#oflocksley

[elfaebaa]

OFLOCKSLEY​  :         ❛❛     LET’S HAVE A SNOWBALL FIGHT.     ❜❜

IT’S A DEAD STARE ELPHABA OFFERS,     one accompanied by the stiffening of muscles,   just barely discernable beneath the heavy cloak clasped tightly ‘round their shoulders.       ❛❛     a snowball fight,     ❜❜       they echo,   voice just as dull as their gaze.       ❛❛     HOW OLD ARE WE ?   TEN ?   that’s a stupid idea.   we’ll be stuck out here soggy.   do you want to be stuck out here,   soggy,   in the cold ?     ❜❜       elphaba arches a brow,   expectant.   AT LEAST IT’S A FAIR POINT TO MAKE.   layers of thick woolen socks   &   a sturdy cloak can only do so much against the inevitablity of   melted snow,   &   they don’t intend on tempting fate today.

[sontse]

                 ❛   take down .   forcefully  bring  my  muse  to  the  ground . / mcu au

“ get off ! ” alina screams, panic coursing through her veins at the sudden foreign weight which crushes her to the ground  —  only one hand managing to break the grasp of her attacker,  the flat of her palm cuffing forward first into his chest before she delivers a lumbered thrash toward his face.  he dodges & she slips forward, caught off guard as he claims her wrist.

“ let me go! ” she demands, although her meager voice falls on deaf ears. he’s raising to his feet, & for a matter of seconds her brow furrows with frightened confusion before @oflocksley​​ is reaching down to take hold of her once again, hoisting over his shoulder. she beats then, fists pounding against his back that seemingly go unnoticed. he’s no grisha, that much she can tell  —  nor a drüskelle, out for her head.  no,  in her experience the fjordian witchhunters were far different:  although not any less merciless than this man, who carries her with ease as if she were a sack of potatoes. “ where are you taking me? — STOP! ”

[sontse]

                        ❛   wrap .   wrap  an  arm  around  my  muse’s  [ shoulders  /  waist ] .

she sighs, feeling the weight of his hands upon her shoulders. they massage into tense muscles, thumbs pressing gently to relieve the tension for a long moment before he’s wrapping an arm across her chest, remaining behind with a kiss placed at the side of her platinum hued hair. her hand raises to rest against his forearm, allowing her form to meld evenly as she leans back into his. his free hand roams down her abdomen, holding breifly at her waist before palm glides to greet the curve of her growing belly. with months still to go, she can feel the glow of it upon her cheeks  —  the same way he can feel the force of a kick against his hand. 

“ someone says hi, ” she hums, her hand easing across his skin before resting back at his forearm, a gentle squeeze offered as a way to thank him for his support. now, & as always has been. she’s walked through hell & back, & he had been right there beside her every step of the way. through the war which ended all wars in ravka, through her recovery in the aftermath, @oflocksley​ has never once faltered with his devotion.  unlike robin, she had never imagined it for herself before; parenthood. but with robin by her side, & the horrors of the shadowfold far behind them, she knows in her heart  — this is her next big adventure. even if it comes with its own inherent fears. like everything else, they would navigate it together. “ they simply cannot wait to meet their papa. ” she turns, hand moving to keep his upon her abdomen as she raises on her tippie-toes, her lips sweetly seeking his. her nose crinkles. “ won’t be able to do that soon . . . you ready to pick up the slack? ”

[unsteals-archived]

“ do you truly think so little of me? ”        ♡        @oflocksley​.

he looks deeply wounded.  layla can’t help but roll her eyes. he’s brought his hand up to his chest as if clutching at his  shattering  heart, and he’s giving her his most soulful eyes.   ❝ you’re a thief. it’s your job. ❞   he’s been unsupervised in her apartment for at least three hours  ( he’s been here all night, but he was unconscious for most of it )  and she feels it’s a fair question.   ❝ do you want coffee? ❞

[unsteals-archived]

“ you shoot anyone who comes through that door who isn’t me. ”        ♡        @oflocksley​.

❝ and you promise you’ll come back. ❞   layla doesn’t want to let him out of her sight. she wants to be fighting alongside him, but she’s practical. she’s not going anywhere in this place with her broken ankle. and if he has to devote half his attention to helping her walk, he’s going to get himself killed.  this is the better plan.  she’s a good shot  ( better since meeting him )  and he’s smart enough to make the office layout work for him.

[sontse]

𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗢𝗠 *✧･ﾟ:*𝗦 𝗢 𝗙 𝗧 *:･ﾟ✧* 𝗥𝗢𝗕𝗜𝗡/𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗔 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡𝗦

he calls her princess. she reminds him that she’s his princess.

when he has to go away, she hides little things in his luggage for him to find later. sometimes these little things are minature plastic ducks. 

robin gets a tattoo of a sun motif that alina draws up. it’s on his chest over where his heart is. 

alina gets an arrow on the side of her ring finger.

they both have scars, all of which are kissed on a regular basis. subtle promises that no one will hurt them again. even if neither of them can be sure of that.

when his hair gets longer, her absolute favorite thing in the world is running her fingers through it. alternatively, on the occasion his face is clean shaven, she asks him to put it back.

when his hair is longer & they have to be apart, he is a tease & sends her so many videos of his beautiful curly hair. sometimes she sends him back videos of her pouting, other times he gets variations of this.

when they’re away from each other, they keep in contact when possible: text messages, telephone calls, even facetime if the location allows. sometimes these calls are from bed.

when he’s away for work, they exchange so many silly videos with so many silly filters. alina keeps every single video.

they take so many photos of each other. they’re working on a whole album, since neither of them really have many photographs to look back on. they also may or may not have a spicy album.

when they travel longer distances, it’s on his motorcycle. tiny alina clinging to his back as the drive miles & miles & miles. she doesn’t have many complaints until it’s time to stop.

she knows he prefers coffee & she’s happy to provide, but sometimes she can’t help but brew him a cup of tea (her preference). he always drinks it with zero complaint.

“ they do not behave in public ” - eoghan ( @oflocksley )

she steals so much of his clothing & never apologizes. what’s yours is mine, darling.

after she uses merzost & her hair goes white, he lovingly teases her for going grey before him.

[sontse]

                                                                                       “ stay with me…”

alina has managed to get him settled & propped upright on their worn couch as she’s knelt down in front of him. she had cleaned his fresh wound before dressing it with gauze, bandaging across his abdomen, all while concern masked her expression  —  although she would be surprised if he could tell through the haze he must be in. there had been countless injuries before, but none like this. never had there ever been so much blood. it sopped through his shirt, surely leaving a trail of blood in his wake but the condition of their floors, nor the old couch, was not her concern. he was, & he always would be.

there are pieces of their lives that could not, would not be fixed overnight: & sometimes she fears he’ll never stop coming home like this  —  that one day he won’t come home at all. that this life they’ve been building together could shatter in one night; one mistake, one breath, & it could all be gone. she’s not daft enough to think that her own problems were not capable of doing the very same: the trouble that still awaits her in ravka, as she plays house here in sherwood  — stealing moments with the man she loves, strengthening her abilities until the time comes to return to eastern europe. to finish it, once & for all.

she’s double checking her work when she hears @oflocksley​’s voice. [ ‘stay with me. . .’  ] gaze softens upon his worn visage before a hand lifts to brush back the hair from his forehead.  fingertips graze his skin to check for a temperature that thankfully hasn’t spiked   —  she makes a mental note to assure that it doesn’t get the chance.  “ hey, ” her voice is soft, concern buried beneath as to not worry him more than necessary.  

“ i’m not going anywhere, ro — ”  no,  she never would leave: as long as her heart was still beating,  it would be by his side.  her head dips low to allow her lips to ghost over the bandaged injury before she rises to place another kiss upon the corner of his lips. “ you’re okay, honey.  you’re home,  i’m here.”

[sontse]

                                                                             ‘ miss me, princess ? ‘

“ I always miss you when you’re gone, ” her face had lit up the moment she could comprehend @oflocksley​​‘s return,  the term of endearment ringing in her ears. oh, how foolish she often feels with the flight of butterflies in her chest. “ did you bring your princess a gift? it is customary, after all…”

she cares not for material possessions; never having had much use for them, nor a place for them to rest beyond a bag over her shoulder or behind her back. no, what she requests now is the gift of his affection as she stands with earned patience, head raising expectantly.