30, INFJ, Spoonie who likes Tom Hiddleston, his many characters, tooth-rotting fluff, RP, and a major hoe for a man in a leather jacket. 18+ only.
:Masterlist: :RP Blog:
trans friends, things have been pretty awful lately.
take what you need. (color change indicates separate links)
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crisis support | a reason to stay alive | and the strength to do it | hope | a connection to our elders | and our ancestors | an ode to trans joy | some quiet | love | mom love | dad love | sister love | sibling love | brother love | someone to hold space for me | rest | to know there's nothing wrong with me | to say fuck the haters | to know we'll always be here
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a reminder to dance in the rain | a gentle pep talk | a reminder that it's okay to be angry | a fucking break | a change of scenery | pain relief | a hug for those in the closet | a hand for those coming out of it | a car ride with the windows down | to sing at the top of my lungs | a little magic | to twirl in a pretty dress
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to hug my younger self | and my body | cat cuddles | dog kisses | stability | sunlight | to remember the cyclical nature of life | an invitation to join us in loving you | to see others will too | a little pampering | a serenade | a warm cup of tea before bed | a moment of peace | a reminder you don't have to save the world alone | and that you surviving is enough
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a gift | a reason for existing | to feel a sense of awe | to realize my place in the universe | a trip to the aquarium | and to go camping | a cold drink | self-compassion | a netflix recommendation | a hulu recommendation | an hbo max recommendation
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a way to help | information on what's happening in my state | a risk map of all states | a free flight to access healthcare | courage to stay and fight | help to get out
It was early in the evening. The last snatches of sunlight faded. You lounged on the couch waiting for your boyfriend to stir. Schedules were hard when you dated a vampire. An antique robe hung around your body and headphones firmly over your ears as you sang nonsense lyrics to the music composed by Adam. He didnβt know you listened to his work. He certainly didnβt know you sing. Your eyes closed as the music filled your body.
βAHHH!β you screamed as Adamβs hand traced your cheek. You jolted to sitting. βWhat the fuck, Adam! You scared the shit out of me.β
βYou lied to me.β he stated, his face expressionless.
βWhat? No.β you grew defensive.
βYou never asked.β He moved to sit behind you, pulling you into his lap.
βI shouldnβt have to.β His hands tucked under the robe and your shirt, teasing your nipples. You sighed.
βIβm sorry.β
He tilted your head to look you in the eye. βWe shouldnβt have secrets. Not us, love. Your voice is a gift.β His fingers traced your lips. β And such a pretty mouth to go with it. Oh, the things Iβd do to that pretty mouth.β Adam purred.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Loki and Nora donβt know what to do.
18+ only.Β Sharing is Caring!
This chapter goes out of @incurablyromanticsblogβ
Chapter 10: Call it a prophecy, call it a prediction, call it fate - call it what you will. - Cornell Woolrich
The Universes in all of their confounding glory were such a sight that Nora barely noticed when Loki stalked away.
For a few moments, after the revelation of just everything , they were side by side, so close she could feel the back of Lokiβs dangling hand brush against her forearm, the prominent knuckles leaving a sparking trail of warmth. Β Stunned and sharing a moment that Nora was certain he understood no better than she did. Β
So stunned were each of them that they fell into the rarest thing for either of them - complete silence. Β As they stared, not merely at the universe but at universes on top of universes, next to universes, spiraling about universes, they said nothing.
And themselves! Β They were looking at themselves! Β Selves that they were not and would never be. Β More of them than she could count. Β Always together.
βNo, this cannot beβ¦β Lokiβs voice was as faint as one of the Norns. Β βI must marry Keithia. Β I must β¦..β
The tapestry and its siblings were beautiful and much too much.
Nora couldnβt see anything else. Β
Instead, she moved closer and closer and then traced a finger along Lokiβs strand of golden green, letting it loop and meander to where it touched hers and they twirled loosely around each other three times, not nearly as much as it had seemed at first, and then -
From the corner of her eye Nora could see Loki shudder, or perhaps shiver, as she gently stroked a fingertip over his life. Β
βWe are barely together. Β Just this space. Β And I can see where I am touching Claireβs strand, the purple one has to be her, and so many others. Β There are knots and tangles, with so many people, so they donβt have to be romantic, or sexy, or whatever, clearly.β Β She spoke to herself and then had to know.
βWhat is all of the rest of this?β she asked, turning to look at Loki and saw only his back as he left the massive room.
βYou will see each other in a day and halfβ¦β Skuld said from across the room, her voice coming closer even as she stayed perfectly still. Β βAfter the prince has fails to find an answer through magic and altered consciousness.β
βHeβs going to get drunk, in other words.β
The Norn looked as if she wanted to expand on that thought, then shrugged.
Words: 1200 ~ Pairing: Steven Grant x female!reader ~ Warnings: None. Fluff.
βWould you do something for me?β Steven asks.
Itβs a week after your first unofficial sort-of date at the museum. Youβre having coffee together at a little hole-in-the wall place Steven recommended. Itβs quiet, cosy. It also sells books, and you enjoyed being squirrelled away at this little round table with history books walling around you. It feels like home,
βWhat is it?β you ask.
He looks unsure for a moment, traces a finger around the rim of his coffee cup. βWell. Thereβs this right posh do at the museum soon. Black tie sort of deal. And for once, I get to go.β He adds this last part with a look of wonder, and you want to cause serious harm to whoever has made him feel any less than worthy. βBut I donβt have a suit. I mean, look at me. Do I look like the sort of man who owns a nice suit?β
βYes,β you say, seriously.
He blinks, then shakes his head. βYouβre funny.β
βNo, I mean it.β
Steven regards for you a moment as if youβve just hung the moon.
You decide to leave compliments for the moment. βYes, Iβll help you buy a suit. But, I have work later. Would now be OK?β
βNow? Like, now now?β
βYes, now now.β
He looks at you owlishly. Like he wonders why youβve agreed to spend more time with him. βRight. Yeah. Great!β
He drinks his coffee down in two swallows, winces because it was too hot.
You chuckle. Heβs endearing, but he has no idea. Heβs oblivious.
He shrugs on the ugly grey coat he wears over a sweater vest and shirt. It does nothing for him - hides the attractive man underneath. Luckily, nothing can hide the gorgeous curls of midnight dark hair and the swarthy expanse of tanned golden skin. You could look at him all day. You still canβt believe heβs unattached. You have assumed that all of the women in London are momentarily struck blind by him and unable to act.
You finish your coffee and Steven shyly offers you his arm. You loop yours through - yep, still jacked, and yep, you still wanna know about that - as you approach the door.
βOh. Itβs raining.β He digs in his pocket and produces a tiny black umbrella. βHope you donβt mind. Weβll have to share.β
βOh no,β you deadpan, smiling up at him.
He returns your grin, and itβs something else, happiness on him. Itβs like a cloud moving past the sun. Letting it shine with full force.
βThanks for this,β he says softly as he opens the umbrella. The street beneath you is shiny-black with rain. People hurry past, but just for a moment, youβre ensconced with Steven in a little bubble of dry and warm. He smells of strong coffee and mints, and you breathe him in greedily.
βRight, well, er, where to?β He asks. ββFraid I canβt stretch to Saville Row, not today, anyway.β
You chuckle at his joke and direct him to a fashionable, mid-priced menβs clothing store. They usually have at least one suit in the window.
When you get there, the rain has stopped, but you pretend not to notice. You like being huddled up this close to Steven, your hand curled around his bicep. For a man who seems this nervous and unassuming, he radiates safety. At least, thatβs how he makes you feel. Like he could protect you from anything.
βThis it?β he asks, looking into the window at the smartly dressed mannequins.
βYep. Come on.β
He deflates the umbrella and follows you inside.
You march right to the occassionwear section, and, looking back over him to guesstimate his size, grab three suits off the rack.
βThatβs it?β he asks, dumbfounded. βHow do you.. What if I donβt look good in any of those?β
βYou will.β
***
Fifteen minutes later, you wait outside the changing room.
βYou ready yet?β
βNearly. Yeah. Er, actually no. Iβm not used to seeing myself like this. I donβtβ¦ I donβt know if I want you to see me like this,β he adds, falteringly.
You chew your lip thoughtfully. βWhat if you close your eyes?β
βWhat?β
βWhat if you close your eyes, then pull the curtain. Iβll see you, but you wonβt see me. If thatβs what youβre worried about.β
βIt might be,β he says in a small voice.
Sweet man.
βOkay,β you say. βOn three. One. Two. Three-β
He yanks the curtain aside.
Holy shit.
Heβs devastating in black and white. The edges of the open-necked shirt flirt with an exposed triangle of smooth, tawny skin.
Was his jaw always that angular? That sharp?
His hair curls messily over his forehead, kissing one dark eyebrow.
The chain store suit has made a man into a God.
You stare at him for a long time. At the length of his lashes on his cheeks. His full lips. The slight furrow of his brow.
βYou look amazing,β you say softly.
He chokes out a laugh. βGo on.β
βNo, I mean it. Youβll be the handsomest man in the room.β You wish you could see everyoneβs faces when he shows up like this. Clark Gable, eat your heart out.
He opens his eyes.
You could drown in that gorgeous mocha brown, the irises shot through with lionβs mane gold.
βThanks,β he says at length. βTypical man, me. Didnβt know where to start. Now all I have to do is work up the bloody nerve to go to this party.β He adds a little self-deprecating chuckle. βKind of jealous of my colleagues who have someone to go with.β
Your interest piques. βYou get a plus one?β
βYeah. Everyone does.β He starts to unbutton the waistcoat, his gaze downcast.
βCould I go with you?β
His eyes widen as his head snaps up. βYou. Want to go with me? To this museum do? You do realise Iβll be there, right? You wonβt be able to get off with Charlie from the tour officials gang?β
You smile, walk right up to him, smooth your hands up his chest. The material of the suit jacket is warm under your hands, soft. Steven is anything but. Heβs broad and firm, a whole meal.
βIβm not interested in Charlie, or anyone else from the tour officials gang.β
He swallows and a muscle in his jaw ticks. βSoβ¦ just to be clear. Is this a date? Youβre asking me to be your date?β
βWell, technically Iβm asking if I can be your date, but yes.β Heβs adorable.
A huge grin breaks out on his face. Itβs like heβs lighting up from the inside out, and oh, if you were creeping towards the edge of falling for him before, now youβve tumbled right over the precipice, and you couldnβt be happier.
Comic Book Series: Heroines of the Hour Β π¦ΉββοΈπ₯
Ororo Munroe is a powerful mutant with weather-manipulating abilities, being also known as the wind-riding, influential super-hero Storm. As the daughter of a Kenyan tribal princess and an American photojournalist who lived in Cairo, Egypt, she became an orphan after a plane crashed on and destroyed her home. The young Ororo became a sneak-thief on the streets of Cairo under the tutelage of Achmed El GibΓ‘r, who provided her a home. As a teenager, she felt an urge to travel to the south, arriving to the Serengeti plains. Venerated by the locals as a goddess, Ororo used her abilities to ease the droughts in the arid desert. She was eventually approached by Professor Xavier to join his X-Men, a mutant group aimed at implementing peace between humans and mutants. Adopting the name Storm, Ororo accepted the offer, intending to comprehend the origin and potential of her powers.
(Zuhair Murad Fall 2021 Haute Couture Collection)
