yes. yes it is one of those things.

So hello. For tumblr I write stories for people that ask. They give me a few details, a character and the genre which they want it set in. For practicality reasons, I am publishing this...don't ask I just feel like it.

-Hazel

I found myself skipping down the glistening but familiar hallway. My doc martin boots were squeaking against the marble floors as I practically ran through the lanes towards the back of the library. As I moved I trailed my fingers softly over the books that were stacked either side of me, I could feel my fingertips burn with the various different book textures. Against the tan leather spines, my blood red nails shone boldly, this matching contrast of colours made my skin glow pale in the well-lit lane. The wooden panelled shelves stretched up through the stories of the exquisite building, towering on above me forever and carrying the oldest of books near the black glass rooftops. I had always wanted to read some of the higher shelves, but I never ventured high enough to reach the yellow paged books bound in locks or buckles, ready to break into dust if touched with anything else but care.

Despite the huge size of the library, I knew exactly where I was heading; I could tell just from the texture of the books backbones and the varying scent of age-stained paper where I was and where I had to turn and fall to find the room I wanted to get to.

Since I was on break I found that I enjoyed nothing more than spending the majority of my days in the library. It had a free but endless amount of Wi-Fi and I also enjoyed the books, it's as if one section of the library was built for me alone. I was always first there, before then sun rise even before the staff on most occasions. But as soon as the doors would be opened I would scurry away to the back of the building to read and read only. I got a lot of horrible looks and comments on the books I read or the way I dressed, it's like no one had anything nice to say about my taste or appearance. I try not to care about the comments and sniggers but sometimes it was all a bit too much and I couldn't bring myself to come to the library.

Today wasn't one of those days fortunately. Today I could be the sick and slightly twisted child everyone thought I was.

It was a Tuesday, people were at work and children were at school. It allowed me freedom with my maturity and I could forget about being responsible justt for few hours. I know how important it is to be an adult, especially in this day and age. It's a difficult but tiresome generation that I sadly live in but despite everything I did; everything I could do to make myself an adult, there was always a part to me that couldn't cut off my affection for books and stories.

Finally I found the end of the lane which split off into a large, familiar circular room.

The marble floor was threaded with desks that were dressed with a few books and lamps. Around the desks and in off locations across the room, leather chairs of various sizes and shapes sat and waited. The rounded wall was dressed with an endless bookcase, my favourite feature of the wall probably because it was colour coded from all the reds to the many shades of off putting green. The black and whites of the readable books were scattered across the tables, alphabetical and sweetly organised into context and author. On the far right of this large bookcase a ladder sat on a copper railing. The black iron of its body was twisted and reached the very top of the bookcase, locking it in from movement but allowing it to fly across the floor and follow the bookcase closely.

I looked around cautiously, confirming the fact that the room was actually empty before allowing a soft squeal to leave my lips; I didn't regret it in the slightest for the fact that I was alone.

I allowed the bag to slip from my shoulders, catching it in my hands before walking further into the room. I headed directly to my favourite leather chair that was in the furthest right of the room. No lights were around it, besides the oil lamp that could hardly be called a light. I assume it has some theme to it, like the theory of monsters or beasts.

The lack of natural light gave me some sort of comfort strangely, I could see anyone arriving into the room or leaving…but they couldn't particularly see me. The chair was a large but old, blood red armchair with a huge bloodied backboard and matching creased and drink stained arms. It smelt of mulled wine and weak flowered perfume. I threw the bag onto the chair, claiming the lounger mine before running off to the rounded bookshelf.

I pick up some speed as I run to the rolling ladder. Answering the inner child within me I leap onto the metal ladder, not very gracefully but I jumped with great strength and speed. The wheels allow the ladder to fly across the green section and head straight into the yellow. I pull out my hand, latching onto the wooden side, stopping the ladder in one motion. Looking up my eyes caught the blue card I had left the previous day. Slowly I begin to crawl up the rattling structure, not looking down once before I was level with the blue card piece. Silently I counted along six of the blonde books. Catching sight of the black and white ones purposely left there. I pull them out with very little effort, stroking the three aged spines before smiling.

It was my own personalised rota, the library made a decent and neat attempt to keep the books in order. With the sheer work load of books in colour code, author and title sectioned and genre ridden, it had to be ordered. But I had been able to beat even their system with a lot of trial and error, mostly error on my behalf. I tucked the books under my right arm and allowed myself to fall down the stairs till I hit the ground with a soft thud.

A genuine smile fluttered over my lips as I walked slowly back to the chair, reading over the fine print with soft but strong passion burning in the pit of my stomach. Just as I reach the darkening point, the unmistakable sound of a bag zipping grabs my attention.

I looked up, my smile falling as a tall, very tall man throws my bag to the floor aggressively.

"Hey!" I called out, my voice surprisingly high despite having not spoken all morning. The man doesn't even flinch as he sits in my chair; crossing his suit dressed legs and resting one of his long arms on the tanned leather while the other held open a large red bound book. His pale fingers gathered across words, following it slowly while the other hand ran his thumb over his fingertips slowly in thought. Along with the rest of his suited body, the man's head was dressed in a black fedora, blocking my sight from his face. I watched him in disbelief for a moment, contemplating on what I could say, what I should say. I edge closer, taking one delicate step at a time. The man had entered with silence, not a single boot click could be heard as he crossed the marble floor.

I wasn't a genius, but I know it isn't normal to be this silent; even when he turned the page not even the paper rustled. It wasn't human like to see someone and take their chair, take their property and toss it aside without some care for its inside. I picked up the bag as quietly as I could, standing again and shuffling towards him. I was never this agitated about anything, and I probably had no reason to be now. Before I knew it I was stood at his feet, looking just down on him as he sat in the chair.

"Um…excuse me?" He didn't look up, only rolled his shoulder before turning the page…he was a quick reader. "Excuse me…?" Again nothing, he just sat there. All signs of anxiety had left me; I reached out with my free hand, snatching the red book from his hands. "Hey buddy-" The next thing I knew I flew into one of the desks hard. My spine shook and I gasped loudly. When I tried to speak a cold hand wrapped around my throat. I dropped my books and bag, wrapping my hands around his to break his hold but was surprised when he didn't tighten his grip or smack me into the desk again. I forced my eyes shut, unable to meet his eye and I bit back a cry. I felt a cold cheek press against mine, his warm breath trailing across my skin before a whispered sigh left his lips. He was snarling. Quietly but defiantly noticeable. I choked out a breath as his cheek turned and the unmistakable texture of dry, open lips trailed across my cheekbone, I could feel my skin drop temperature as he smiled, the taste of fear humouring him before humming shortly with satisfaction. He suddenly pulled me back and I could feel his nose brush against mine for just a second as I whimpered quietly.

"…open your eyes." His voice was smooth, foreign and thick. He shook me, snarling slightly as he did so. "Open your eyes." This time his command was quiet but in no way less threatening. Eventually I obey.

The first thing I notice about the man is his eyes. They are green and bright but not with happiness or glee. They were plagued with sadness, sorrow and great measurements of anger. His skin was flawless white, almost powdered and clear of any imperfections. He huffs a smile, his thin but red lips quivering in to a smirk. He cocked his head to the side. "…you're eyes are black…" He whispered softly. His hand loosens, moving up my neck and across my jaw line, resting softly against my cheek. "…why is that…?" His head falls to the other side. I shrug softly, trying hard not to cry out for help.

"…the same reason your eyes are green." He chuckled a little before stepping back, only for his arm to stay in place pressed to my cheek; his smile falls into a frown and coughs politely, looking down at his arm with a hurtful glare. My eyes follow his and to my embarrassment, my nails are still dug deeply into the pale flesh of his wrist. "Oh my god I'm sorry!" I unlatch my fingers, pressing myself into the desk in fear. He rotates his wrist a few times, admiring the bloodied nail marks I had left. I watch him for a moment; admiring the unseen beauty from before. Where he had jumped up his hat had blown away and fallen on to the chair. He has a strong, masculine jaw line and high set cheekbones, flawless rosy-free skin and mild, mossy coloured eyes. He had to stand to his former and original height which is a huge whole foot taller than me, maybe even more as he moved away. He looks at me with sad and sorry eyes, a morbid frown forming on his brow before looking down on the fallen books.

"…I thought you were someone else, someone I knew that is." He chuckled and I laughed nervously before dropping my gaze to the floor, unable to do anything else in fear I would either cry or faint. He scrunched his shoulder forward, trying to make eye contact with me. I give him that pleasure and he smiles once more. My throat pains ever so slightly as I exhale in a sigh but I ignore the sore muscles; not wanting to come across as a weakling or to upset him any further than I may have done.

"…I take it you don't get on with this person." The strangers eyes fall for just a moment. He bit his cheek softly before staring at me in silence for a second. Green eyes rubbed his pale hands together, his knuckles burning white for a second before rolling his shoulder and allowing his arms to fall either side.

"He has tried for a very long time to annoy me to the brink of death." His lip twitches into a smirk before he shrugs ever so slightly. He held out a hand, his palm facing the ceiling with his fingers curled naturally. "I apologise for my beastly aggression miss…?" I forget my name for a moment and I stand in silence and confusion as the letters slowly come to my mind.

"Aimee…" He takes my hand and his grip is tight across my skin. "…my name is Aimee." He smiles and without a second thought, pulls my hand out and bends down to kiss my knuckles. I blink slowly; a warm smile stretching across my lips as my fingers grow numb in his. My knees weaken as a flash of happiness covers his eyes but it remains a flash as he stands once more.

"Tis a lovely name Aimee…" My hand slips from his and I find myself blushing and burning bright red. He seems to not notice my reddened face and instead he lowers himself to the ground. His thin fingers picked up my books, closing them all and facing them in order before standing again. He reads the title slowly, his eyes scanning each face before eventually outstretching his arm and holding out the collection of books. I take a hold of them securely, his hand falls down again and I brush my thumb over the familiar title, the red letters burning against the background.

"Thank you…" I murmur quietly before holding the books to my chest.

"Who is this, Stephen King?" I look up to the stranger, only to find that he has moved away and is now leaning against a new desk a few steps away. My jaw drops and my eyes widen.

"…you don't know who he is…?" The ebony haired man shakes his head softly, his face innocent and his eyes wide with naïvety. "Um, well…he writes books." I bend down to pick up my bag and very gently I lift it on to my shoulder. The weight of the bag stretches my spine straight and slowly I walk towards him.

"What sort of books…?" He threads his fingers through the books stacked beside him, his mind and body occupied as I sit upon the desk. I place my three books beside him but he pays little to no attention as I do so.

"Well. He's known famously for his horrors." I swing my legs as they dangle half a foot or so higher than his. The man lifts his head at me, nodding before humming in some sort of approval.

"So…he writes of monsters and beasts terrorising cities or people, petrifying the world with their power and strength…?" I frown at his choice of words.

"Well, not particularly…it's not so much the monsters that we fear but the monster that we are." He frowns before picking up one of the books.

"I do not understand…" He admits defeat before flipping the book over. Without much thinking I reach over and plucked it from his weak grip.

"Well, maybe you need to read one of his books to fully understand…" I pick my favoured book from the pile remaining. "Here, read this one…it's one of his best in my opinion." He picks it from my hands slowly, turning it over to inspect the cover. His eyebrow shoots up again.

"…Misery?" I nod eagerly. "Well if you insist, I'll give it a go."

"You never know when it can come in handy…you decide to kill someone, reading Stephen King is a good way to go around that." He frowns, unable to find the joke in that.

"You're a strange lady Aimee" I shrug.

"…I get that a lot…" he smiles warmly. I suddenly get a huge shot of bravery from the pit ofmy stomach, maybe it was the unique and strong glow in his eye or his almost understanding manner. "Hey, do you want to-do you want to get some coffee or something?" His smile suddenly widens and his eyes leave the page to meet mine. A weak and cold blush crawls over his cheeks.

"…I would like that." He closes the book and stands up from the table. He tucks the small book under his blazer and holds a hand out to me. I point to the book he has hidden.

"I-you can't do that…" He drops his hand before looking at the suit.

"Well I would be returning it as soon as I am done…and if I want to read this now I would be saying no to a coffee with you. So which would you rather…?" I think about it for a minute before jumping off the table.

"As long as you return it I'm sure it'll be okay…" He smiles, grabbing my hand and dragging me out of the circular room and towards the lanes. "Wait!" He unclasped his hand, spinning to look at me.

"What is it…?" I shrug the bag on to my shoulder and smile at him.

"I don't even know your name…" He chuckles softly, running his fingers through his hair, sticking the fallen locks down again.

"My name is Loki." He speaks softly, grabbing my hand again and threading his fingers with mine.

"Loki huh...? It suits you well."