#and eventually you will stumble across even just a modest few that will genuinely think to themselves wow ur neat !!

[muu-kun]

I don't know what the implications of being someone's affiliated blog entails, but I'm sure being one is very nice.

[mithranqueersmusings]

I Think I'll Love You Too II

Chapter: 2/?

Rating: U

Summary: George and Ringo have been going out officially for a couple of months. Ringo anticipated that dating a stripper would be complicated, but he didn't understand exactly how complicated it would be.

Tags: Modern AU, Established Relationship

Pairing: George Harrison/Ringo Starr (Background McLennon)

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

The following clean-up from their nocturnal experiment was far from easy, the wax seemed to crumble into tiny pieces and was determined to cover each inch of the carpet. George was insistent on doing most of the work, a struggle of manners ensued in which Ringo was adamant that he should help but eventually gave in and took up George's offer to relax in the bath.

Soaking in the warm water, Ringo's mind began to wander to their first official date. It seemed like such a long time ago now, although it had only been a couple of months at the most. Ringo could vividly picture arriving at George's house for the first time and picking him up for dinner, bruises still dotted across George's pale skin from the somewhat embarrassing but retrospectively rather comical fall at the club. Ringo had struggled to figure out the best place to take George, unfortunately the only advice available was John's.

"He's a vegetarian." Ringo emphasised for the fourth time, John had once again offered up a meat-only establishment.

"Oh, well you could've told me sooner." John scoffed, sometimes Ringo couldn't tell whether he was joking or truly that oblivious.

"What about sushi? That can be veggie, right?" Ringo was fiddling with a bouquet of flowers that had been left on John's kitchen counter, a small card had the name 'Paul' written on it, punctuated with a kiss.

"Sure." John offered "You could always, and hear me out, ask where he wants to go."

Ringo rolled his eyes "Great advice John, thanks. What if he doesn't know either?"

"Then you're both helpless and you belong together."

In the end Ringo had settled on sushi, which only calmed his panic somewhat because he still had to find which sushi place was best. He'd forgotten all about how stressful dating could be, and it'd been a long time since he'd been a proper date. Eventually he settled on a fairly affordable place that wasn't too far from his house, he felt rather silly calling up to make a reservation an hour in advance but he didn't want to risk embarrassing himself by not having a table booked.

This struggle with the restaurant left Ringo only an hour to get himself looking presentable for the date, his closet was emptied onto the floor and bed as he rummaged around for something suitable. He felt like making more of an effort than usual, this was one date he didn't want to screw up, especially knowing how fashionable George was likely to look. In the end he settled on a paisley blazer, it had been a gift from John years ago and had hardly been worn, and a black shirt underneath which he experimented with the buttons of.

He left himself just enough time to brush his teeth, sort out his hair and tidy the room as quickly as he possibly could. Hurrying over to George's in the car, he'd almost forgotten to be nervous about the date itself. Almost forgotten, because as soon as he knocked on George's door Ringo felt a wave of dread washing over him. He hadn't even thought of any conversation starters, or what he was going to order at the restaurant. As he waited for an answer, the dread only festered further. Yet once the door finally opened, revealing George draped in a decorative kimono, all fear subsided.

"Hi." Ringo spoke, suddenly sheepish.

"Hey." George replied with a grin, stepping out onto the street and locking the door behind him.

The two of them looked at one another for a few moments, eyes tracing from head to feet with no words being said. George was wearing makeup: his eyes darkened with liner and mascara, his gaunt cheekbones sparkling with highlight and his lips painted a tempting shade of red. Ringo could see that he'd tried to use foundation to cover over the bruises on his face but it wasn't entirely successful, not that it mattered.

"You look great." Ringo managed to get out without stumbling over his words as they walked over to his car.

"Thanks, so do you." George responded but Ringo supposed he was only trying to be polite.

Passing a shop window, Ringo stole a glance at the reflection and found himself presently surprised at how good the two of them looked together. Ringo was even beginning to believe George's compliment, a surge of confidence arising merely from being stood next to George. He'd anticipated that George would only make him look worse, but there was something complimentary in how the two of them were dressed. It was a small boost that Ringo needed to quash his nerves, he was determined to not ruin the night just because he was feeling anxious.

"So... Where are we headed?" George asked, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"Sushi." Ringo replied more curtly than intended "Is that alright?"

"I love sushi." George answered cheerily.

"What a relief." Ringo chuckled "I'm not gonna lie I was struggling to find a place to eat, with you being a vegetarian and all."

George paused for a moment "You remembered that?"

"Of course I did." Ringo panicked for a moment, afraid he'd said the wrong thing and given too much away but the smile that spread across George's painted lips calmed him back down.

It didn't take them long to arrive at the restaurant, it was rather busy but not so much that it would become uncomfortable. Ringo still couldn't believe his luck, that he'd actually been able to get a date with George. Looking back on how their relationship started, it was strange to consider that they'd end up here.

"Is your face alright?" Ringo asked when they'd been seated, it was hard to not notice the swelling on George's lip.

"Oh yeah, it's fine." George provided evidence with a genuine smile "I've had way worse, don't worry."

"You fall over a lot then?" Ringo joked, looking down at the menu and feeling a little intimidated by the amount of choice.

"Only when I know you're there to catch me." George winked "No, I've had my fair share of scraps here and there. That's just life, isn't it?"

Ringo chuckled "Not in my line of work, no."

"Don't be so modest, I haven't forgotten when you beat up that creep in the club." George was studying his menu with far less fear than Ringo "Any idea what you're gonna order?"

"Haven't the faintest." Ringo read the same words over and over again as though it'd help him understand "What about you?"

"Hmm, I think so." George answered with a confidence Ringo envied "Want some help?"

"Please." Ringo smiled sheepishly, laying down his menu and looking to George for assistance.

The date was hardly going as Ringo had anticipated, but while George went through dishes on the menu with a clear expertise Ringo couldn't stop himself from smiling. The intimidating Spike was describing in detail the difference between maki and temaki with such delicacy, it was such a strange moment of realisation for Ringo that made him truly understand how far they'd come. Ringo realised too late that he hadn't been listening to what George had been saying but it didn't matter in the end because George ordered for the both of them.

"So..." George began, drink in hand.

"So." Ringo repeated with a raised eyebrow.

"How long have you been waiting to take me out?" George asked with a knowing smile.

Ringo half expected this line of questioning to begin, he only wished he'd prepared some answers "Does it make a difference?"

"I'm just curious." George leaned in a little closer, a devilish look in his eyes.

Ringo sighed "Now I'm debating whether to lie so you don't think I'm a loser."

"I wouldn't bother with that, I already know you're a loser Ringo." George spoke deadpan, staring without expression then burst into laughter "I'm sorry, I had to."

"And that's meant to encourage me to be honest?" Ringo laughed nervously.

"Come on, tell me." George sounded almost whiny, a tone Ringo had heard before but never in regular conversation.

"Fine, fine." Ringo conceded after drinking his beer "In all honesty it was probably the first time I saw you... Not that I thought you'd ever say yes, of course."

The answer seemed to satisfy whatever itch George had "Really? I'm that good looking am I?"

"Not to sound cliché, but have you seen you? I don't think I've seen anyone more attractive." Ringo spoke somewhat seriously.

George blushed just slightly, having to look away from Ringo's intense gaze "You're sweet. But why were you even in the strip club in the first place? You didn't seem too at home, at least from what I remember."

Ringo felt rather complimented that George even remembered how he'd been acting all that time ago, he'd always supposed he hadn't left much of an impression at all and whatever he did was surely negative.

"John dragged me there. He, uh-" Ringo stopped himself before saying too much "Thought it'd cheer me up."

George squinted his eyes in suspicion "What aren't you telling me?"

Ringo paused, debating the best verbal exit strategy but the good beer and even better food was slowing his thought processes "Uh... Nothing?"

"Oh come on." George kicked Ringo lightly under the table "You think I'm gonna judge you?"

"Well, yes... But fine, I'll tell you." Ringo chuckled, pausing for an anticipatory breath "I'd been going through a bit of a... dry spell, so to speak."

A grin spread across George's face "Seriously?"

"Seriously." Ringo repeated, hiding his shame behind his beer.

"I find it hard to believe that you were having a 'dry spell'." George rested his hand on Ringo's own, his finger tracing around the metal of the rings.

"Well, I'd, er- I'd still be having one if you hadn't come along." Ringo stammered "Shit, that sounds really pathetic, doesn't it?"

"Just a tad." George smiled reassuringly "I'm just glad I could be of service."

"For a while you were making it worse, actually." Ringo had finished his beer and was itching for another "With all my pent up frustration and then I see you undressing on that stage, I nearly lost my mind."

George chuckled, looking rather proud of himself "I can only apologise for being so tempting." He emphasised the word by running his tongue over his top lip onto his sharp canine tooth.

"No need to apologise, it's your job after all." Ringo tried to remain composed "And in the end it all worked out so... No harm done."

"My aching body disagrees." George pouted his still somewhat swollen lip.

"Well... That was your own fault really." Ringo joked, finally catching the waiter's eye so that he could order another beer.

"You're right, you're right." George's hand was still pressed against Ringo's "Hopefully from here on out all the pain will be consensual."

Ringo blushed "Hopefully."

Later that night it was clear that there was no longer any need to be hopeful.

[wilhelmjfink]

“It’s Them” (2/3)

A/N: THIS HAS BECOME A THREE PARTER I’M SORRY I CAN’T STOP THIS PART WAS ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY TO THE STORY I LOVE YOU ALL I MADE A COVER PHOTO FOR IT AND EVERYTHING (source in my masterlist!!!)

I opted to post this part instead of Ch. 10 because...... well idk why just enjoy ~

thank you to my love crossbowking for editing it for me you’re an angel bby and i love you more than anything xoxo

It was hysteria. In every single sense of the word.

You felt like you were watching a movie — a zombie horror movie where everyone was turning and coming back to life, rising from the dead and eating random people as they tried to run or fight back. But it wasn’t a movie, and these weren’t strangers. You’d come to know these people, and the smoke and screams and smell of gunpowder and rotten flesh were far too real as it surrounded you, threatening to suffocate you where you stood.

You’d been most concerned about Carl, knowing how absent-minded Lori could be, for lack of a better term, and you were worried that she might’ve lost him amongst the chaos. You couldn’t afford to lose another child. Especially not so soon.

The horde had moved somewhere down the hill closer into the quarry and you could see them shifting direction after some of your group as they fled. Your machete was grabbed tightly in your hand and your eyes darted back and forth in search of a threat to find that no stray biters were around you and it was still despite the yells and gunshots that rung through the air.

You knew that if you had a chance at all you had to jump into the horde toward your crew to where the camper was as surely they were all going that direction to jump in and flee in it, Daryl leading the way on Merle’s bike.

But as you made it to the bottom of the hill breathlessly, you looked up just in time to see the headlights flick on as it peeled out of the dirt clearing and left you standing amongst the carnage and living dead as they turned and started shuffling slowly toward you.   

“Hey,” Lola whispered harshly from behind you, just barely catching your attention. Disbelief? Shock? Fury? What were you feeling right now? So many different emotions were swimming through your head and it was mind-numbing, nauseating almost. You felt as though you should be mad at them — they left you, after all, didn’t they? And shit, they hadn’t even tried to call for you or even wait for you. They’d flat out abandoned you in the quarry, probably assuming you couldn’t handle yourself amongst the herd and died trying to fight your way out.

Well, the joke’s on them. Who was fighting for their lives now?

Negan suddenly rained Lucille down upon a man you didn’t recognize: a big, stocky, red-haired man. And he took it like a champ, too. The people surrounding him cried and yelled and you hardly flinched and it was because of that realization that you deducted just how furious you were at these people.

You just needed to keep moving. One foot in front of the other. Come on. Keep going. You’ll find something eventually. It had been days. Would you ever find anything? Or was the world as you knew it destroyed, human life ceasing to exist and the only lives left were the ones that had abandoned you in the crisis, giving up on you completely.

You thought you’d met some friends — good companions to have at the very least. You’d liked Dale. Rick and T-Dog And Glenn, too. And even the quiet one with the asshole for a brother — you’d liked both of them. They weren’t the nicest or the most modest people, but they were tough and knew how to survive. You had minimal knowledge on that, and it was showing as you wandered farther down the abandoned road, lips cracked and dry from dehydration, head pounding and legs ready to give out.

You’d thought it was a group of walkers approaching from far down the horizon, or maybe it was just a mirage; whatever it was, you couldn’t find the motivation or strength to even handle your machete. In fact, the timing had been perfect, as you stumbled into a pothole that caught and twisted your ankle, sending you harshly down to the hot concrete. And you stayed there.

If it was walkers that were nearing you, let them eat you. This was no way to live — running endlessly in search of food or water or shelter. Even if the world came back from this, it would never be the same, and it wouldn’t be soon, either. Everyone you knew was dead and you’d simply blocked that out when you thought you’d been surrounded by other like-minded survivors who felt like you and struggled like you but fought like you. And you were wrong. So what was the point of trying to survive when you had nothing to live for? Surviving wasn’t living. This life would be pitiful and worse than death.

“Damn, we got a fresh one here.”

“She ain’t dead, dumbass. Look at ‘er, for fuck's sake. Are ya blind?”

“You can’t be too careful anymore, man! They’re all comin’ back!”

“Shut the fuck up — both of you. Hey, there! Are you alright?”

You were sure the blazing hot sun was taking its toll on you as you lay in the middle of the road, literally frying like an egg. You couldn’t find the strength to reply. You were weak, tired, sore, sad. Your ankle hurt. You’d be crying if you could afford to lose any more water that your body didn’t have.

“Well, shit, maybe she is dead...”

Slowly, painfully, you pushed yourself upright. And the voices you heard went silent, replaced with cocking guns, all pointed at you in anticipation of you rising up to eat them alive. Three men. Your stomach dropped and for a brief moment, you wished that they’d been walkers instead.

“Shit, little lady.” The tall one in the middle lowered his weapon and smirked at you with the kind of look that would usually send you running the opposite direction. But you couldn’t find it in you to care anymore. You didn’t even have a gun to shoot yourself with if things did go south. “You look like you’ve been put through the wringer and spit the fuck back out.”

You felt like it. But you still didn’t speak.

“You still with me?” He took a step forward and you flinched, wanting so badly to be ready and able to run away if you needed to, but you knew it would be helpless to even try. “We won’t hurt you. I promise.”

You snorted in derision. Promised?

“Oh, good,” you finally croaked out, voice weak from underuse and unfamiliar to your own ears. “Well, since you promised, and all. Do you mind helping me up? I fucked up my ankle, I think.”

With wide eyes and raised brows, the loud one took another single, large stride toward you with an amused grin having replaced the sneer that had just been there. “God damn if I don’t love me a lady with some sarcasm!”

“Please,” you dismissed his attempt at what you assumed was flirting, considering how few women were left in the world and that they’d been lucky enough to stumble across you. “I'm hardly a lady.” As he knelt down next to you, so tall that he was still hardly eye-level even crouched next to you on the ground, the look faded to one of genuine concern; in fact, it was so genuine, that you were unsettled by it. The two others with him stood patiently behind where they’d stopped, back-to-back as they kept watch.

For being so intimidating and cocky, he was surprisingly gentle as his large hands softly prodded the swollen flesh around your ankle where it had already begun to turn purple. “Well, doll, something like this would have either one of those dumbasses crying in fetal position, and they are, in fact, definitely not ladies. You’re a tough-fuckin-cookie, aren’t you?”

You hadn’t noticed the nervousness you were experiencing had dwindled away into curiosity, the anomaly of a man in front of you both confusing and intriguing you with his behavior. You merely shrugged at his question. “Gotta be nowadays, I guess.”

The grin returned and his dark brown eyes lit up along with it — and it was then you had realized that he was actually kind of... handsome.

And he caught you staring, smiling even bigger with his somehow still perfectly white and straight teeth showing, dragging his tongue slowly across it as you averted your gaze back down to your injury.

“You sure as shit do, doll.” He gave you a once over and you found yourself feeling oddly self-conscious as if your filthy jeans, boots and black t-shirt with unkempt hair and days worth of dirt caked onto your skin had been your choice and not the product of wandering aimlessly by yourself, starving and dehydrated in the summer heat. “I’m gonna guess that by your current situation here that you don’t have a group or anything, do you?”

Everything in you had been screaming to lie but the idea of being with real, living people sounded so tantalizing that you couldn’t stop the ‘no’ from tumbling off of your tongue. He shook his head and frowned again. “You’re all on your own then?”

You nodded. “My last group, we’d been holed up at a camp for a while where we thought it was safe. It got overrun and...” you trailed off, not sure of what to say after having spent so much time blocking out the memories and the unapologetic anger that came with them. The stranger took it as a sign that you’d been through some trauma that you didn’t want to talk about.

“I get it. We’ve all lost people we cared...”

“No,” you immediately cut him off, not wanting him to think you weak and helpless. “Only a handful died that night. The others — they just left me.”

Your voice sounded bitter and cold and you embraced it, still furious about the group of people you’d surrounded yourself with, mad that you’d believed that they might have actually been good, honest people. You’d had a hunch that this world was quickly becoming dog-eat-dog in every sense of the phrase, but your naivety hadn’t let you believe it until you’d been proven that people couldn’t be trusted.

So why was this man hovering over you so interested in you and your story? There was always an ultimatum — especially with men. Even before the world turned to shit; but now more than ever.

“Well, shit, girl. I’ve seen some sad shit over the last couple of months, but that’s just fucked up.”

“Yeah,” you replied bluntly. “So, to answer your question, yes, I am all by myself. And I’ve made it this far, so I would say I’m doing just fine.”

You really hadn’t meant for it to be spat out so harshly but you couldn’t help the bitterness that was still lingering inside of you. The stranger seemed to appreciate it, if anything, and the cocky grin returned once again, and you found yourself jealous that he could smile so freely and so easily. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d laughed.

“I’d love to agree with you, but the pothole you’re sitting inside of tells me otherwise.”

He gestured to your ankle and you followed, almost forgetting about the throbbing injury for a minute, so overcome with rage and regret. He was absolutely right, though — you’d been doing fine but in your current state, you weren’t going to be very quick on your feet and on top of the constant threat of walkers strolling by, it was also getting dark.

“No offense, doll, but you look like shit.” You glared at him, but he continued before you could intervene. “We got a group holed up in a big old factory a few miles back. Women and kids. A doctor, too. I’m sure he’d be happy to look at that ankle of yours.”

As weary as you should’ve been, part of you so desperately wanted to believe it was true. You contemplated it and he noticed your hesitation. “I know, I know — three fine ass men stumble upon you laying in a pothole, starving to death, and take you back to a place with food and water and beds. Too good to be true right?”

You rolled your eyes, but let him continue.

“Well, it’s your lucky day, sweetheart, because it’s absolutely true.”

“What do you want from me?” You asked bluntly, the question having been in the back of your mind since the three happened to find you. You were worried that you’d be forced into a shitty situation with shitty people and that they would do things worse than kill you. But what choice did you have? You could lay there and get eaten alive or get discovered by a different, less charming group of men with different intentions. You were going to die anyway, so what difference did it make?

“Well, since you asked, things work a little bit differently there. We’re working on a system that keeps things going — just like before. You work, you earn. It’s that simple.”

“It’s never that simple,” you argued.

“Let’s be honest, doll. You’re worried that we’re gonna turn all Silence of the Lambs on you. And I get it, I do! But trust me when I say we have a zero tolerance policy for that shit. The first thing we established were rules. Rules are what separate us from the monsters.”

You sat silently as you took in his words. It seemed genuine enough and the mere thought had you willing to jump to your feet and run that direction. With a sigh, you nodded your head.

“Alright,” you said before remembering that you were unable to walk. “Can you help me stand?” Of course asking only frustrated you further, feeling helpless and pathetic. But the magnitude of your injury was already showing through puffy, bruised skin and, if you’d had any energy left, you were sure you’d be cursing because of the pain. But for then, you were fine with being too numb to feel it.

“I’ll do you one better,” the man said, straightening himself out with cracking knees and doubling back over to scoop you up from where you lay on the hard ground with an unintentional yelp of surprise. He spun around and swiftly began walking, beckoning for the two men to follow him back. It had been years since a man had carried you like that — wounded or otherwise.

“Oh, what the fuck, where are my manners?” The man suddenly said, interrupting your daydreaming. “I haven’t even introduced myself. My name’s Negan. What’s yours?”

[jugandbettsdetectiveagency]

The Serpent and The Swan - Ch.9

*throws an 8.5k words chapter at you in shame for how long this took and runs away back to my sick bed (probably the only reason this got finished today)* Enjoy!

Ch.1 / Ch.2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch.5 / Ch. 6 / Ch.7 / Ch.8 / Read on AO3

Betty blinked into wakefulness as the rays from the rising sun slanted into her eyes. She’d tried to stay awake for as long as she could, not only to act as a watchful eye while they rode across the open, unsheltered planes, but also to keep Jughead company as he navigated their path in the direction she had pointed them. The comforting warmth emitting from his back as she lay, resting against him, had too much of a pull, however, coaxing her in and out of sleep as the steady plod of hooves rocked them both gently.

It was just barely past sunrise, the sky a breath-taking array of oranges and purples as it woke up the nature around them. The land stretched out, unencumbered before them, the distant mountains standing shadowed and singed by the burning dawn light on the horizon. Betty stretched her stiff limbs as delicately as she could while keeping her hold around Jughead’s waist secure, a yawn threatening to burst from her lips. She craned her neck to peer over his shoulder, heart fluttering when his eyes flicked down to meet hers briefly, corners crinkling with a fond smile.

“Good morning, my love,” he murmured, his voice heavy with drowsiness. Betty could see the deep, purple shadows beneath his eyes and held him a little closer. Her breath caught in her throat at the endearing name he’d addressed her with, realising with a little thrill that it was the first time something akin to a confession of love had been spoken between them – not that she’d had any doubts left about the level of his affections at this point. They were to be married, imminently, and that reminder simmered contentedly at the back of her mind for the whole length of their travels.

“Tell me your favourite memory,” Betty mumbled into the crook of his neck as they rode, hoping to offer a distraction – distraction from the uncomfortable length of time they’d been sat in a saddle, from the obvious exhaustion painted across Jughead’s face, from the fact that both their factions were on the brink of collapse. He was quiet for a long moment, so much so that she began to wonder if he’s even heard her, or if he had an answer; the thought made her hold tighten.

“There were a lot of times with my mother where I remember feeling at my happiest,” Jughead spoke eventually, his narrowed eyes trained on a spot in the distance. “But they’ve all since blurred into one emotion, not really a memory.” He exhaled through his nose, the sound catching just enough to hold a hint of amusement, his abdomen flexing beneath her fingers.

“There was a year not too long ago when we got a particularly warm day back home. I took Jellybean out into the gardens and let her run across the grass while I watched her; she’d not long learned to walk alone and she was so entranced by it all. She went over to one of the bushes that lined the courtyard and when she tugged on the leaves it erupted with white butterflies.” Betty felt as if those same butterflies now lined her stomach as she watched Jughead’s features soften exponentially while the memory played behind his eyes.

“It was like nothing she’d ever seen before, and she just watched as they flew around her, landing on her dress and arms. The expression on her face… it was filled with so much wonder, and an innocence that I never wanted her to lose.” Jughead sighed, shoulders sagging with the motion. “I wanted to make sure she never lost it,” he added, his quiet admission drifting away quickly on the early morning breeze.

“It’s not too late, Juggie,” Betty whispered, almost as if she were afraid of pulling him out of the place of content in his mind. “Yes, JB will have to grow and learn the ways of our factions, much like you and I, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t work to leave the world a better place for her until then,” she consoled. Jughead didn’t reply for a while, and Betty resigned herself to believing the subject was closed until the raspy tones of his voice reached her ears again.

“I’ve never met anyone who wants to heal things so selflessly like you do, Betty,” Jughead said. The awe underlying his statement sent shivers down her spine, heart thudding pleasantly in her chest.

“It’s not entirely selfless,” she confessed into the material of his jacket, glad he couldn’t see the warmth in her cheeks. “Your happiness makes me happy,” she whispered. One of her hands was lifted so he could press his lips against it, warm despite the brisk chill surrounding them. They rode on peacefully for some moments before Jughead spoke again.

“I have another favourite memory.”

“Oh?” she asked curiously, eyes closed as she waited for him to continue.

“Yeah. It’s of you, wearing that dress at the Solstice, the first time I saw you.” Betty’s eyes snapped open at the smirk she heard in his voice. “I swear that imagine is never going to leave my mind,” he added gruffly.

“That dress was all Kevin’s fault!” Betty insisted, slightly scandalised but grinning shyly all the same.

“Remind me to thank Kevin,” Jughead murmured, just loud enough so he knew she’d hear. She swatted at him playfully, revelling in the hearty laugh it earnt her, as the sun drifted higher.

***

“I think we’re getting close,” Betty announced some time later, straightening to glance over Jughead’s shoulder at their surroundings.

She’d never been allowed to visit Polly before, but she had fading memories of the area in which her sister had told her she lived from visits with her family into the village of their faction. It was customary for the royal family to venture out into the heavily populated areas of their lands from time to time – ‘reminding the people you cared’ Alice had called it once, but there was a distinct undercurrent to the way her mother spoke that made Betty feel as if these jaunts held more gentility than genuineness in the Queen’s eyes. Betty, on the other hand, had enjoyed the fleeting feelings of freedom that accompanied these scheduled outings, finding the lives and stories of the people she encountered as much fascinating as they were entertaining. She wanted to know them, these men and women that looked to her family for guidance, and wanted them to know her, making a vow at a young age to frequently venture outside of the castle walls to do just that when she was ruler.

“Polly’s house should be just over this ridge,” she instructed, pointing at the crest of a hill some feet in front of them. Jughead kicked his feet gently against the horse’s sides to propel them into a mild gallop as they neared their destination.

All of a sudden Betty felt her breath catch in her throat, fingers beginning to tingle with anticipatory nerves as the modest building came into view. Sensing the tension in her frame, Jughead looked back at her with understanding.

“Are you alright?” he asked, placing a hand over hers.

Betty couldn’t answer, too focused on the sight before her.

A woman with flaxen hair was shooing a sprightly sheepdog out from under her feet as she manoeuvred around a small, cordoned off garden in front of the house, pinning sheets to a line. Her back was turned, her figure fuller than Betty remembered, but there was no mistaking her for anyone other than her sister. She didn’t appear to have heard their approach, lost to the light tune she was singing as she worked, and Betty felt tears gather along her waterline.

She wasn’t sure if it was merely the overwhelming feelings that accompanied having Polly once again within touching distance that made the threat of tears so imminent, because there was something else tickling the back of her mind as she watched this woman go about her morning routine. There was a lightness about her shoulders, a lilt in her sunny tune, an unrestrained smile playing about the corners of her lips even when they were relaxed in concentration – she was irrevocably happy in a way that Betty had only imagined, and it lit a tiny flame of jealousy beneath the burdens of royalty that forever hung around her neck.

When Polly’s gaze met hers their seawater depths quenched the fire.

“Betty?” Polly asked breathlessly, her disbelief evident, freshly washed sheet slipping from her fingers back into the basket at her feet.

“Hi, Poll,” Betty replied through the thickness in her throat, fumbling for Jughead’s outstretched hand, where he was already dismounted, to help her down. Polly took a few stumbling steps towards her, Betty the same, until they met, uncertainly either side of the waist-high, wooden gate.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Polly gushed, fingers twitching as if she meant to pull Betty close. Betty pressed her lips together against a sob, trying to contain the wild bubble of emotions that threatened to overspill without warning.

“Yeah,” she all but mouthed. “I’m here.” With that they were clinging to one another, still either side of the barrier, laugh filled cries disturbing the otherwise peaceful air. Betty buried her face in the strands of Polly’s hair, breathing in her familiar scent eagerly as a wave of serenity she’d long been without washed over her. She felt her sister stiffen in her embrace, hearing her surprised “oh” before she remembered that Jughead was still stood behind her.

“Oh, Polly, this is Prince Forsythe. He’s my fiancé,” she said carefully, wishing she could offer her betrothed a comforting look for the obvious wariness in the face of their company, but her eyes were fastly fixed on Polly’s features, gauging her reaction.

“Prince… Forsythe?” Polly confirmed slowly, keeping her expression pleasantly neutral. Betty nodded, gesturing for Jughead to come forward.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you I feel as if we’re already acquainted,” Jughead greeted smoothly. Betty couldn’t help but feel grateful for his unwavering efforts. Polly returned his words with equal politeness but when her eyes turned to Betty there was no mistaking the concern pouring forth. Betty tried to offer the most reassuring smile she could muster, hindered by fatigue in a way she couldn’t help, hoping that her sister was appeased enough until she could explain further in private.

“Welcome. You both must be so tired,” Polly said, ushering them inside. “Come in, I’ll make you something to eat.” At the mention of food Jughead’s stomach began to grumble, and Betty threw a fond smile his way, enjoying the way his cheeks flushed and he shrugged sheepishly at her.

“Matty?” Polly called as she held open the door for them to enter. “Come out here, we have guests!” Betty took a moment to survey her surroundings, reaching for Jughead’s hand almost subconsciously as her nerves overcame her. The building was modest, but Betty could see that great efforts had been taken to make it as comfortable as possible. The closer she looked she could see how her stolen dowry had come into effect – the wattle and daub had been reinforced with stone, the floors lain with plenty of woven wool rugs to keep the chill out. A conflict stirred within her as she took in every detail, right down to the yellow flowers in the spun vase on the sill beside her. She ached for the days in which everything seemed simple, the days when her most beloved sister was across the hallway whenever she needed her. She was angry at being abandoned for a life she couldn’t imagine living – a life she never knew she was so desperate for until now.

The fussing cries of a waking baby drifted over from the corner of the room and Polly hurried over to a bassinet that Betty hadn’t noticed before. Her sister lifted the wriggling bundle gently into her arms, hushing and cooing as she stroked the downy blonde wisps on her son’s head. The scene caused an unexpected prick of tears in the corners of Betty’s eyes as she saw herself in her sister’s place, cradling a similar child against her breast, light curls exchanged for dark, while the sound of Jughead’s work boots trudging up the path, his calls of affection, grew closer and closer as the day drew to a close.

She blinked the dream away hastily as another presence entered the room.

“Poll?” The man Betty assumed to be Matthew – having never actually met him during his visits to the castle – asked with uncertainty. His eyes flew over her, no doubt cataloguing the similarities between her face and that of his wife, before roaming over Jughead’s tall frame and the bruises on his face with a hint of unease. His dark eyes lingered on the snake pin still tucked snuggly onto his lapel.

“Matty, this is my sister, Betty. And her betrothed, Prince Forsythe Jones. They’ve come,” Polly hesitated, her brow creasing as she quickly realised that she hadn’t an inkling as to why they were here. “To visit,” she finished instead, pulling her lips back up into a soft smile.

There was a pause in which none of them made to speak, and Betty felt the silence weigh heavily upon her shoulders. Jughead squeezed her fingers once, with the lightest pressure, in reassurance. She felt, rather than heard, his sigh before he pulled his hand from hers and held it out towards their host.

“You can call me Jughead,” Jughead said sturdily, his outstretched hand hanging in the air for some moments. Betty held her breath till her lungs burned before she saw Matthew’s subtle nod as he clapped his hand against Jughead’s.

“Matthew Bodham. I’m sorry we aren’t more prepared for your visit, Your Highness. If we’d have known you were coming…” he trailed off, sharing a look with Polly. Checking to see if she knew they were coming, Betty suspected. Polly’s tight smile told him she had not. Jughead dismissed his apologies swiftly.

“No need. This is somewhat of an unexpected visit for all of us,” Jughead replied regretfully. When another silence descended it was Polly who broke it.

“You’ve both been travelling for a while, I assume? Matty, why don’t you fetch Jughead some water to bathe and lend him some of your clothes. I’m sure you’ll both fit the same size,” she said politely, but Betty had known her long enough to hear the hint of impatience in her voice. She was unwilling to wait any longer for an explanation and wouldn’t hesitate to shoo the two men out of the room in favour of getting it. When Matthew assented and led a thankful Jughead away (after the latter had thrown one last concerned glance over his shoulder) through an open door on the far side of the room, Betty took a deep, readying breath.

Polly was looking at her expectantly, in such a way that made her squirm. Her piercing gaze was so much like their mother’s sometimes it was unnerving. The baby in Polly’s arms was blowing quiet bubbles between his lips and Betty welcomed the reason to look away from her sister’s face.

“What’s his name?” she asked in a whisper, inching closer. Polly relaxed marginally as her own attention shifted down to her son.

“Felix,” she said with unmistakable affection; she was positively glowing. “It means good fortune,” she informed, beginning a subconscious sway of her body.

“He was, wasn’t he,” Betty said thickly as she stroked a fingertip over Felix’s cheek, and it wasn’t a question. It wasn’t the royal quarters they had grown up in, it wasn’t the lifestyle they had both been accustomed to living, not the way they had expected things to go, but there was no denying it. Even in the way that the corners of Polly’s lips were no longer set in a perpetual scowl, the blue of her eyes clouded over with discontent – Betty had never seen her so comfortable and at peace with herself.

“Betty,” Polly began, her tone serious. “Why have you come here, and with…” Her eyes flicked towards the door that the men had departed through before she pulled her sister towards the kitchen, through an archway, and sat them both before the fire. At Felix’s incessant fussing she brought him to her breast and let him feed. His muted gulps filled the air as Betty tried to find the words to explain the whirlwind of events that had occurred.

“You told me in your last letter what Alice had intended for you, when your engagement to Archie ended.” There was a remorse in Polly’s tone that surprised Betty. It felt like a lifetime since she had mourned over the loss of Archie’s affections that it took a moment to realise that Polly still blamed herself for her sister’s unhappiness.

“Oh, no, Polly!” she hurried, grasping at her knee so as not to jostle Felix too much. “It’s okay, that’s not– Archie and I were not what I thought we were,” she said with a sigh. “We were never going to be. Despite everything that is happening, the one thing I will never been more thankful for is the fact that these events have brought me Jughead. He’s…” she began, wishing she could just show Polly what Jughead was exactly. She wished she could show her the way he was with Jellybean, how he attended to her with the utmost devotion and care. She wished she could see how much comfort his presence offered her, the simple way he would touch his palm to her back and Betty could feel the tension drain from her body. She wanted Polly to see that he wasn’t what people thought he was, what she once assumed him to be, because of where he came from, who his father was. He was kind, and gentle, with an intelligence that awed her, made her want to strive for more. Jughead didn’t make her want to change to please him; he made her want to change for herself, to make her find the strength he assured her he had seen within her and let it flourish in a way she never dared before.

Despite the words not coming, the tip of her tongue tingling with her every declaration of love for Jughead but not letting them become audible, Polly tilted her head knowingly while she looked into Betty’s eyes. “He’s not what you think he is, Poll. He’s so much more,” she confessed shyly.

“You love him,” Polly stated. Betty’s nod was instantaneous. “And he loves you?” Another nod – she had no doubt. “But… you said ‘despite everything that is happening’,” she repeated warily. “What is happening?”

Betty squared her shoulders and began at the beginning.

***

By the time she had recounted everything that had happened – the arrival of the Serpents, the events since the Solstice, their mother’s history with King Forsythe, the plan for her wedding, the truth behind their father’s death, the discovery of the Whyte Wyrm, and their backing in the form of the Blossoms – the afternoon sun was high in the sky, her throat dry and her eyelids heavy. Neither Matthew nor Jughead had interrupted them, for which Betty was grateful, knowing that they needed time to discuss everything. Polly’s quiet sniffles clutched at her heart.

“I’m so sorry,” Betty whispered. News of King Henry’s death had reached this part of the factions already, but still she wished she hadn’t had to be the one to tell her sister that he had been murdered as part of a plot to take down their home faction.

“Why are you apologising?” Polly huffed in frustration as she wiped beneath her eyes, releasing a humourless laugh. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I left you alone to deal with all of this and I wasn’t even there when–” she broke off, choked. Betty stroked at her sister’s hair soothingly in an attempt to extinguish her guilt.

“I don’t blame you for leaving,” and as she said the words she realised they were true. She finally understood what Polly had been chasing when she left her old life, her unsettled family, behind and considered the fact that if it had been her, if it had been Jughead, she might have done the same. The memory of tearing through the night on horseback with nothing but a few scribbled lines on parchment as explanation left in her wake only served to strengthen this notion. “It’s so good to see you again, Poll,” Betty breathed.

“You too,” she returned, tugging Betty against her for a brief, but crushing, hug. “So what now?” Polly asked shakily when they parted, the reality of the war that could erupt at any moment sinking in. Betty’s skin began to tingle all over.

“Jughead and I are headed to the Andrews as quickly as possible. They already have an alliance formed with the Lodges and it is our best bet for protection if we get them on the defensive. We’ll try and find any way possible to prevent it coming to a fight, but in case we can’t…” Betty didn’t need to finish her sentence, the implication perfectly clear and the thought too horrible to even entertain.

“You need to rest, I’ve already exhausted you far too much,” Polly fretted as she cleared her throat, brushing off her skirts as she stood, shifting a newly slumbering Felix in her arms. “And I’m sure the masculine tension between those two out there has become cloying,” she joked with a laugh, and Betty joined in, a lightness in her chest that she hadn’t experienced for some time now.

“There’s something else,” she began hesitantly when Polly looked over her shoulder to find her sister still stood in place.

“Something more than everything you’ve already said?” Polly question incredulously. Betty’s cheeks filled with colour, piquing her sister’s interest. “What?”

“Jughead said that it might give the Serpents who are still undecided about where their loyalties lie pause for thought if the tie between our two factions was stronger, in more legal ways,” she explained slowly, unnerved by Polly’s growing smile. “He said he wants us to marry as soon as possible. I mean, it was the plan anyway but with all this,” Betty shrugged, unable to keep her own grin at bay. His declaration of making her his rang in her ears, sending tiny sparks to the tips of her fingers.

“Typical.” Polly’s eye roll caused her brows to knit together.

“What is?” she asked in confusion.

“Men’s inability to just say something as it is,” she laughed. “He had to disguise his proposal as a political strategy in order to ask you, instead of just admitting how head over heels is for you.” She laughed again. Betty frowned at her.

“No, he didn’t. That’s not the way it happened. He wanted to– the timing is just unusual and he thought…” Betty tried to explain, flustered by the fact her efforts only seemed to add fuel to the fire spurring Polly’s laughter.

“Oh, I’m just teasing you, Betty. I’ve missed it, you know,” she conceded with a familiar twinkle in her eyes. Betty shook her head fondly – she’d missed it too.

She was surprised to find the parlour empty when they returned, nothing moving but the swirling specks of dust in the beams of sun pouring in through the windows.

“Where are they?” she asked nervously. Polly shrugged as she placed Felix back in his bassinet.

“Maybe they’re outside duelling for your honour,” Polly offered dramatically. Betty spared her a withering glance before she began to help with lunch preparations.

Her heart leapt at the sound of the outside door opening, followed by the catch of her breath in her throat when she saw Jughead’s attire. He was dressed in a loose, white cotton shirt and brown woollen pants, the cuffs tucked deftly into his own boots. He looked so undone that Betty couldn’t help but feel a shiver of appreciation slip down her spine. He grinned at her, clearly noticing her roaming eyes, his cheeks covered in the tell-tale flush of riding, hair mussed in a similar fashion, and it took all of her control not to pull him close by fistfuls of his borrowed shirt and seal her mouth to his.

The more she thought about it the more she realised how little time they’d had to explore the physical side of their relationship. Things had been so overwhelmingly hectic since that first kiss – that wonderful, blindsiding kiss – in the library that there had been no chance for more. She wanted to take her time, exploring his skin with her lips, feel his leaving burning trails on hers. While her nerves still simmered gently beneath the surface, the heightened emotions of the past few days were overflowing with nowhere to go other than into thoughts of what typically happened after a wedding.

“Hi,” Jughead murmured as he dropped an innocent kiss to her temple. Coupled with her wandering thoughts the action caused her eyes to flutter shut, teeth catching the corner of her lower lip to keep the shaky exhale she was sure to emit inside.

“Hey,” she replied, placing the utensils in her hand down on the table. “Where have you been?” she asked quietly, the domesticity of the situation making her head reel.

“I went with Matthew into the village.” At her sceptical eyebrow raise Jughead laughed. “I think I’ve convinced him I’m not going to knock him out and steal from everyone he knows,” he added with lazy eye roll. Betty tried not to let any pity she might be feeling at his obvious self-deprecating humour show as she tucked herself closer against his side, instead choosing to focus on the fact that Jughead was making any kind of jokes to begin with.

“He spoke to the pastor. Apparently, he’s an old family friend and has agreed to marry us, no questions asked – tonight,” Jughead whispered as he rest his forehead against the side of her head, lips brushing against the shell of her as he spoke.

“Tonight?” Betty repeated, unable to hide the nervous excitement she was experiencing. Jughead hummed his confirmation and began to rub small circles at the base of her spine.

“Listen, Betty,” he began, casting his gaze towards the table top, the fingers of his free hand tracing the knots in the wood. Tousled curls fell across his forehead, shielding his eyes from her as he spoke. “I know this probably isn’t how you pictured it, getting married I mean. You’ve had this idea put in your head all your life, you and Archie, and the dress and everything. And if I could I’d give you the wedding you deserve–”

“Hey,” Betty interrupted him, cupping his cheeks tenderly. His eyelids fluttered closed as she lifted his chin. She waited, stroking her thumbs across the soft skin until he opened them again, and she was met with such look of desperation that it stopped her breath for a moment. “None of that is important.” She clasped her hands tighter when he made to protest. “I used to think it was, but everything is so different now. All that matters is that it’s you and I, alright? You and I,” she repeated, searching his darkened eyes.

The desperation turned to something akin to adoration as he let out a deep exhale, the corners of his mouth ticking up.

“Okay,” he said softly, drawing her closer by her waist. “Right now I can’t give you much, but I do have this.” The warmth of Jughead’s hands disappeared, cold air flooding the length of her body. He reached around his neck, drawing something from beneath the fabric of his shirt. As he twisted the tiny circle of metal, the delicate engravings caught the light.

The ring had vines running all around it, leaves branching off it periodically, some of them carved in such a way that they looked like feathers. “It was my mother’s ring. I’ve had it with me since she died, and I never thought I’d find someone I wanted to give it to but now there’s you. I know it’s simple and if we ever get the chance you can pick something else if you want, just for now…” He shrugged.

A startled grunt caught in the back of his throat as Betty’s hands slid from his cheeks to encircle his neck, her lips meeting his in a bruising kiss. Her entire body hummed with a lightening current, intensifying at every point her skin met Jughead’s, powering her to continue. They pushed and pulled against one another, entering into an irreplicable dance as they unhurriedly explored this newfound facet of their relationship. Jughead ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, taking full advantage of the gasp it elicited to slip it into her mouth. The whine that fell from her lips broke the kiss as he pulled back to shush her through a heady laugh, glancing slyly towards the archway into the parlour, resting his forehead giddily against hers as Betty tried to stop the room from spinning in the most delicious way.

She saw as he watched the flush recede from her cheeks, following it with his eyes down the column of her neck and across her chest. From this position she knew he had a vantage point straight down the bodice of her dress and she arched her back minutely, knowing that the heaving of her breast would only aid her foray into enticement. She felt drunk on this new power she was just at the tip of discovering, a pleasant buzzing heightening her senses while dulling others. Jughead groaned quietly as Betty tugged at the short hairs at the base of his neck, leaving on last sweet kiss on the corner of his mouth before she loosened her hold.

“It’s beautiful, thank you,” she whispered sincerely. He smiled at her then, that smile she knew was reserved for her alone.

***

“Betty, come!” Polly took her by the arm excitedly and swept her over to the mirror in the corner of her bedchamber. “What do you think?” she beamed, stepping back to admire the sight.

Polly had commandeered Betty for the rest of the afternoon, convinced that even if it was to be a small, unknown affair that she was going to give everything she could to make her sister feel beautiful at her wedding. Betty had sat, unresisting, as Polly pulled out the gown she had worn at her wedding, slipping the off-white fabric over her body, before beginning to twist sections of her hair up into a myriad of intricate braids.

The dress was lovely and Betty couldn’t stop running her hands over the light fabric. It was simple, as Polly had had to make it herself, the skirts flowing to the floor in soft gathers. The neckline dipped in the centre while the rest of the bodice sat slightly off the shoulders, the long sleeves belled at the cuffs. When she turned to admire the dress Betty could see the way the thin, golden embroidery around each edge lit up in the light. She had never felt this pretty before.

“Thank you, Poll,” Betty thanked her sister, gratitude shining amongst the unshed tears in her eyes.

“No crying!” Polly demanded, blinking away the moisture threatening to spill over her own waterline. “We’ve got to get going,” she said, squeezing Betty’s upper arms one last time as she met her eyes in the mirror, offering a comforting grin.

The walk to the church was short, and would have taken even less time if Polly didn’t stop them every few steps to make sure that her hem hadn’t gotten muddied, bouncing Felix in her arms while she did so.

Betty took a breath to calm her ever active nerves, her stomach flipping uncontrollably while she picture Jughead standing just beyond the door.

And then they were pushing it open, and he was there. He looked up at the noise of their entrance, his face completely blank for one quick second. Betty felt as if time stood still as their eyes met at either end of the isle. She took in every detail of him that she could, the sharpness of his gaze, the smattering of freckles across his olive skin as they stood out against the crisp whiteness of the shirt he was wearing (another borrowed item).

And then his face split with a blinding grin and Betty could feel the tears welling all over again. The panic and heartache her life had been filled with lately melted away as she took each step closer, until everything else faded from view and there was only Jughead, waiting for her with a look that had the power to stop her heart.

“You look so beautiful,” he whispered when she finally stood in front of him, returning his grin with an uncontrollable one of her own.

Their joined left hands were tied together with a gossamer ribbon as the pastor began the words of the ceremony. She was in a daze, barely hearing the words through the blood pounding in her ears, lost in the way Jughead was looking at her, never breaking contact as they bound themselves as one before the eyes of God. The unshakable pull she’d felt towards him from the moment she’d seen him, emerging from the shadows in the grounds of her home, like the undertow of the current dragging her into indecipherable depths, was being cemented in reality. She felt it as he recited his vows to her, slow and sure in his every word, and when she returned the sentiment, not nearly as composed, she thought.

She welcomed this new uncertainty, unmatched in its force, because for the first time in her life, as her lips met his to complete the last piece of the puzzle, Betty felt at peace.

***

After a light meal and a round of celebratory ale, Polly and Matthew had retired for the night. They all had an early morning – the Bodham’s for the usual routine of farm life, and Betty and Jughead for something else entirely, the furthest from routine.

Polly had shown them to their room. Intended for Felix when he was old enough to leave his parents in the night, the room at the end of the hallway was sparsely furnished; a woven mat, some blankets and a few pillows were arranged before the newly lit fireplace. The look Polly let linger in Betty’s direction before she bid them her final goodnight had her blushing profusely.

They both stood in the room, a few feet between them, as the silence of the house settled over them, save the barely audible sound of the wind weaving through the foundations of the house and the periodic snap and crackle of firewood. Betty briefly considered suggesting more ale but thought against it at the last minute; no matter how enticing the idea of alcohol to relax her achingly tense muscles was she decided a clear head might be better. Besides, as she watch the firelight play over the sharp angles of Jughead’s face she knew she wanted to remember as much of this night as possible – it may be the only one they got. The moment dragged on.

“Betty, we don’t–”

“Jughead, I just–” They began simultaneously, both trailing off in nervous laughter. Betty twist her fingers together, playing with the solid weight of the new band settled around her ring finger. She liked having it there already, and couldn’t imagine ever having to take it off after this.

“Betty,” Jughead tried again, his voice low and gravelly. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, his body cast in shadow as he turned towards her. He reached towards her, beckoning her closer with her arms. She went to him readily, folding herself against the length of his front, face tucked into the crook of his neck. His lips pressed against her hair, still littered with braids. “Just because of this,” he wrapped his hand around hers, sliding a thumb over the wedding band. “It doesn’t mean I expect anything of you. Everything has happened so fast, so unexpectedly. With this we can go at whatever pace you want, I am at your mercy,” he insisted earnestly.

Betty shivered delicately against him; hearing her husband admit that she had all the control, over him, over them, made something stir in the pit of her stomach, slow and warm, as she focused on the feeling of the hard planes of his chest against her.

“I want to,” she admitted into the fabric of his shirt, listening to the uneven thud of his heart beneath her ear. “I just… I don’t have any experience with this, like you might be used to, and I want to make it good for you,” she continued on, despite being sure that he’d be able to feel the heat in her cheeks through his clothing. He tugged on her shoulders to get her to look at him, his face twisted in confusion.

“Like I’m used to? What do you mean, Betty?” he asked innocently, free of judgement or accusation.

“Well, I know that men aren’t expected to… to wait like women are. And I remember you said that you and Cheryl were nothing more than friends but that doesn’t mean that there weren’t others. Which is alright, neither of us could have known what would happen, and even if we did I wouldn’t…” she huffed out a nervous breath. She was aware that she was rambling, hoping that Jughead would stop her before she continued to make an even bigger fool of herself. Betty looked up at him bashfully, unsure of the expression she would be met with.

Jughead looked beguiled, eyes resting on her face with an open sincerity that made Betty shift, although not uncomfortably, beneath his gaze.

“Betty, I love you,” he breathed, relief coating his words, like his body was finally free enough to say those words, to let them rest on the air between them, content to just float as if on the still waters of the calmest stream. “I never thought I’d experience a love like this, not even sure if it was something that existed. Until you, I hadn’t wanted this. But now, here, I’ve couldn’t be more grateful that this is brand new – for both of us,” Jughead finished pointedly, smiling as understanding dawned in Betty’s eyes. Her fingers ran over the plush apple of his cheek before gliding into his dark hair and caressing sweetly.

“I love you, too,” she said, because she needed to.

Jughead dipped his head down to press a light but determined kiss to her lips. Coupled with the almost reverential way he was cupping the planes of her back as he held her close, the sensation was so overwhelming that Betty’s breathing stuttered, and the whimper she let out would have caused her to flush if she weren’t already heating up from the dizzying strokes of his tongue against hers.

His fingers caught on the laces of her bodice, tugging at them lightly but still not enough to pull them open as he searched her face for permission. She nodded quickly, catching her lower lip between her teeth as the first knot came undone under his deft movements. The pads of his fingers ran down the newly exposed skin of her back, leaving goosebumps in their wake, before coming back up to rest on her shoulders, slipping just beneath the fabric of her dress.

“Are you sure?” Jughead murmured thickly, thumbing the material with slipping restraint. The need clearly coiled up in his body caused Betty’s confidence to bloom, shrugging her shoulders until the dress fell to the floor with a heavy whoosh, leaving her in only her underskirts. His hands swept up her sides, knuckles brushing the underside of her breasts. Betty couldn’t help but arch into his touch, sighing as Jughead finally cupped the soft flesh, teasing the dusky peaks of her nipples while his mouth came down to litter her collarbone with kisses interspersed with small bites, soothed quickly with warm licks.

“Juggie, please,” Betty moaned, not quite sure what she was asking for. Her hands scrambled for purchase in the fabric of his shirt, desperate for him to be rid of it, but still letting out a whine of displeasure as he pulled away from her to lift the offending item over his head. He returned swiftly, already addicted to the feel of her smooth skin beneath his calloused fingers, a groan vibrating in his throat against her lips as she raked her nails down the ridges of his abdomen.

As he lowered them both to the floor Betty felt moisture gather in her eyes at the gentle way he laid her out beneath him, resting above her on his elbows while he pushed stray strands of hair away from her face. The nervous adrenaline coursing through her body was shifting into a valley of excitement as he kissed her once more, settling between her parted legs. She could already feel him, hard and wanting against the inside of her thigh, as he laved her chest with unhurried attention, drawing more heat to the aching at her core.

A litany of unintelligible whimpers were leaving her throat, barely registering to her own ears as she gave herself over to the sensations Jughead was able to ignite within her. He lifted his head to pepper Betty’s heated cheeks with cooling kisses, eyes shining brightly with something more than just firelight.

“What is it, Betty? Tell me what you want,” he crooned through barely moving lips, enamoured by the way her mouth parted to pull in choppy gasps of air, chest heaving enticingly before his eyes. "Tell me,” he repeated.

“I want you,” she replied breathily, the only thing she was sure of anymore. “I need you to–” Her words were lost to a sharp inhale as his hand disappeared beneath her skirts, Betty’s fingers clutching at Jughead’s shoulder blades as he explored the length of her thigh with the barest of touches.

“To…?” he teased, mirth flashing in his smile, but Betty was too lost to his ministration to chastise him, to the feeling of his thumb running over her hipbone, so close to where she needed him.

“Touch me,” she stammered, far past the point of caring to feel shame at her wanton request.

***

It wasn’t long until he complied, unable to resist any longer himself. Jughead groaned, dropping his face to the crook of her neck as he ran his fingers through the wet heat at the apex of her thighs. Her hitching breaths and soft sighs were only serving to further increase the clenching in the pit of his stomach, the pressure between his legs, as he continued, wanting more, greedily drinking in every sound he could make her emit. His hips gave an aborted thrust as he found a spot that made a loud cry slip past her lips, hushing her with a kiss, unable to deny the pride swelling in his chest at making her feel this way.

Betty gasped sharply as he slid one finger inside of her, pausing as her hand flew to grip his bicep.

“Okay?” he asked, free hand tucking her hair behind her ear. She swallowed thickly, eyes fluttered shut as she nodded, shifting her hips experimentally to adjust to the new feeling.

“Y-yes,” she reassured, trying to relax into the sensation. “I’m okay.”

Slowly, Jughead began to move his hand, adding a second finger when Betty began to writhe beneath him. His thumb came up to rub small circles against her clit, sparking a chorus of mewls to leave her in rapidly increasing succession. Jughead leant forwards to mouth at the hollow of her throat.

“Come on, Betty,” he encouraged just once before he felt her flutter around his fingers, briefly imagining how she would feel around him as he moved to swallow the cries that accompanied her fall into orgasmic bliss.

Jughead watched as Betty licked her lips, eyes still closed while she tried to control her jagged breathing. When she finally looked at him her pupils were blown wide, overcome with something primitive that he’d never seen within her before.

“I didn’t know it could feel like that,” she gasped when she finally spoke, the contrast of her sweet, airy voice and laid open body bolstering the affection already consuming him. The feeling of her hands working at the button on his pants brought him back to reality.

The temptation to make sure, one more time, that this was what she wanted, that she’s comfortable with taking this next step – while on the floor of her estranged sister’s house, no less – is quashed at the raw determination he found in her expression. It reminded him of the moment they first met as she stood before him, all fire and flowers, informing him that she wasn’t going to put up with his nonsense.

Through all his reminiscing she had managed to start working his pants further down his hips. He kicked them off, eyes never leaving her face as he watched her take his body in, completely bare for the first time. He could feel the erratic thumping of his heart in his chest as he held perfectly still, allowing her the next move.

Jughead couldn’t stop the gruff noise that was pulled out of him at the feeling of her hand tentatively wrapping around his hardness for the first time. He tried not to move his hips as she worked him carefully, with slow, unsure jerks of her wrist, biting back a smile despite himself at the look of unwavering concentration on her face. She found a rhythm after a few moments and he couldn’t stop the way his hips bucked towards the circle of her hand.

“Is this good?” she asked shyly, as if she hadn’t just fallen apart beneath him. He could only nod, warring with himself to push her hand away before he couldn’t hold back any longer, and getting lost in the sensation of Betty bringing him closer to release.

“Betty, you have to stop… if you want to…” Jughead got out between slightly clenched teeth, even while his body drew closer to her embrace. She glanced up at him then, twin spots of pink rising to her cheeks as she nodded, bringing his hand to the waist of her skirts.

Jughead watched, enraptured, as the rest of her body revealed itself before him. She squirmed beneath his explorative gaze, giggling as his fingers brushed a ticklish spot across her waist.

“You are so beautiful,” he told her, hoping that she could hear just how sincerely he believed those words to be. Betty bit her lip, something she seemed to be doing a lot and it only added to the desperate want he could feel about to bubble over, and shifted her thighs further apart, bringing him closer by the back of his neck.

“Make love to me, Juggie,” she whispered, lifting her hips as he pushed against her slick folds. “Please.”

He pushed forwards slowly, stopping at every wince or noise of discomfort she made. Trying to control his breathing, he wished it didn’t have to hurt her, that their first time could be something that transcended all inevitabilities as he waited as patiently as possible for her to encourage him further inside of her with a whispered “keep going” or “it’s okay”. The thought of her comforting him through this as she pushed his hair back from his forehead made him huff out a breathless laugh, stilling once he was finally fully inside.

“You can move,” she assured after a moment. “Please move,” she pleaded, raising her hips against his.

“You feel so good,” he repeated to her, a man lost to the power of the woman below him, giving herself to him entirely.

His pace picked up once they began to find their harmony, her quiet moans sending him hurtling towards the edge much faster than he would have liked. He slipped his hand between their bodies, hoping to get her there before he succumbed to every bright sensation coursing through him.

His hips were just starting to lose their rhythm when he felt her stiffen beneath him, her right leg lifting to hold him in place against her while she clenched around him, exhaling her cry of release into his mouth as he followed quickly behind.

They stayed like that for a while, breathing erratic, coming down from this newfound high. Betty wiped the sheen of sweat away from his forehead the trembling fingers, and Jughead took the time to kiss away the droplet trickling between the valley of her breasts. She winced when he pulled out, immediately curling up to his side as he tucked her securely against him.

Jughead started when faint sniffles echoed against the crook of his neck and he squeezed her tighter.

“Hey, what is it? Are you… did I hurt you?” he asked in apprehension, swallowing away the sickened feeling rising in his throat.

“No!” she reassured instantly, shuffling further into his embrace as a shaky exhale of relief left his lips. “No, I’m just so confused.” He waited for her to explain, running a comforting hand over her back repeatedly. “That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever experienced,” she admitted timidly. “I’ve never felt so happy, or so complete. And then I think about everything that is happening out there, and the fact that this might be our only chance–” Her throat caught and she turned into him once more, letting her implication hang on the words unsaid.

“We don’t know what is coming next,” Jughead said truthfully, not wasting his breath on pointless reassurances that everything would be alright; they both knew it would be a lie. “Let’s just enjoy this, right now. We have some time.” He felt her nod against his neck and pressed a lingering kiss to the damp hair at her temple.

They drifted off into a sleep that wasn’t quiet peaceful, but being in each other’s arms was enough to make it contented.

[thejokersenigma]

Joker x Reader - Deadly Voice Part 44

Hi guys, back for the next part!

It's quite a long one, but nothing much exciting really happens, but you'll be glad to know that the part after this is nearly finished so it shouldn't take too long to get the next bit out!

Anyway, Enjoy! :)

(Thank you so much for all the encouraging likes and messages you guys send me! I literally live off all of your support! xx)

I you would like to be tagged let me know, or if you have any requests I will happily give them a go! :)

P.S If you've asked to be tagged and I haven't done so on this piece can you let me know again? I am trying to make a list but I can't remember who's asked me! Sorry I'm really forgetful!

MASTERLIST

When I work up I briefly noted how bright the room was before I then closed my eyes again, snuggling back into the bed, drawing the covers tighter around my chilled shoulders, intent on trying to cling to the remains of my slumber and maybe fall back to the peace that was my sleep.

But I couldn’t stop the brightness penetrating through my thin eyelids and I could feel I had lost that small hope of sleep and I drifted back to reality once again. I still refused to open my eye though - enjoying just lying in bed – and I began my usual ritual of running through the list of today’s tasks I needed to get done.

That was when my memory flooded back to me.

I felt the panic surge through me, my heart pounding. Shit.

What was going on?!

I shouldn’t have a duvet. I shouldn’t a pillow.

I should be in a bare room filled with old dusty furniture and I should be lying on a bare mattress.

I opened my eyes now - cautiously in case I wasn’t the only person in the room – to see that I was lying on my right side facing a wall of familiar dark green wallpaper with gold swirling patterns. I glanced down the length of the bed and - sure enough - there was the large glass doors that led onto the balcony.

I was back in the Joker’s room again.

I cautiously turned over, searching for anyone else in the room with me. No one. I was alone. But this was definitely the Joker’s room.

Maybe one of the henchmen had moved me - maybe it was Frost. If I could find him quickly I could - not only talk to him about personal boundaries - but also convince him not to tell the Joker I had disobeyed him. I didn’t really want him to know if I could help it. Maybe then I could talk to him civilly about new sleeping arrangements if I ever saw him within the next week.

Whatever I was going to do, I wasn’t going to get anything done lying here. I shoved myself upright and began to shuffle myself to the side of the bed, just swinging my legs over the side when the bathroom door swung inwards, my head shooting up at the movement, the rest of me freezing on the bed.

The Joker stood in the doorway of the bathroom, hair wet and slicked back with a few strands falling out of place across his face. He wore nothing but a towel on his hips, my eyes drawn to the many inked illustrations on view which seemed to move with each flex of his muscles.

“Afternoon, doll.” He greeted at my figure, frozen in the act. I barely registered that it was the afternoon and I must have slept at least half of the day away, too stunned by his sudden appearance to do much more than stare at him in shock. “Enjoying yourself, doll?” He asked with a lazy grin, breaking my day dream and I snapped my eyes up to him, feeling the blush heating my cheeks.

“Yes I am.” I respond defiantly, shocked at the words out of my mouth. The Joker laughed and I wasn’t sure if it was because of what I said, or the look of pure surprise on my face that I had said them.

“I trust you slept well, doll?” He asked pleasantly, with a sickly sweet smile, sounding genuinely intrigued.

I frowned at him quizzically – that was very out of character for him. “Uh, fine thanks.” I answered - did he not know that I had left the room? Had no one told him? A large grin spread across his face at my answer – as though he shared an inside joke – so he did know? I frowned in confusion at him.

“My night was fine too doll, thanks for asking.” He teased sarcastically stepping into the room – He watched me for a moment as though waiting to catch something in my eyes, but I tried to hide any guilt that might be there and I thought I had got away with it, but then his eyes turned steely, “Imagine my surprise though, doll.” He started, stepping further into the room and waving an arm about theatrically, “when I return to the house last night to find my honoured guest had scorned all the luxuries I had provided!” He cried dramatically, “Choosing instead to stay in an old dusty room with a worn-out mattress and no bed sheets - not even a pillow!” He cried in false distress, one hand to his heart, now stood before me at the foot of the bed.

“You had arranged for me to sleep in your own bed!” I defended strongly, not amused by his little theatre production, “I didn’t think that was appropriate.”

“Tell me then doll,” He said, leaning in toward me, causing me to recoil from his close proximity, his large Cheshire grin too close for my comfort, “why did you think it ‘inappropriate’ to sleep in my bed, and yet you’ll happily wear my clothes?” He asked pleasantly.

Shit. I looked down at my lap – sure enough I was still in his shirt and tracksuit bottoms. I could feel the red in my cheeks increase. Maybe I had crossed a line there – some people were precious about this kind of thing. But, thanks to my new confidence, I wasn’t backing down that easily, “Maybe if you’re going to insist on providing people with clothes you ought to include a more modest section for those whose careers don’t rely on a pole stuck in the floor!” I retaliated sharply.

I thought I’d gone too far then, and I dropped the scowl on my face quickly, panicking that his famous temper would flare at me. He paused a moment, his face serious and considering, then he broke into laughter, pulling himself upright again and chuckling to himself as he disappeared into the walk-in closet to this right.

I scowled at his muscular back as he left me sat on the bed, confused by his almost amiable behaviour and unsure what to do now. Was this how he was going to get me to smile? Just be a bit nicer to me? Well it wasn’t going to work, I thought defiantly, scowling to myself.

The door to the closet remained open, the Joker hidden behind it, but I could hear the sound of drawers opening and sliding shut. I didn't know what to do. I was still sat, half under the covers in the joker’s bedroom – in his clothes -  whilst the man himself was now getting dressed in the room opposite.

Out of context this situation looked a lot different to the one it was.

And now the idea of the Joker probably naked just behind that door was stuck in my mind. My thoughts wandered for a moment as to what that looked like, but I quickly shook my head away from that path – that was not a thought trail I should be going down.

I looked around the room desperately – what could I do? I felt extremely awkward just sat on the bed – unsure where to go or what was expected of me and the Joker only a few metres away. My eyes fell on the bathroom door. There was no lock on it – I remembered that – but I could still at least hide in there for a bit – I felt too vulnerable here.

I slid out of bed silently and crept quickly, but silently to the bathroom door, trying not to catch the Joker’s attention if I could help it and practically jumping over the threshold into the bathroom, closing door sharply behind me.

I leant against the wood for a moment, my heart racing. I was safe – well safer anyway.

I had no way of telling how long I hid in that bathroom.

I tried to just act normal to start with, brushing my teeth, washing my face, just taking my time with each and keeping half an ear out for the sound of the bedroom door to tell me the Joker had left.

That was the longest time I had ever spent brushing my teeth.

I thought I had heard the door go, but I was worried my ears were lying to me when I thought I heard another sound in the room. Eventually I couldn’t stand it any longer and left the bathroom, sneaking silently around the room, peering into any space I thought the Joker could hide in until I was convinced the room was empty.

I laughed shakily to myself at the extremes I was going through as I got dressed – managing to find a few pieces of clothing that covered at least some of skin and weren’t see-through or torn in strategic areas.

Now I stood in the middle of the room not sure what to do now. I was starving, but where was the kitchen? And was I just allowed to go there and help myself to what I wanted? And where was the Joker?

I remained there for a few moments unsure how to proceed till I gained the courage to leave the room. I wandered the house blindly for a time, trying to retrace the steps I had taken with Frost the day before, until I eventually reached the top of the grand staircase where a couple of armed henchmen stood guard outside a door.

I asked for directions from them and then begrudgingly instructed me to the kitchen which I followed and, after still managing to make a few wrong turns, I finally found my way to it.

Similar to the rest of the house, this room too, was huge. It had clearly been originally designed to be a historic-looking kitchen, once having the large fireplace, enough room for a huge farmhouse table in the middle and any other contraptions you wanted. But now it was revamped, a huge island with bar stools taking up the middle of the room and all the counters and technology having a very modern and metal look to them.

I wandered around the large room, opening drawers out of sheer curiosity and stumbling upon gadgets I didn’t even know existed. It was an oddly stocked kitchen for a house that was supposedly never used.

I hadn’t been in there long when Frost had found me, materialising in the doorway and making me jump. Though he seemed just as surprised to see me as I, him. He looked me up and down, as if looking for something.

“Frost?” I asked, when I’d managed to get my heart into my chest, “What’s up?” I asked, confused by his expression.

He pulled himself upright, resuming his professional stance – I guess he was working after all, “Just surprised to see you still standing.” He told me.

I looked at him confused, “Why wouldn’t I be…” I began, then it hit me, "Frost, what happened last night?”

He furrowed his brow, confused I didn’t know. “I wanted to ask you the same thing.” He said cryptically.

I frowned back at him, “You don’t know?”

“I know you didn’t stay in the room assigned to you.” He admitted, “Boss was pretty mad when he found out.”

“So he does know?” I asked grimacing, “Were you the one that moved me?”

Frost looked at me confused, “Moved you? No. Boss sent us all away once we tracked you down. He closed the door after that but I’d seen that look before on his face and I didn’t think you would make it out alive, let alone unharmed.” He admitted, his mind somewhere else.

Wonderful. I had been asleep in the same room as a pissed off psychotic murderer.

“So how did I get back in the Joker’s room?” I asked, more to myself than to Frost. But I already knew the answer.

Frost shrugged anyway, “He must have carried you back.”

I couldn’t believe it. I stared wide eyed at the kitchen island in front of me. The Joker had carried me, sleeping, in his arms. I could feel my face burning red. Did I snore? Had I had bad breath? Was I heavy? Oh my God this was mortifying.

I knew I should be annoyed at him – pretty pissed actually – that he had forced me basically to sleep in the same bed as him. But right now, all I could feel was an intense burning embarrassment. I was no longer worried that I had been that close to being murdered, I was too busy worrying if I’d made a fool of myself whilst unconscious.

And – wait. He’d been in the same room as me this morning. Did we sleep together? I could feel my eyes widened as the events of last night became clearer. Oh no.

“Ergh!” I groaned in frustration and humiliation, placing my hand forehead in disgrace.

Frost watched me uncomfortably, clearly not sure what to do, “Look,” He said, trying to break through my anguish, “I need to get back to work – I only came down because George said he’d seen you wandering around and asking for directions.” He told me. “Help yourself to anything around the place, no room is off limits but I would stay away from the room directly opposite the stairs – that’s the Boss’s office.” I nodded at him as I took the information in, remembering the door with the men outside, wondering if one of them was ‘George’.

Frost gave me a small smile and quick apology before making to stride off into the house. “Oh,” he recalled suddenly stopping in the doorway, “Boss would like you to join him this evening for a drive.” He informed me.

“Tell him no thanks.” I muttered, “Not sure I have the energy in me to deal with him tonight.” Frost frowned at me, clearly not happy with my response, but gave me a quick nod anyway before continuing back into the depths of the house.

I contemplated the consequences of my decision as I helped myself to some food. Would the Joker be mad I had turned him down? Of course, he would. Would he do anything about it was more what I should be concerned about.

I shuffled around the cupboards as I thought, once again surprised to find that the kitchen was stock to the brim with fresh produce and I had to wonder if it was because of me, or if they always had to keep it stocked in case the Joker made a sudden decision to spend some time here.

The whole time I was in the kitchen I saw no one else – so much so I did consider spending the whole day in the kitchen - but I decided I couldn’t spend a whole week in this huge house just hauled up in this one room, so, after I was done eating, I set out to explore the rest of the maze-like mansion.

There were so many rooms.

There were at least 3 rooms that appeared to be lounges with different arrays of entertainment kits, a large fancy dining room that looked like it was never used, a few rooms that seemed dedicated to drinking alone, the large garage I had arrived via last night and – I noted for future reference – a large library stacked from floor to ceiling with shelves of dusty books.

I was glad to see that none of these rooms seemed to have undergone the redecorating that the hall had, no green paint or bullet holes in sight.

I continued around the ground floor of the house, finding many rooms empty or so dusty that I couldn’t stop sneezing upon entering. I paused when I came across a large conservatory-like room at what must have been the back of the house.

It was humid in here, the rain pattering lightly on the glass roof above. Through the wall of windows in front of me lay a large green lawn with neatly trimmed hedges around the borders, the boundaries stretching out of sight over a hill and the bare outlines of skyscrapers just visible in the distance against the grey sky.

“You know, doll, it’s rude to turn down your host when they offer you a night out?” Came a voice from behind that sent shivers down my back. The voice sounded soft, but dangerous and I turned slowly to meet the Joker standing in the double door entrance to the room.

“Got plans already, huh?” he mocked, “Shame.” He pouted at me cruelly, “Maybe tomorrow night.”

“No thank you.” I managed out, though my voice was croaky and faltered slightly. “I don’t particularly want to do anything with you.” I said bravely.

“No?” He questioned, feigning surprise, “Come now doll,” he teased, “if you keep refusing to even let me try to make you smile, that’s cheating.” He purred dangerously, holding my gaze and his eyes seemed to become stormier, his mouth breathing louder and harsher. I swallowed thickly, regretting my previous words.

“Boss?”

The Joker snarled and span to face the henchman that had appeared next to him, brandishing a piece of paper at arms length as though it was a white flag. The Joker snatched it from him, his eyes darting over the paper as he read it. His jaw clenched and he crumpled the paper in his fist, grumbling something under his breath that sound like ‘If you want something done you gotta do it yourself.’ He gaze shot back up to mine swiftly “Later then, Doll.” He said before departing, the henchman following quickly on behind.

I didn’t linger in that room, just in case the Joker decided to pay me another visit and finish whatever he wanted to do a moment ago. Instead, I continued to wander the house until I finally found my way back to the familiar entrance way, the harsh graffiti and knife art no longer really bothering me anymore. I headed immediately for one door in particular, pushing it open, surprised to see the room hadn’t changed in the slightest.

The large, plump arm chairs still sat next to the unlit fireplace, the dark wood bookshelves still pushed up against the back wall, and the decanter with its matching crystal glasses still sat on the small coffee table between the chairs. And, of course - still sat nestled under the large window that looked out over the front lawn - was the beautiful piano.

I drifted into the room, able to take my time now to examine every inch of the room without the fear from the last time. It was a beautiful room, practically tiny compared to the rest of the house, but still very large compared to anything I had ever lived in.

I sat myself down in one of the cushiony armchairs, admiring the detailed patterns that adorned the fireplace and surveying the rest of the room. Eventually though, I could no longer resist it anymore and stood up, heading straight for the piano. I hesitated, admiring the instrument from afar before I sat gently on the old, faded stool stroking the key cover and lifting it up, a strong sense of déjà vu overcoming me.

The keys, yellow with age, lay out perfectly just begging to be used and I stroked them with longingly.

Frost had said help myself to anything I wanted - there was no one around to disturb here anyway.

So I pressed a key. The noise sounded ridiculously loud to my ears that were so used to the echoing silence of the large house. I waited a few beats, to see if anyone responded to the noise, but when nothing happened I took that as enough reassurance to push another key. I waited again.

I slowly grew in confidence with each passing moment of no response or movement from the rest of the house, soon playing more and more keys until the notes no longer sounded painfully loud to me and I eventually began to play a silly little tune I had been taught when I learnt to play.

My fingers danced over the keys fluidly until I made the tune more complex and intricate, soon forming the music of a song I knew. It didn’t take long before I got caught up in the melody, beginning to hum the song and then sing the words quietly at first and then gaining in volume, though never louder than normal talking level.

I continued to press away at the keys, not taking a break between one song and the next, just playing continuously.

That was until I heard a floorboard creek outside the door. I jumped, my hands slipping on the keys and making a painfully out-of-tune noise. I instantly spun around to the source of the noise, only to find the Joker stood framed in the doorway.

Déjà vu indeed.

He surveyed me for a moment in silence and I wondered if he would continue with what he had wanted to say earlier or if he was going to berate me for making too much noise or daring to be in this room when there was a strict rule, that I was unaware of that, prohibited it.

Or maybe – given he was the Joker and wholly unpredictable – he might just crack a joke at my expense and leave.

However, he did none of these things. He just stood there in silence, the dark shadow around his eyes showing that - though he slept last night - it wasn’t nearly enough.

He lingered only a few moments longer and then he was gone as suddenly as he had come.

I watched the empty doorway for a few moments but he didn’t return. I got up and closed the door quietly - not wanting anymore unexpected audiences - and returned to my music, my heart was still erratic from surprise, and half an ear open for any more footsteps on the floor outside the door.

It was only later that day, as I climbed the stairs to explore the top of the house, that I heard a familiar sound.

Was that my voice.

It was soft and quiet but I could definitely hear it. I back tracked down the hallway till I reached the top of the stairs again. There were no men outside the door this time and I could press up close to the wood.

Sure enough, there it was - quiet but still audible - me and the piano from earlier playing out quietly in the Joker’s office.

I didn’t know what to think about it, so I pushed it to the back of my mind and hurried down the corridor out of sight before I got caught again.

tags: @carouselcurls @6fish6 @viraldragonrider @theartistdetective @white-chocolate-mocha-fan

[internallydeceased]

In the Mist - Chapter 1

Prologue

Nowhere in Particular

Most people had horses or wagons to get them from one place to the next, but all Jamie had to rely on were his own two feet. He was an avid horseman, and he had ridden and trained more horses than he could count. But here, he had few things of value and none of them would give him enough for a horse.

He didn’t have any real destination, so he simply took a step, and then another. Eventually he stumbled onto what he assumed to be a main road. It was evident that many people came through there, based on the abundance of hoofprints and footsteps. He hoped that if he followed it long enough, he would come across some sort of community.

It was already dark when he left the station, and there was no telling what sort of danger lingered in the brush in daylight, let alone the dark. He walked until he found shelter in a hollow tree just off the main road. It wasn’t much, but it was dry and he was well hidden from prying eyes. He hoped that it would also be enough to protect him from anything lurking in the shadows.

He was no stranger to living outdoors, but that was a place he knew well. He knew nothing of this place apart from what he’d seen in the short time he’d been here. This was a world of all new fauna, people, customs, and traditions.

He pulled the tartan from his pack and wrapped himself in it. The highlander way of life had been wiped out long before he was born, but highlander he was. The wearing of kilts had been outlawed in Scotland, but this was a whole new place. The whole purpose of people coming here was to live freely and the way that they wanted.

Still, he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, already a stranger in strange place.

“One day.” He smiled as he ran his fingers across the fabric, remembering all those he left behind.

He took solace in the night sky, small specks of light littered among the empty void. Proving that no matter what, there was light. That there would always be hope.

Black gave way gray, and the birds came to life in song, signaling the start of a new day.

The forest floor was shrouded in a heavy fog, reducing visibility to a minimum. Jamie would have to wait until it cleared just a bit before he resumed his journey.

But there was something there, barely visible.

He thought it must’ve been a squirrel making it’s way from tree to tree, but the closer it came, the clearer it was.

It wasn’t a thing, but a person. A woman.

She was dressed in a white garment that was hardly modest. Dark curls surrounded her head, as wild as the world around them. Her pale skin seemed to glow, just a bit. He couldn’t make out her face, but he imagined it was just as perfect as the rest of her.

It looked as if she were dancing, blissfully unaware of her surroundings. Perhaps just happy to be alive.

And then just as quickly as she appeared, she vanished.

He rubbed his eyes and looked again, but there was nothing but the mist.

The fog had cleared, and once again Jamie was headed into an unknown future.

He couldn’t help but think about the woman he saw in the early hours of the morning. Or if he had even seen her at all. Perhaps she had never even been there, and his mind made her up out of painful solitude.

What did it mean? Was it a sign? A vision? Or was being alone simply driving him mad?

Either way, she wasn’t likely to leave his mind any time soon. He had no idea who she was or what she was, but by God she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. His heart fluttered as his mind wandered back to the moment when he’d seen her.

He shook his head, laughing at himself. “Yer a fool, Fraser.”

After what felt like days of walking, Jamie finally, finally, found paradise. A small tavern with a few outbuildings surrounding it. He received many sideways glances and looks of disgust, but he was so tired and hungry he didn’t care.

“What can I get you?” Came a soft voice from behind the bar.

“Anything that’s edible.” He laughed, while searching his pack for the little money he had left.

When she returned with his meal, he was so focused on the food, he hadn’t even looked up.

But after a few bites he finally glanced at the hand that fed him, and nearly choked as a result.

It was her.

That morning, he hadn’t even seen her face. But he was sure it was her.

“Are you alright?” She asked, trying her best not to laugh at his ridiculous face.

“Fine.” He choked out, along with wet eyes and a red face.

It hasn’t even been ten minutes and ye’ve already made a fool of yerself.

She crossed her arms and smiled as he took a swig of ale. “Good, It’d be a shame if you died without paying.”

He had finished his supper long ago, and they were the only two who remained. She was everything he imagined her to be, and more. She was no ordinary woman, and with each passing minute, she only became more interesting. More beautiful. More perfect.

“So where are you headed?” She asked with her head propped in her hand.

“Nowhere in particular.” He smiled as he gazed into deep amber eyes, losing himself in them. “To be honest, I haven’t any place to go.”

She frowned and paused, deciding whether or not to speak her mind.

“Well, I have an extra room upstairs. You’re welcome to stay there until you figure it out.” She hardly knew the man. He had come out of nowhere, resembling the lowliest of beggars. Yet there was something about him, something that drew her to him. He was handsome, and charming. There was no doubting that. But it was as if he didn’t even know it. He was so kind and genuine, nowhere near the same as the other men that came through.

“I haven’t anything to pay ye with!” He exclaimed, eyes wide. He never wanted to leave, but he wouldn’t take advantage her like this.

“Well I can’t let you just sleep in the dirt, can I?” She smiled and turned to clear away the mess of her departed patrons.

“Aye, ye could. I could be a killer for all you know.” He quipped.

“Are you?” Her voice was steady, confident.

“No…” He mumbled.

“Then there’s nothing to worry about.” She flashed him a smile and motioned for him to follow her once everything had been put away.

He clenched his jaw, bit his tongue, and did as he was bid.

She lead him to the back of the tavern, up some stairs and stopped outside a large door. The room was small, but it had a bed and a fireplace, which was more than Jamie could have asked for.

“You can stay here until you have a place.”

He stood there, completely dumbfounded.

“I have nothing to give ye.” He tried again, he didn’t want to impose. He had nothing to pay her with, and she was willingly giving him food and board. And to a stranger at that.

“You will.” She smirked, and turned to leave, but hesitated, glancing at him over her shoulder.

“What’s your name?”

“James, but ye can call me Jamie.”

“Goodnight, Jamie.” She smiled, and then disappeared into the confines of her own room.

“Goodnight, Sassenach.” He whispered into the empty darkness. He didn’t even know her name.

read the next part here!