort waiting for him behind that massive statue everyone else refused to look at.
In fact there wasn’t even a statue at all. Naruto’s feet dug furrows in the dust as he skidded to a fumbling halt. Without that massive stone face glaring down at him angrily the room felt almost empty but that was not what caught his eye. Standing on the dais where there should have been an angry mythical fox instead there a man stood, hair as wild as the burning eyes that glowed with something between malice and curiosity.
“Who are you?” he demanded in a low growl.
“Shit, who are you?” Naruto demanded in return, thrown off balance by the surprise. His question didn’t seem to be appreciated.
“I, at least, belong here. Identify yourself or feed the one you have intruded upon.”
Blinking several times did not make sense of that but Naruto was nothing if not boneheaded enough to forge onwards. With a thumb jabbed confidently in to his own chest he declared, “I’m Uzumaki Naruto! Who are you? And where’s the statue, shouldn’t this place have, like, a really massive statue? Where I grew up it’s a fox!”
Despite the enthusiasm of his words it took a while to get a response. That wasn't anything new, though. His levels of energy had always had a way of bowling people over if they weren’t expecting it so he waited as patiently as he was able to. Eventually the man on the dais shifted to cross his arms, drawing attention to his chest, and it was only then that Naruto realized how he was dressed. Or not dressed. Thin plain sandals and a linen kilt of some sort left him entirely bare from the waist up but for the thick golden bands adorning his arms and either his eyes were lined thickly with kohl or he hadn’t slept for at least a decade. If they weren’t standing in a weird kind of faceoff Naruto might have been tempted to offer him a pillow and a quiet room.
“I am Keeper to the guardian of this place,” the man told him eventually. “You know of the Nine-Tailed Fox?”
“Of course I do, dattebayo! He always kept me safe when I needed to run away. Everyone else was always afraid of him but not me!”
“That is...unexpected.
Naruto hummed thoughtfully. It really wasn’t unexpected. Everyone knew to be afraid of the fox just like he could tell that no one else but this guy ever seemed to come in here even if there wasn’t a fox at all. The dust patterns didn’t lie.
“Hey, hey, so how come you haven’t got a statue? And what’s a guardian? Why would they need a keeper?” He had more questions, a whole lot of them, but he fell silent easily when a hand raised in quiet plea.
“It sounds to me that the Temple of the Leaf was not as open with their Keeper as the monks here. My name is Gaara and I would be happy to answer any questions you have. It is good to finally meet someone like myself.” The way his eyes seemed to almost skitter away from looking directly at Naruto spoke to a certain amount of shyness that was entirely surprising from someone with so much confidence in the way they stood.
Trying not to explode with the natural energy that many had told him over the years was annoying, Naruto allowed himself a large grin and nodded happily. “Great! Uh, we’ll start with how I’m like you then! Er, yeah, uh, also if you could, like, not tell the monks about where I’m from that would be awesome too.”
“Do they not know already?” Gaara asked with pinched brows.
“Nah, it took me a long time to escape that dumb temple so I don’t really make a habit of telling anyone that’s where I’m from.” Naruto scrubbed nervously at the back of his neck. He could remember the monks whispering when they thought he couldn’t hear them and the word ‘keeper’ had been tossed around more than once. It wasn’t anything they ever called him to his face, though, so he’d never put two and two together. Was that why they hadn’t wanted him to leave?
“Very well. Until I have answered your questions I will keep my own council on this. Come, we will retire to my personal chambers. This will be a long conversation and I would prefer to be comfortable.”
The man had barely finished speaking before Naruto was hopping up on to the dais and gesturing to be led away. “After you, then. Gosh I hope you don’t just invite everyone in to your room willy nilly. You know you’re hot, right? A guy might get the wrong impression!”
Somewhere in between laughing and trying to cover the hope in his words Naruto was delighted to see a blush spread across Gaara’s cheeks. Whether or not he understood all the answers he was about to get to questions he had even known existed, there was at least one good thing bound to come out of this adventure so many had tried to talk him out of. If he hadn’t come here then he never would have met Gaara and, judging by the considering looks coming his way, Naruto was pretty sure that Gaara was as happy as he was to have this unexpected chance.
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the storm before the calm (f. andersen) | 3
A/N: I continue to be baffled by the response to this fic. It’s overwhelming! Keep those canon questions coming!
TW: mention/explanation of EDs, EDNOS/OSFED
While alone in his hotel room one night, after most of the guys had left to go to a bar, Fred decided to conduct an in-depth search of Aleida Casillas. He knew there were a lot of things she wasn’t telling him, and that he couldn’t really trust the word on the street from girls like Serena. So he went digging.
The first links that came up were fashion related. Things she wore to events put on by the Toronto International Film Festival, by Toronto Life magazine, by various other institutions in the city that always liked to have charity galas and fundraising parties so people with money felt like important, morally conscious philanthropists when they wrote $10,000 cheques for their tables. There were a lot of pictures. And she looked beautiful in all of them. Stylish and classy and just plain good. Everything fit to perfection. He could see why she was a model – at least an apparent model – even though she never talked about it. Her body was to die for. People went under the knife to look like her.
Other articles appeared from her past. There was a photo of her as a teenager, posing in her school uniform, the kilt and blazer in full effect. There was a family photoshoot when Hello! Magazine did a ten page spread of their newly renovated mansion in Rosedale, another spread from when their dad celebrated his 60th birthday party at the Shangri-La, and modelling shots from her Instagram profile and designers’ Instagram profiles.
World-renowned cardiologist, Dr. Felipe Casillas, and his wife, plastic surgeon Dr. Leonor Casillas, invite us into their home!
Youngest daughter Aleida, 17, who was just recently accepted into the University of Toronto’s faculty of music, poses with her older sister Alejandra, 21, recently accepted to the University of Toronto’s faculty of medicine, are pictured above. Alejandra is keen to follow in her parents’ footsteps and enter the medical profession. “It’s important to me to carry on the legacy that my parents have established in Toronto,” she says.
Aleida, for her part, loves music. “I think if Aleida could sing every day, she would,” Leonor laughs. “She has been playing piano since she was a child. Aleida is far from a doctor, so it’s only natural for her to want to pursue it instead of medicine.”
Fred was irked at the comment. He clicked on other articles and read on.
Aleida Casillas, 21, poses front row at Alexander McQueen’s London Fashion Week show. Casillas has just graduated with a degree in music. “Perfect for serenading,” she flirts into our camera.
Click.
Toronto socialite and all-around beauty Aleida Casillas knows a thing or two about fashion. After attending Branksome Hall with up-and-coming designer Genevieve Jones, the daughter of renowned cardiologist Felipe Casillas and plastic surgeon extraordinaire Leonor Casillas knew it was a no-brainer to support the designer as she launched her first collection. She does, after all, have all the best connections. Who wouldn’t want to attach themselves to Aleida?
Click.
TDOTDIRT.com:
Aleida Casillas is hot – we all knew that. But did we know she’s fuckin’ smokin’ hot?
Check out her tits in her newest modelling shoot for Genevieve Jones. Those nips poking through? Nice. And let’s not get started on her ass…
Aleida is probably the hottest girl in Toronto. Too bad she’s got a stick up her ass.
Click.
Aleida Casillas sits front row at the Genevieve Jones fashion show after modelling for the brand.
Click.
Aleida’s tight body—
Click.
Equestrian pursuits have always been a passion for the Casillas family. Dr. Felipe Casillas, the cardiologist responsible for the successful quadruple bypass of former Prime Minister Brian Mulroney, brings us to the horse farm where his family’s horses are kept. Left, Dr. Casillas’s youngest daughter, Aleida (15), poses with her horse Concordia.
Click.
Who wouldn’t want to slap Aleida’s tight ass—
Click.
TODIRT.com: Sent to us from a reader:
If ANYONE ever runs into Aleida Casillas RUN THE OTHER WAY!!!!! That girl is the BIGGEST BITCH in the city of Toronto. She thinks she owns the city cause her family is rich! I PERSONALLY saw her ruin a date right in front of me by FLIRTING with the guy IN FRONT OF THE GIRL!!!!! She’s a heartless bitch!!!!! And she thinks she’s such hot shit because she’s in magazines and models and is popular on Instagram, but NOBODY LIKES HER!!!!!
Click.
Aleida Casillas keeps her Cuban roots close to her heart. She returns to Havana every year, where her family is one of the few who own a historic mansion in Miramar, to return to the place she has such find memories of.
Click.
If u check the insta of @aleidacasillas she posted a story of her at the leaf game. she’s def in the wag section. is she dating someone on the leafs?
Who?
omg aleida casillas is at the leaf game. basically confirms she’s dating someone on the team.
Who is this girl you guys keep talking about? Is she a known bunny?
Aleida Casillas is one of the biggest socialites in Toronto. These anons are reaching. If she was dating a Leaf, we’d know about it. Trust me. She’d make us know about it. She has no shame.
Um okay?
Click.
Lock.
He was left more confused than when he had started – at least somewhat. There was so much to know about her, so much that she was already telling him but so much he still needed to know. More than anything, he didn’t know how he didn’t know her before this. How it had to come to finding her crying in order to know who she was when she was already in the public eye and there was so much to find out about her.
He sighed.
He unlocked his phone again.
You have horses? he typed and sent off the message. He had no idea how she would react.
I have one horse, Mars. I’ve had horses.
Who told you?
I googled it
You must have found out a lot then
Nothing as important as what you tell me when we’re alone
God, he didn’t expect that to come out like it did. He was a grown man who wanted to hide beneath the covers.
Well aren’t you a lucky boy
I didn’t mean it like that
I know you didn’t
My attitude doesn’t come through via text. Sorry.
What are you up to?
Why haven’t you told me about your family?
Because I don’t think they’re very proud of me
I don’t think I ever lived up to their expectations, but my sister did
And that’s created tension
At least to me
They try to hide it but I know they’re disappointed
I doubt they’re disappointed in you
You’re successful
No I’m not
Not like them
Fred stared at the message for a long time – probably too long. Because before he could begin typing out a message – what he would say, he didn’t know – she’d already sent something again.
Go to bed Fred. Big game tomorrow.
God forbid people find out I’m the one to keep you up, right?
***
Fred watched intently as Aleida walk into the café. She was dressed in tight black pants, a tucked in black turtleneck, and a stylish brown plaid blazer. Her hair was styled in loose curls and it bounced so effortlessly, like she was in a shampoo commercial. Jewelry dripped off of her. On her neck, a multistrand pearl necklace hung over her turtleneck, the diamond clasp holding it together shining bright in the light. On her ears, pearl studs. On her wrist, stacks of Cartier Love bracelets she had obviously put on recently. On her fingers, a large emerald cut light green amethyst on a gold band on one hand; an equally as large emerald cut pale pink morganite ring on a gold band on the other.
He shivered thinking about how much money she was wearing. Why she was wearing so much money. She approached the table and set her purse down on it – a Birkin, naturally – obscuring the view of what was on their table from the rest of the café-goers. “Thanks for getting a table at the back,” she said, not even saying hello.
It was a point of pain for Fred that she was averse to being seen with him in public, unless it was at the backs of restaurants or cafes where very few people would see them. He tried to not let it get to him, but it was proving hard. “Yeah, no problem,” he said absent-mindedly. “Why are you all…” he didn’t finish his sentence, instead deciding to do jazz hands to signify how dressed up she was. Not that she didn’t dress up all the time – it was mostly a statement on the jewelry.
“I met with my friend Genevieve,” Aleida revealed, sitting down in her seat. “You must have heard about her in your readings.”
“The designer.”
“Yeah,” she nodded her head. “We did some new shots of her new pieces for Instagram, which is why…” she held up her hands, jingling her fingers like he’d just done, and motioned to her necklace. “Clothes are hers. Jewelry is mine.”
“You didn’t want to go home and change?” Fred asked.
Aleida’s brow’s furrowed. “Why? Do I not look good?”
“No! No no! You look incredible—”
“Then why would I change?”
“I – forget it,” Fred shook his head. “How are you?”
Aleida shook her head slightly. There were a few moments where it looked like she was going to say something, but she didn’t. She’d stop herself. “I’ve been thinking about the stuff we talk about,” she began, getting right into it. No formalities; no small talk. “And I don’t…I don’t know why you’re still here.”
Fred was perplexed. “What do you mean?”
Aleida sighed. “I’m just not…” her voice cracked slightly. “I’m not a good person. And you are. And I don’t know why you’re sticking around when it’s so obvious we’re like fire and ice.”
“Aleida, when are you going to get it through your thick skull that none of that matters,” he said, reaching over the table to hold her hand.
This time, there was no flinching. But she did tug away, and there was a sharp intake of breath as his hand refused to let go, even after being dragged further across the table. “Don’t do that,” she said, barely above a whisper.
“Why not?”
“Because if you do, I’ll melt into you.”
Fred’s heart skipped a beat at her words. “What’s so wrong with that?” his voice was soft.
Aleida shook her head again, like she was trying to deny not only Fred but herself too of the nonsense that was coming out of her mouth. “I can’t…I can’t…”
“Why not?”
“I can’t corrupt you.”
Fred looked at her like she was crazy, because she was really sprouting some nonsense now. He didn’t know where she was getting this from – where her mind would go when she was alone and overthought things – but if this was the result of a mind too active to think rationally, he didn’t like it. “You’re not corrupting anyone,” he stressed.
“I’m too much for you.”
“Maybe you’re just what I’ve been looking for.”
Aleida continued to shake her head. She was stubborn – he had to give her that. And quite hard-headed. “You’re looking for balance. You said so yourself,” she said. “I can’t give you balance.”
“Who are you to tell me what kind of balance I need,” he said back to her. “Maybe you’re the balance I need.”
“Fred,” she stressed his name, “you don’t understand. I’m not in a good place emotionally and I haven’t been for months – some would argue years – and –”
“Aleida, stop it,” he said firmly. The stubbornness and hard-headedness were hard to get through but he could be that right back at her if she was going to be like this – putting herself to blame for things. “I’m going to be in your life whether you like it or not.”
“But why? Why?” she demanded.
“It’s not obvious to you? I like you, Aleida. Can’t you see that?”
She looked at him, bewildered. Like he’d just grown another head. “You like me?”
“Of course I like you,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You honestly think I don’t?”
“You – you mean you think I’m beautiful,” she attempted to correct him.
“No. Well – yes – that too – but besides that. I like you. However you present yourself to me. However you are. I like you.”
Aleida looked mystified. Like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Like it was a foreign concept that someone could like her and want to be around her willingly without bringing her beauty into it. He wondered what made her think this way – what made her think the only reason people stuck around was her beauty. “Listen, Aleida—”
“Aleida?” a voice suddenly interrupted their conversation.
All the emotion drained from Aleida’s face as she violently tugged her hand away from his grasp and hid it underneath the table. She looked up and noticed an all-too-familiar face at the waiting area of the bar. Fred looked behind him to see a woman walking towards them. Dressed impeccably – much like Aleida – except with less jewels draping off of her, although he still noticed similar Cartier love bracelets and a gold necklace. Fred figured she didn’t come straight from a modelling shoot. Although, the more he stared at her, the more he noticed similarities between the two women.
“What are you doing here?” the woman asked, a nice smile on her face. She had beautiful, clear skin; long dark brown hair slicked back into a ponytail with a trendy headband; full lips painted with a neutral pink. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here after you didn’t answer my text this morning! I thought you might have dropped by the clinic.”
Fred looked between the woman and Aleida. Aleida caught him staring, and when she did, she knew she would have to explain. There was no way getting out of it. “This is my sister Alejandra,” she explained quickly, with no enthusiasm in her voice. “Alejandra, this is Frederik.”
Alejandra. It took a second for Fred to realize that she was Aleida’s sister. But after taking another look at her, and noticing their similar facial structure, noses, cheeks, and lips, he wondered why he didn’t see it sooner. He cracked a polite smile. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you,” he said, extending his hand.
“So this is Frederik Andersen,” she smiled, shaking his hand. “You look different without your goalie mask on.”
Fred chuckled slightly. “Yeah.”
“Sorry if you get that a lot. When my husband found out Aleida somehow befriended you it was a big shock to us all.”
“Oh, that’s no problem,” he said. His eyes flashed to look at Aleida quickly, who looked more nervous and uptight than usual. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Aleida has told me a lot about you.”
“Did she tell you she was supposed to come visit our clinic this morning?” Alejandra slightly laughed, shifting her attention back to her sister. “Where were you?”
“I had a shoot.”
“A shoot?”
“With Genevieve.”
“You had a modelling shoot with Genevieve.”
“Yes.”
“Oh, alright,” Alejandra accepted Aleida’s excuse nicely enough. She didn’t put up much of a fuss. “Mom was wondering if you’re still coming to dinner Wednesday night. She didn’t get a text back from you.”
“I’m coming.”
“Fred, would you like to join?” Alejandra asked.
Before Fred could even breathe – before he could even entertain the notion of getting dressed up, going to Aleida’s parents’ house, meeting them and interacting with them for an entire night like Alejandra was proposing – he noticed Aleida’s eyes bulge out of their sockets at Alejandra’s question. “Fred has a game Wednesday,” she said quickly, answering for him.
“Oh…okay then. Next time,” Alejandra nodded, smiling politely again. She focused back on her sister. “Did you eat today? Since you were supposed to come for breakfast.”
Aleida tried not to glare at her sister. “I’m trying to eat right now.”
“No foam latte for Alejandra!” the barista called out, placing a large takeout cup on the bar. Fred, Aleida, and Alejandra looked towards the cup before looking back at each other.
Alejandra smiled at them. “Guess I better get going – Oliver is waiting outside anyway. It was really nice to meet you Fred,” she said, extending her hand one last time.
“You too.”
“I’ll have to have you over for dinner or drinks sometime, whenever Aleida lets me,” she winked at them. “Take care.”
Fred watched as she walked out of the café, meeting with a man waiting that Fred could only assume was her husband Oliver before the continued down the street. He looked back at Aleida, who was already looking down at her empty plate, not bothering to watch her sister. “So that was Alejandra?” Fred asked.
“Doctor Alejandra Casillas-Rowe,” Aleida said her full name pretentiously, rolling her eyes.
“She was nice.”
“I guess.”
“You look like her,” Fred commented.
Aleida finally looked him in the eye. She snorted at his comment. “She looks like me. She made herself look like me.”
Fred didn’t want to get into it. There was obviously something there that he didn’t want to get in the middle of. Relationships between sisters were notoriously…complicated. He figured this was no different, especially considering the way Aleida was and what she had already told him about Alejandra living up to their parents’ expectations and Aleida not.
Instead, Fred reached under the table to hold her hand again. This time, she didn’t tug away.
***
“This is the big boy who was looking for you that one time,” Frank, the drummer in Aleida’s band, purred as he was introduced to Fred at Aleida’s house during a “gathering” she was having. He eyed Fred up and down even as he spoke. “A very, very big boy.”
“Stop scaring him,” Aleida giggled, pinching the skin on Frank’s forearm.
“Didn’t you?” Frank quipped.
“Apparently not,” she wiggled her eyebrows.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Fred added.
“You are. And believe me, that says a lot,” Frank said.
Fred felt Aleida snake her arm around his bicep. He tried not to shiver at the contact – at the fact that for the first time, it was her that initiated the contact. “He’s gotta meet everybody else. We’ll be back.”
Frank scoffed playfully. “But he’s a tall glass of water and I’m not done drinking!” he complained, giving Fred yet another up-down.
“Goodbye Frank,” Aleida whisked Fred away.
As Aleida began introducing Fred to everyone, he made sure to keep track of their names and their instruments. There was Frank, the drummer; and Celeste, the saxophone player; and Malakai, the trumpet player; and his twin brother Marcellus, the trombone player; and Oscar, who played guitar on a vintage archtop; and Gina, the bassist, both double bass and electric; and Aleida of course, the pianist and singer. As he met them, they all gave him knowing looks.
These were the members of Aleida’s band, The Havana Cats – her second family. They had been with her since she was twenty, when they all met magically one night at some bar downtown and realized they all played instruments and had a nagging desire to start some form of band as a means to relax from stressful university workloads. And they did – they formed a band and jammed in rented out studio space or in someone’s garage. But then they got good. Really good. And then Marcellus got the bright idea to book them a gig. And they played it and did really well, so the owner asked them back. Again. And again. And again. And then they incorporated themselves into a business, and got booked at bigger clubs and more exclusive events thanks to Aleida’s name, and soon enough, they were booked a lot.
And they stuck together.
Most had day jobs – Malakai and Marcellus worked for the same financial securities firm, Gina worked as a web designer, Celeste as a music teacher, and Frank as waiter in an upscale restaurant – but their real passion was the music. They were booked most weekends, at either private events, galas – like where Aleida had performed the same night she met Fred – or the odd jazz bar in downtown Toronto – like where Fred had watched them last.
Genevieve was at the party too, tall and statuesque, with an air of grace about her that Fred immediately felt the minute he was introduced to her first. They made polite small talk – she asked about the team, he asked about her being a designer – before the band came over all in one go. That was when things got hectic. But despite everybody being there, treating Aleida’s townhouse as if it were their own, eating all the food on the island and playing all the music from the speakers, Fred knew that Aleida was surrounded by people she loved, and people that loved her.
There were moments when Fred would watch Aleida and he knew she was happy – that the smile on her face and the slight crinkles of her eyes were signs of pure, true, genuine happiness as she was surrounded by them. There were moments when their eyes would meet across the room and she’d wink at him and he’d wink back, and he knew she wasn’t playing a game – that the wink was a genuine, deliberate act on her part to flirt in front of people she was comfortable with. There were moments when she’d come up to him sitting at the bar and she’d stand in between his large legs as he sat on a barstool, and her body would be dangerously close to his, and her fingertips would graze his thigh or he’d bring his own hands up to lightly touch her hips or lower back or backs of her thighs and a blush would overcome her cheeks, and he knew she wanted to be there – that she wanted to be close to him, physically close, and that her guard was down, which was why she was even doing all of this in the first place. She must have taken the conversation at the coffee shop to her heart, because there was no fighting, there were no stupid excuses, and there wasn’t any confusion about the feelings shared.
Fred was seeing the happy Aleida. The true Aleida. What Aleida could look like. What Aleida was like, at her core. Without…everything else around her.
It was the most attracted he had ever been.
The band began to argue about whether or not they should jam out a few songs. Oscar had already picked up the acoustic guitar sitting in the corner and was strumming random chords. Celeste was offering songs. Malakai was shooting them all down. Fred’s hands were cold as Aleida had walked away from him, leaving him unable to touch her and feel his fingers burning as he did so. He watched her kick Frank off her piano. A Steinway Model D Concert Grand, it cost over $150,000. Most people didn’t even have them in homes, because of their size and the fact that it was a concert piano meant for a giant stage, but Aleida did. It was her baby. And it wasn’t for fooling around with. So Genevieve was explaining to him.
“Aleida’s a treat, isn’t she?” Genevieve was quiet as the band continued to argue. The sound of a few quick piano chords filled the room.
“She definitely is.”
“You know, Fred, it’s really telling that you’re still here.”
Fred gave her a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“There’s a fire inside of Aleida,” Genevieve explained. “Not many people are able to handle the heat.”
Leave it to a fashion designer to speak in metaphors. What was the fire supposed to represent? Her personality? Her issues? Fred wished Genevieve would just say what’s on her mind. “I know she’s going through a lot, and she’s maybe been through a lot, but I’m able to look past the front she puts up with people,” he explained.
“I know you can. That’s why I’m saying it’s telling you’re still here,” she clarified. “It’s telling, because a lot of people know about Aleida, and they think they know her just because they see her or hear stories about her, but I’d hazard to guess it’s only the people in this room who know and understand and can see the true her.”
“So what’s that got to do with her fire?”
“Most people just feel the burns. Only some people can see the fire, Fred. And you’re one of them.”
Before he could respond, the familiar sounds of a song he knew all too well hung in the air and distracted him, making him focus instead on Aleida sitting behind her piano and on Oscar strumming the guitar notes. John Mayer. He watched as she closed her eyes and continued to sing, her voice deep and jazzy and soulful all at once. Everybody in the room became mesmerized listening to her. Oscar helped sing the second stanza, then it returned to her.
She and Fred locked eyes.
“Don’t say a word, just cover and lie here with me, cause I’m just about to set fire to everything I see…”
A shiver ran up his spine.
***
When everybody was gone, Aleida found herself nestled into Fred again. He had to be a gentleman about it. Despite being touchy feely all night, he had to ask to touch her before she agreed, and his hands were so soft and delicate as he did; and when he wrapped his arms around her, she couldn’t help but melt – do the exact thing she was scared of doing when she spoke to him at the coffee shop. But she found it harder and harder to say no to him, harder and harder to be so hard and difficult with someone who was only so easy and delicate with her.
And so as she looked into his big blue eyes, and felt the scruff of his beard along the backs of her fingers, in the depths of her mind she knew he deserved better. Explanations.
“You okay?” his voice was barely above a whisper.
Explanations. He needed more explanations. He needed to know what happened to her. What she had been through. Other things that made her the way she was.
So she was going to tell him.
“I had an eating disorder – well – I – I had trouble with food, and I had trouble with my body for a long time, because people paid more attention to it than they did me, and it really fucked me up for a really long time, and I think it’s the other major reason why I am the way that I am today,” she said, finally.
Fred’s eyes stung upon hearing her revelation. He had never known anyone with an eating disorder, even though he knew the brain was a tricky and complex thing. He wanted to be more understanding – not just for his sake, but for Aleida’s. He assumed that she had probably told very, very few people about it – and a part of him wondered, knowing the relationship with her family, if she even told them. As much as it was painful for him to hear, and as much as it probably took a lot for her to tell him, it was a privilege hearing it. It meant she trusted him. “Aleida…”
“What I had was an EDNOS – but now they call it OSFED,” she kept talking, needing to let it all out now that it was out in the open. “It started my last year of high school…basically the day I turned 18 and was legal. I wasn’t anorexic or anything – or bulimic – and I didn’t really binge eat often. But I was obsessed with my body because everybody else became obsessed with my body. I would think about everything that went into my mouth and how it would affect my body and how it looked. Like, if I ate a kale salad would my stomach still be flat? If I ate a donut would my boobs get bigger from fat? It was all in an effort to maintain the beauty that people were so fixated on, because I was convinced by everybody around me that it was the only thing about me that mattered.”
Fred’s mind was racing a mile a minute, thinking about what she had to go through at such a young age. He wanted to punch every single person who was responsible for making her feel the way she did; for making her think she was only beautiful and not anything else – a real, three-dimensional human being with needs and wants and emotions just like everybody else. “How long have you been sick?” he asked.
“It went on for a couple of years before I got help. It was the worst kind of psychological torture. You have no idea. But I finally told my parents – well, my dad, the one who isn’t a plastic surgeon.”
Fred’s mind began to race again, thinking about everything she had to endure. The pain and suffering of being in a body she had a bad relationship with; the constant guilt of trying to nurture herself with food but fighting an internal battle with herself wondering if it was worth consuming; the harassment from people around her who only focused on the least important part of her; the self-hatred; the loneliness; knowing that everybody around her was obsessed with the one thing she didn’t want them obsessing over, and judging her over the one thing that didn’t need to be judged. He was at a loss for words, and a loss for actions. “I’m so sorry,” was all he could say.
She smiled meekly at him. “You’d think that a doctor who sees Felipe Casillas making an appointment would know better, but apparently not. The first doctor told my father it was a privileged disease,” she continued to confess. She noticed Fred’s eyes go wide at what she had just said. “He told my dad that I had been a bored teenager, and a bored adult, and if my dad gave me something to do, I would grow out of it.”
“That’s horrible,” Fred commented.
“I know. I’m pretty sure my dad tried everything in his power to get the guy’s medical licence revoked,” she said, slightly smiling. “I’m okay now, if you’re wondering. But it was a struggle for a really long time.”
“You’re so strong,” Fred blurted out, the filter between his brain and his mouth non-existent. “You’re so, so strong.”
Aleida didn’t know whether to believe him. She didn’t know if she was strong. She never thought about it. Other things, unfortunately, preoccupied her mind, and her strength and how she overcame something like that never took precedent. She almost let it destroy her. Maybe it did.
There was nothing left to say. Fred and Aleida knew there was nothing left to say. Words exhausted them – he knew he didn’t exactly speak much, but he didn’t need to. Aleida’s words – the more important words – hung in the air around them. They continued to just stare at each other, his blue eyes and her hazel eyes communicating things that didn’t need to be said with words.
Then, Aleida moved closer.
And closer.
And then, she kissed him. And he kissed her back. And it was soft at first – like everything else to do with Fred, Aleida thought. And then she kept kissing him. And kissing him. And kissing him. And he kept kissing her. And kissing her. And kissing her. And soon Aleida didn’t know where her lips started and Fred’s began. And she didn’t need to guess what he tasted like, because he slipped his tongue into her mouth. And he didn’t need to guess what she tasted like, because she slipped her tongue into his mouth too. And they kissed.
And they kissed.
And they kissed.
“Aleida?” Fred’s voice mumbled against her lips as they caught their breath.
“Hm?”
“You have to start doing things that make you happy.”
She made sure she was looking him directly in the eye. “I already am.”
#frederik andersen#frederik andersen imagine#frederik andersen fic#frederik andersen fan fic#toronto maple leafs#toronto maple leafs imagine#toronto maple leafs fic#toronto maple leafs fan fic#freddie andersen#freddie andersen imagine#freddie andersen fic#freddie andersen fan fic#nhl imagines#nhl imagine#nhl fic#nhl fan fic#hockey#hockey imagine#hockey fic#hockey fan fic#the storm before the calm series
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