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phykios · 3 years

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honesty and promise me, part 5 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

Annabeth is making her periodic pilgrimage to the gynecologist when she gets Leo's call. It's very fitting--two uncomfortable and invasive things for the price of one. She answers her phone, ignoring the doctor's chastising frown. Surely she can place her new IUD while Annabeth deals with whatever Leo wants.

"What are you doing on the 18th?" he asks, about the only type of hello she ever gets from Leo.

The two of them never really grew out of pretending not to like each other, after they had gotten over their initial dislike. When he and Piper first got to Miss Minerva's, more or less straight out of juvie after Piper's dad made a lot of calls and called in a lot of favors, she and Leo had really hated each other. They used to fight over everything, from Piper's attention to the position of captain of the Mathletes team. And also, over Leo hating a rich white girl on principle, which, in retrospect, is totally fair. But then, by a weird twist of fate, they wound up in Boston together.

If Annabeth had to choose between hanging out with her creepy, Norse mythology-obsessed uncle and hanging out with Leo, she'd pick Leo every time. They had gone through a lot together, things both big and small.

"Of August?" she asks.

"Please be still, Ms. Chase," says her doctor. Annabeth rolls her eyes.

"Duh."

Wracking her thoughts she can't think of any prior commitments she might have had. Maybe there's a concert that day, but if she can't remember, it probably wasn't that important anyway. "Not much."

"Good, because we have plans."

She frowns. "Piper didn't mention any--"

"No, you and I have plans. I'll see you in Philly, yeah?"

Philadelphia? Ew. "Why Philly?"

"Our Smarter House thing won an award."

"No shit?"

"Eta Industries Award. The gala is on the 18th. You're my plus one."

She sucks in air through her teeth, readjusting her hips as unobtrusively as possible. Eta Industries was… a very big deal. "Isn't that, like, an engineering specific award? Maybe you should accept it by yourself." She'd be better off staying out of the limelight for this one, she thinks, even as some part of her longs once again for recognition.

Something electric whirs in the background, tinny and buzzing. "I'll see you on the 18th, then," says Leo, not having heard a word she said. "Also, you've been summoned to the castle."

"Leo--" she jumps as the gyno touches something she really shouldn't have.

"No arguments, she's expecting you today at two. Adios!" He clicks off.

"Okay, Ms. Chase," says the doctor, a little too chipper for Annabeth's taste. "You should be all set."

Annabeth leaves the doctor's office with her brand new IUD, a handful of medical literature which immediately gets tossed in the trash, and a sinking feeling in her gut as she gets on a train to Brooklyn, headed to Piper's place for another annoying and unnecessary fashion show. It's not that she doesn't enjoy being Piper's model--it's a position she's held since their time at Miss Minerva's, and it's never really a hardship to be told how gorgeous she is--but Piper has a way of just... getting information out of her that she doesn’t always want to share.

Stopping off early, Annabeth gives herself a moment to walk down the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, to settle her nerves and indulge herself a bit. That skyline gets her every time.

Turning down Pierrepont Street, she is once again struck by just how quiet the city can be. Manhattan is loud, rude, in-your-face, almost an entirely different world from the stately, deafeningly silent Brooklyn. For Annabeth, who is incapable of falling asleep without city horns blaring, it wigs her out a little.

She barely has time to ring the doorbell on Piper's dad's place before the girl herself wrenches it open, grabbing Annabeth's hand and yanking her inside. "You're late!" she trills, suffering what Annabeth can only assume is the onset of a caffeine overdose.

"I thought I had until two."

"That was before I had the best idea."

The brownstone is a mess, as per usual, reams of fabric tossed over every available surface, enough dressforms strewn about to make it look like Piper is hosting a party exclusively populated by headless zombies, adorned with a warehouse's worth of half-finished dresses and jackets. Based on the loud fabrics and structured angles, it looks like Piper is in the middle of a Klimt-ian phase of inspiration. Annabeth eyes a bright gold gown with a huge, extended collar, embroidered with silver eyes, the raw edges trailing the floor. "Please tell me this isn't your idea."

"First of all," Piper releases her arm as they enter her kitchen-turned-photo studio, gingerly stepping over a box of assorted beads, "even though it would look amazing on you, that dress is for an actual paying client. Second of all--" she snatches up a dressform from its position behind the camera, setting it down in front of her with a flourish. "This is my idea."

Annabeth was right--Piper is definitely on a Klimt-ian kick.

Pulled straight from her art history classes, the dress looks like a two dimensional painting come to life, a stunning skirt like a column of liquid silver descending onto the black mat, pleats like fluted columns precisely draped over the dressform's hips… and not much else. Annabeth points. “Is that it?”

Piper makes a face. "I have a bodice, promise. Now go take that shit off."

Annabeth looks down at her repurposed The Police shirt, fished out of a thrift store bin some months ago, shirt collar cut and sides resewn to bring the waistline in. "I like this shirt."

"Oh, I like the shirt plenty," she agrees. "But you could stand to wear a nicer pair of jeans."

She does have a point there--her jeans are clinging to life at this point, the knees and hems all but obliterated, strings of fabric valiantly attempting to hold their original shape. "Fine. Be right back."

When she emerges from the bathroom a minute later in just her bra and panties, Piper has laid out another bolt of fabric in that same color, silver with a blue shift beneath the studio lights. Piper, bent over with a strip of measuring tape, looks up at her, then squints. "So who is he?"

Annabeth starts. "Excuse me?"

"The guy you've been seeing."

How... the fuck does Piper always know these things? "I don't know what you're talking about."

She flicks her eyes down to Annabeth's thigh, Annabeth following her gaze to the remnants of the bruise that Percy had left there with his mouth two days ago. Dammit.

Piper tsks, a smile distorting the sound. "Naughty, naughty, Annabeth."

"How do you know it wasn't from a girl?" she asks, petulant.

"Because if it had been a girl, you wouldn't be nearly so defensive."

Shit. "We've been friends way too long," Annabeth grumbles.

"That we have," says Piper. "And out of respect for our friendship, I will refrain from grilling you about him until you are more comfortable sharing."

"So, for a few hours?"

She shrugs. "More or less."

"I suppose you want me to thank you for holding back."

"Don't thank me yet," she grins, wide and toothy. "I've been cooped up here working on my collection for three days, and I am dying to talk to someone."

Annabeth sighs, but obediently raises her arms, making room as Piper crouches down to pin the skirt on her. "Okay, you got me. I'm seeing this guy."

"Seeing or seeing-seeing?"

"Just seeing," she clarifies. "It's pretty casual."

"Can't be that casual if you're telling me about it," Piper points out.

Fuck. This is why she never tells Piper about her hookups. "You're the one who asked."

"Another business bro, I assume?"

"He's--" Piper swats at her as she automatically sucks her stomach in, their long held code for "stay put." "He's a dancer."

She hums, arranging pleats over Annabeth's knees. "Like on Broadway?"

"Ballet."

Piper glances up at her, eyes sparkling. “Un danseur! Ooh la la,” she trills. “What’s his name?”

“I can just leave,” Annabeth says, distinctly not thinking about how Percy will occasionally slip into French whenever he stubs his toe.

“Okay, okay, no more boy talk.” Piper moves in front of her, adjusting the fabric about her waist. “Tell me about the thing you just won with Leo.”

“I had honestly forgotten about it,” she says, lying a little, pulling her arms forward. “You remember his master’s thesis?”

“The shmart kishen thing, right?” Piper asks around the tape measure in her mouth.

Leo, the prodigal boy that he is, had spent his last year of school dedicated to a singular problem faced by people around the world: the sudden, out of control kitchen fire. Using very complicated electronics and engineering that Annabeth does not understand, he devised a handful of mechanisms to sense, contain, and ultimately douse random fires as soon as they popped up. Annabeth came on as his design partner after he had graduated and had gotten some funding to conceptualize an entire safe house.

“Well, it just won an Eta Industries award.”

Her head snaps up, hands freezing in their tracks. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Congrats.”

“Thanks,” she shrugs as Piper gets up to grab some more fabric. “I mean, it was mostly Leo’s doing. I just made sure he didn’t leave any stray pipes around.”

Holding out her arms again, Piper slides them through the sleeves of a heavy, corset-like piece, structured and straight and very forgiving on Annabeth’s lack of curves. “You shouldn’t sell yourself short,” she says. “I’m sure your skills as a guinea pig were very valuable.”

“Are you ever going to let that go?” Annabeth asks, she who has literally burnt pasta while it was submerged in water.

“You’re just lucky my dad was out of town that weekend. Have you decided what you’re going to wear to the awards ceremony?”

She shoots her friend a strange look. “I thought I was wearing this?” she gestures to the unfinished silver gown currently making her feel like an absolute goddess.

Piper makes a face. “What do I look like, the fucking Flash? This isn’t going to be ready for another thirty hours, at least. I’ve got decals to add, Swarovskis to bead, not to mention all the hand-stitching on the neckline because for whatever reason my machine has decided to hate me this week.”

“Okay, well,” says Annabeth, appropriately cowed, “then I guess I’ll wear the black one you gave me.”

“2019 fall/winter?”

Annabeth nods.

“Styling?”

“Luke gave me this really nice scarf for my birthday.”

Throwing her head back, she groans.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“You’re so boring,” she moans, pulling Annabeth’s hair out of the way. “Let me guess, you’re going to pair it with the black shrug and opaque nude tights.”

“Well… yeah, I was.”

“Exactly! Boring.” Coming back around, she pushes Annabeth lightly into the light, before taking her place behind the camera. “You could do so much with that dress and you choose to make it boring. Why not some fishnets? Or a big statement necklace?”

Annabeth waits after a few shutter clicks to answer. “Because I doubt that the people at Eta Industries are going to be big fans of my tattoos.”

“That is a bald-faced lie and you know it,” Piper says. “Your tattoos and piercings are gorgeous and you would look absolutely rocking with them. Knock all the old farts right off their feet. Turn.”

Obediently, Annabeth rotates, letting Piper snap off as many pictures as she likes. “This isn’t a Vogue event, Pipes,” she says, rolling her eyes where her friend can’t see them. “Punk isn’t exactly accepted practice yet.”

“Punk was the Met Gala theme almost a decade ago, babe. It has filtered down from Vogue. It's practically cerulean now. Side.”

Annabeth turns again, keeping her eyes straight. Side-eye would ruin the shot, no matter how much she wants to give it.

“I will never understand why you both refuse to wear halfway decent jeans and then refuse to go guns out in my dresses that demand it. I can almost guarantee you that Leo will show up in those stupid suspenders with grease on his face. And you’ll have to get him to leave his tool belt in the car.”

“Then it’s probably for the best that I have a modicum of professionalism, huh?”

Piper leans out from behind the camera, glaring. “At the very least,” she hedges, “will you let me set you up with some shoes?”

“I don’t know…”

“You are not allowed to wear those horrid Manolo pumps you wear everywhere. And your nude Louboutins won’t look right with the black.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Piper’s grin is evil, and the way she scampers out of the room means she’s got something she’d been trying to force on Annabeth for a long time.

Five minutes later, Annabeth is presented with a set of black strappy sandals, its edges detailed in a gold zipper, with safety pin pull to match. She frowns. “Are you sure? They look kind of… hardcore for something like this.”

“They’re Versace,” Piper says. “I was not lying about punk’s democratization.”

Well. They are pretty cool.

“It’s either this or the McQueen boots. They have studs.”

Annabeth sighs, holding out her hand. Piper squeals, bouncing a little, wrapping her in a brief, but exuberant hug, kissing her cheek with a loud, wet, smack. “You’re the best!”

“I haven’t even done anything.”

“I am saving up favors to cash in. Now,” she releases Annabeth, retreating behind the camera. “If you’ve got some time, can I borrow your head? I’m working on a helmet and all my mannequins are busy.”

***

“Hey,” Percy begins. It is so late at night, the dawn is on the edge of breaking, and they are both exhausted from some particularly good sex. Which is saying something, because all their sex is particularly good. “You doing anything on the 18th?”

“Yeah,” She says, distractedly, snuggling down into his bed. The fact that she’s also snuggling into him is just a coincidence.

“Oh.”

“Why?”

“Nothing. Was going to invite you to a thing if you weren’t.” She nods her head against his shoulder and falls asleep in his arms, thinking absolutely nothing about it.

She continues to think nothing of it on the train to Philadelphia on the 18th, half-asleep and listening to Paramore to pass the time, blasting Misery Business on repeat as she changes in her hotel room.

The Eta Industries event is pretty much exactly what she expected: a lot of old rich white people milling about, sipping champagne and verbally circle jerking each other, the insipid strains of classical music spilling out of the ballroom as Annabeth steps up to claim her name tag. “Name?” asks the young, college-aged girl, skimming her printed guest list over the rim of her glasses.

“Annabeth Chase.”

She runs a long fingernail over the assorted collection of name tags, before settling on the correct one, handing it to Annabeth, her star tattoo on the inside of her wrist free and open to anyone who would care to look. “Here you are, Ms. Chase,” she says, smiling. “Have a wonderful night!”

Automatically, Annabeth goes to pin it on Luke’s scarf, before she remembers that something is already occupying that place--Percy’s Acropolis pin. She had taken to keeping it in her pocket these days, something of a good luck charm, and thought that it might… she doesn’t know, maybe send a subconscious signal to Percy that she’s thinking of him. Even though there is, quite literally, no way he could know, she hopes that maybe he can sense it, and that maybe he’s thinking about her, too.

Ugh. She snatches up a flute of champagne from a wandering waiter, eager to get that thought out of her head, making a beeline straight for the refreshments table. It’s there that Leo finds her, not five minutes later, munching on some chocolate covered strawberries.

“And here I thought you might ditch me entirely,” he says, even as he bumps her shoulder. True to form, he is absolutely, 100% dressed in those stupid suspenders, a smudge of grease behind his ear.

“You’ve got a…” Annabeth trails off, motioning behind her own ear.

“Huh? Oh!” He snatches up a napkin, rubbing discreetly. “Thanks.”

She squints. Something about him is distinctly different. “Are you taller?”

Kicking out a foot, he wiggles it, triumphant. “Platform shoes.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey, if they're good enough for Robert Downey Jr., then they’re good enough for me. After all, I am Ir--”

She groans, good-natured, taking another gulp of champagne. “If you quote Marvel in your speech, I’m leaving.”

“Fine by me, Your Highness, they’ll give me the award either way.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Valdez?” The same college girl from before sidles up to them, clipboard clutched in her hand. “They’re about to start.”

He claps his hands, rubbing them together. “Excellent. You coming?”

“I…” She casts her gaze to the makeshift stage they’ve constructed, eyeing the bright “Eta Industries” placard, the sharp angles shiny and alluring, the siren-song of recognition.

This is a big deal. There are photographers in the audience. In the write-ups and reviews, she would be listed as a co-winner of the award, a co-designer of the world’s safest house, a thought so happy she practically starts flying.

“I think I should stay out of the limelight for this one, Leo,” she says, politely. “This is your moment. I don’t want to ruin it.”

He frowns. “You sure?”

Were it not for the fact that people were watching, Annabeth would have leapt up onto that stage without a second thought, snatching up the trophy like she had just won the Oscar, holding it up like the goddamn Olympic torch. “What, you want a white woman stealing your glory?” she says instead, arching a brow.

“You get a pass this one time,” he quips, holding out his hand. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Whatever social grace she has left crumbles. She’s denied it enough--she wants to be up there. “Oh, fine. Since you insist,” she says, following clipboard-girl to the stage.

There’s a quick burst of feedback, then an elderly gentleman at the podium begins speaking into the mic. “Excuse me--sorry about that. Yes, yes, thank you all for coming tonight to the annual Eta Industries awards presentation ceremony. It is always such a pleasure to come together with our hard-working and generous board members and shareholders to honor the best and brightest upcoming talent in engineering.”

Internally, she rolls her eyes. Rich people.

“It is my pleasure, however, to introduce the young man who is the recipient of this year’s Millennium Prize for innovation and safety. One of MIT’s youngest and most decorated graduates, he was a recipient of the Mead Prize for Students, the Friedman Young Engineer Award, and the Collingwood Prize, among several others. His master’s thesis, ‘Towards the Design and Implementation of Autonomous Safety Measures in Commercial Kitchens,’ formed the basis of the project which we recognize tonight, the so-called ‘SmartSafe House,’ reflects the pioneering spirit and outstanding creative vision of not only Eta Industries, but also the field of engineering as a whole. Please join me in congratulating this year’s Millennium Prize recipient, Leo Valdez.”

From the sidelines, she claps enthusiastically with the rest of the crowd as her friend takes the stage, shakes hands with the Vice President of Eta Industries, and accepts the award, a blue, blocky triangle which almost seems to glow in the light of the ballroom. “Thank you, Mr. Helms. This is--this is a really big honor.”

She can see him shaking a bit, taking a quick drink from his water glass. Public speaking was never really his strong suit.

“As--as a lot of you probably know, this project is very near and dear to my heart. Growing up in Houston with my mother, a car mechanic, I was eight years old when her beloved shop went up in flames, like that.” He snaps his fingers, his other hand pressed to the podium where no one can see, joints white with pressure. Annabeth is proud of him--he hasn’t been able to speak this candidly about it in years. She knows firsthand how much his mother’s near-death haunts him still. “Thankfully, we were able to rebuild, and my mother went on to bigger and better things--including a shop with cleaner vents. But I can definitely pinpoint that moment as the day I knew I wanted to make the world a safer place, for my mom, if not for everyone else.”

She remembers, so clearly, that snowy night in the dorms at Miss Minerva’s. The power had gone out, and Leo had made them an illicit campfire out of their trash bin and Annabeth’s failed English exam. Cold and miserable and with dying phones, they passed the time instead telling scary stories and funny memories, until the conversation had gotten suddenly, intensely real.

“But I would be remiss,” he goes on, cheerful, “if I didn’t acknowledge my friend and collaborator, without whose work I wouldn’t be here today: Annabeth Chase,” he waves to his side, indicating her. The whole crowd, as one, turns their gazes on her. She straightens up, imperceptibly, hoping she doesn’t look too haughty or anything. “I’ve never been very good with people. My mama says I’m just like my dad that way. Give me a car, or a computer, or pages of multiplication tables, and I’m golden. But people?” He blows out a breath, and the crowd chuckles, naturally. “Now, if it had been left up to me, the SmartSafe House would have been a top of the line, cutting-edge metal box, efficient to a fault, but completely unlivable. Thank God I had Annabeth on my team to remind me what the project was really about: a home that families could feel safe in, so that what happened to me and my mom might never happen to anyone else.” He hoists his award above his head, leaning into the mic. “Ma, este es para ti. Thank you all.”

Stepping down from the stage, they reenter the crowd, ready to receive adoration. In another life, she might have been embarrassed by such praise. Here and now, however, she takes each handshake and word of congratulations like a starving man in a desert who just came across an oasis, hungry and greedy.

Hey, it’s her night, too.

After what feels like a whole-ass sixty minutes of shaking old people's hands and polite nodding, though, she is in desperate need of a break. Escaping the throng of mingling bodies, she darts into a dark corner of the ballroom, leaning against the back of a rounded stone column, just barely out of sight of the party.

Rubbing her hands over her face, she sighs, just short of a scream. Blowing out all her air, she lets the faint music and fake laughs melt into each other, becoming white noise, a blank canvas, empty of concrete thoughts and feelings.

Then, her ear picks up a strand of conversation.

“...announcing tomorrow that the CEO of Pallas Inc. is choosing a successor,” a woman says, the sneer in her voice almost visible. “About time.”

“I thought she already picked a successor,” says the woman’s conversation partner, a man with the kind of cookie-cutter cadence that she heard every time she took a business major to bed. “Pallas is a family business, isn’t it?”

“You haven’t heard?” Annabeth can almost picture it, the furtive glance around the room, the woman placing her hand on her partner’s arm, leaning in to share a juicy secret. “Supposedly she was grooming her daughter for the role, before she went in for rehab.”

“Rehab? Really?”

“What else could it be?” says the woman. “She’s disappeared off the face of the earth, and her mother refuses to talk about her. Let’s be honest, if she were dead, she would have raised a bigger stink about it.”

Annabeth closes her eyes, sucking air in through her teeth. That… wasn’t totally untrue.

But the woman doesn’t stop. “It’s always the same story,” she scoffs. “You throw countless hours of schooling and millions of dollars into girls like her, and what do they do? Turn around and blow it all on drugs and partying. Honestly, she should be grateful her mother is even bothering with her rehab at all. Hasn’t she wasted enough of the family’s money already?”

Blood roars in her ears, drowning out the fancy party. Sharp points dig into her palm, pinpricks of pain, before she realizes that they’re her own fingernails.

The lady has got it all wrong. Her mom couldn’t even be bothered with that.

Luke’s scarf, the shrug, it’s choking her, suffocating and constricting. Percy’s pin feels heavy on her chest.

Blinders on, she would have sprinted for the exit were it not for the Piper’s stupid Versace heels, reduced instead to a teetering, tottering wreck, like a baby colt running from a predator. The night is hot and humid, heavy with the threat of rain, and Annabeth can barely breathe, dark spots in her eyes, until she ducks into a nearby Target, the frigid blast of air a welcome distraction.

Almost in a daze, she watches herself pick up a few things--clippers, an electric razor, beef jerky, a blue Gatorade she considers for a moment before putting it back, choosing a lemonade instead--practically throwing them at the poor cashier who begins checking her out, mechanically. He doesn’t spare her a single glance for her odd assortment of items. He doesn’t even look at her at all.

The walk to her hotel room disappears in the blink of an eye. Blink--she breezes past the check-in counter, slipping into the empty elevator. Blink--she kicks off her heels in her room, nearly hitting the wall mirror, leaving a scuff mark on the white plaster. Blink--she’s down to her underwear and tights in the bathroom, shaving the right side of her curls clean off. She’d gotten them professionally done for the night, perfect spirals held together by expensive products. And now she wants them gone.

She pauses and breathes too hard, looking at herself in the mirror. Her mother didn’t like that she was blonde. Maybe because of dumb blonde stereotypes, maybe just because it reminded Athena too much of her failed romance with Annabeth’s dad. And that thought stays her hand from getting rid of the rest of them.

That, and maybe the idea of Percy, of some broke dancer, tangling his fingers in it as they lie together.

Fuck her mother, and the fucking stories she tells.

She likes it. She likes her blonde hair and her fresh undercut.

She can get Thalia to touch this up later, maybe. Now, though, she needs this.

It doesn’t look perfect. The left side of hair is too long, her gold laurel earrings too fancy for a homegrown haircut like this, her makeup too pristine. Shoving her hand under the running water, she rubs at her eyes, mascara and eyeliner smearing until they’ve reached something much more respectable for the failure that she really is.

She misses her industrial. And her eyebrow rings. And the tongue piercing. But this will have to do for now.

Breathing heavily, eyes hot, she doesn’t register her phone blinking, signaling an unread text message.

It’s from Thalia. surprised you weren’t at kelp heads bday party, it reads. was pretty boring. Kno he missed you

#backstory backstory backstoryyyyyyy #my fic #percabeth #pjo #the rivalry ends here #darkmagyk #perseannabeth #ballet au

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el-gilliath · 4 years

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not complete without you

Yeah so I decided to venture into The Old Guard fic with a 6+k fic. This was written for a prompt by @andrea-lyn, who did not want to write it herself but knew that angst and character death is right up my alley, so here we are. A big thanks to my bellowed @winged-fool for the beta.

Though this might be character death, I still find this to be a happy ending. All you need to know is in the tags.

Also includes an immortal dog, and what might be reincarnation.

AO3

Nicky knows his time is up in the most innocent of ways, he stubs his toe against the table in one of their safehouses and it doesn’t immediately stop hurting. Instead, it hurts for hours. His suspicions are confirmed when he cuts himself in the kitchen the day after and the wound doesn’t seal the way it usually does. He hides in the kitchen, cooking for hours until it stops bleeding and he can pretend it isn’t there.

He’s careful the next few days, so very careful, not to let Joe notice that he’s no longer healing. Instead, he watches as Joe spars with Nile, watches his bruises fade into the ether. Instead, he sucks marks into his skin as they make love late at night, admiring them for the three seconds before they disappear. He holds Joe close, distracting him with the sweetest of kisses so he can have another second, minute, hour where they’ll live together for another millennia and neither of their time is up.

He breathes calmly, smiles widely, loves fiercely, the way he always has. He avoids it for three days, allows himself to picture another thousand years with Joe, with Nile, with Booker. The good times they would share and the joy they would experience together, the lives they would save that would go on to save others.

He stops avoiding the minute Joe looks at him with worry. His Joe, his Yusuf, the man he killed countless times before he recognized what was in front of him and loved him fiercely from then on. The man whose love transcends everything, the man he hasn’t needed to speak words to for centuries, couldn’t speak to in the beginning, and now they just understand what the other needs and wants.

The man whose touch still thrills him after all this time.

Nicky closes his eyes, hangs his head, and prays. Maybe there’s no God, and Andy would’ve mocked him for it were she still among them. But he still has faith. Faith gave him Joe, gave him someone so he didn’t have to spend an eternity alone, how can he not still believe.

“Nicoló?”

He can hear the fear in Joe’s voice, feels it deep in his heart as he opens his eyes and looks back at him. God, will the sight of Joe never make his heart stop beating faster, will his short curls never make him want to run his fingers through them? He hopes not, for whatever time he has left.

“Three days,” he replies. He lifts his finger towards Joe, shows him the cut that’s still healing three days later. The cut he’s worked so hard to hide. “It’s my time, Yusuf.”

He knows he should’ve anticipated the wail of grief that escapes Joe as he looks at Nicky’s finger. Knows he should’ve anticipated the complete collapse to the floor the other half of his soul does. Knows he should’ve anticipated his sleek and very quick everything to lounge for a knife from their collection of weapons and slash himself on the arm. Maybe he did anticipate all of it, just like he knows that he needs to let it happen.

He listens as the wails turn louder, watches as Joe slashes his arms again and again in the hopes that his healing won’t set in. Both of them know that it will, but Joe still tries and Nicky still lets him. Watches him try again and again with tears in his eyes and running down his face, his hands clasped tightly together with the sounds of Booker and Nile just outside, asking them what’s going on. He tries to tell them that it’s okay, that they’re good, but he can’t. His world is hurting. His world needs him more than their teammates does right now.

He moves closer when he can. He knows Joe wouldn’t hurt him, but he needs to let his grief out. Nicky’s not going to stop that, he’s had three days to grieve. It’s Joe’s turn now.

He gets close enough to touch Joe and as he stretches out his hand Joe drops the knife immediately, gathering Nicky in his arms as he buries his face in Nicky’s hair.

“Nicoló. Non voglio che mi lasci. Per favore.”

“I’m not leaving you, il mio cuore, not for a long time,” Nicky whispers, moving Joe’s face away from his hair and drying his cheeks with his thumb. “We still have time, mi amore, so much time.”

Joe shakes his head. The grief is so very visible on his face and it breaks Nicky’s heart. “But not as much as we wanted. I cannot continue without you, my heart.”

“You can do whatever you need to. But for now we have time. Anything else will wait,” Nicky replies, giving Joe a soft kiss as he buries his fingers in Joe’s hair as he always wants to. “My immortality might be gone but I’m not gone yet, my Yusuf. I’m not lost to you yet.”

“I wish you would never have to be lost to me.”

“We will deal with this too, as we have dealt with everything else in our life. I swear, I will not leave you before I have to.”

They look at each other, losing themselves in each other as they always do. Nothing will change that, hasn’t in the millennia they’ve been together and it never will. Neither will the force of their kisses, Nicky knows and experiences as he’s drawn into a forceful one. It’s as passionate as always, as loving as always. But tinged with desperation, with sorrow. With loss.

“Yusuf.” Nicky moves away, just slightly, only just enough. “I have not left you. I’m right here.”

Joe nods, the grief on his face disappearing slowly but surely. Nicky knows he’s only hiding it, but he will let him. They will deal with that another time.

“Take me to bed, il mio cuore,” he says, smiling as Joe gets a familiar gleam of heat in his eyes. “I wish to spend the night wrapped in your arms.”

“Then in my arms you shall spend it.”

The next kiss is softer, not as tinged with the despair of the future. It lights his everything on fire, stokes it in his belly the way only Joe can. The way he’s lit it for so long. He cradles Joe’s head, pulling him tighter, closer. Always closer. Joe makes him stand up, walks him backwards to their bed, laying him down slowly as they hit the edge. Their lips never separating. It’s familiar, loving, safe. But still as thrilling as all the other times Joe takes him in his arms and kisses him, still as thrilling as all the other times he undresses him slowly and makes love to him.

Spending the night in Joe’s arms is still the safest place he will ever be.

———

He wakes the next day still cradled in Joe’s arms. They’re naked, the way they prefer to be when they have a room to themselves and everything in Nicky screams to stay there. But the need to talk to Booker and Nile is bigger, though he has no doubts that Booker at least suspects what’s going on. Booker is too smart for his own good at times, as history has shown.

He extracts himself from Joe’s arms, leaning down to kiss his brow and whisper sweet nothings when he makes noises of protest in his sleep. Nicky can only smile at the put open sigh as Joe settles back down, never wanting to be parted from Nicky.

He still leaves him alone in bed, leaving their bedroom and walking downstairs to the kitchen. He knows Booker and Nile are in there before he enters, feels them in his spirit the way he’s always done. He knows they feel him too, their eyes upon him from the second he walks into the kitchen. He has not lost that, still.

“Good morning,” he says smiling. He’s happy to see them smile back. Though he knows they are suspicious, from the way Booker doesn’t completely meet his eyes, or the way Nile’s foot keeps bouncing as if she’s having trouble staying still. “Have you eaten?”

“Not yet, Nile wanted to wait for you,” Booker replies, in the open and honest way he’s been since… Then and all that happened.

“Then I will make us some bre-”

“Are you and Joe okay?”

Booker clears his throat pointedly but Nile just waves him off, obviously not concerned in the slightest by whatever plan Booker probably suggested and she said she would go along with. Nile’s quest for the truth has always been something Nicky has admired, loved, about her. It never gets boring with that around.

“We’re good, Nile. As always,” he says as he starts pulling food out of the fridge, finding a fresh loaf of bread Booker probably left to buy early in the morning, the way he always does when the four of them are near Paris. Still so very French, after all this time. Though Nicky isn’t sure he can say anything, he’s never turned less Italiano after all these years of being alive. “It was a rough night, that’s all.”

“That was not just a rough night, he was-”

“Nile.”

Nicky’s eyes find Booker’s, as he speaks up to make Nile stop her questioning. Booker’s eyes are filled with questions, so Nicky nods, just once, short and precise. He watches Booker’s eyes fill with grief, his posture sagging as he takes in the new knowledge of the world.

“What’s going on?”

Nicky smiles, a loving thing that speaks of the family that they are, Booker smiling back in the same way before they both turn to Nile. She looks worried, scared, in a way Nicky wishes she didn’t have to be. She doesn’t deserve to be, but it’s a testament of who they are and what they go through that those feelings never completely disappear. They never will.

“I’m mortal, Nile,” Nicky replies, going to her and crouching down in front of her as he takes her hand. “I stubbed my toe four days ago and it didn’t stop hurting. Then the day after I cut my finger when I was cooking and it didn’t heal.”

“Nicky!” She yells, her voice wrought with fear for him.

“Shh, it’s okay. Last night was Joe finding out. He did not take kindly to the information.”

“You’re dying!”

“No, Nile. I might be mortal but I plan on living a long life still.” He cups her face, smiling in the face of the tears pooling in her eyes. “I am not leaving anyone in this family any time soon. Besides, I could not leave you alone with only Booker, it would be a cruel fate.”

“Haha,” Booker says as he moves to take over the cooking. “You should be happy I do not speak ill of my elders.”

“Since when?” Nile asks sceptically.

“Since now. If Nicky’s mortal, it means he’s officially a priest again, and one has to follow the teachings of the Catholic Church when in the presence of a priest.”

Nicky can’t help but laugh. He hasn’t been a priest in so long and he’s not planning on becoming one again. He’s done far too many unholy things with Joe, and in his long life, for that to be the case. “I do not think the Church would accept me back, Booker, after all we’ve done.”

“That might be, but you still have faith after all this time.” Booker cracks a few eggs into the skillet. “And in your own words, everything happens for a reason. Your faith wouldn’t let you down like that.”

“I don’t think so either,” Nile says. The only one besides him to still have any sort of faith. “It’s not your time yet.”

“No,” he replies. “It is not.”

He gets to his feet, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of Nile’s head before he walks over to Booker, pulling his head down so he can press a kiss to his temple too. Booker swats him playfully, but he knows it’s just for show. Booker accepts the free affection of his family much easier now, knows he needs it to survive and fight the depression he’s always battled. It’s a sign of faith, of love and forgiveness to kiss his temple for Nicky, whenever he can get away with it. It might not be often, but he still enjoys it when he can. The simple affection and kindness come easy for Nicky and Booker deserves to be shown them.

“Why is everyone but me getting kisses from my Nicky?”

Booker snorts at the mock indignation in Joe’s voice. “He keeps giving them to me, how can I refuse.”

Joe mutters under his breath but still moves over and places his own smacking kiss on Booker’s other temple before he moves over and does the same to Nile. Nicky watches Booker’s reaction, how he freezes slightly before continuing to make (almost burn) the second round of eggs, quickly followed by bacon. Joe has shown Booker he’s completely forgiven many times, though the darkness in Booker doesn’t always believe that. Even knowing as he does that he served his penance in more ways than one and none of them hold it against him anymore. Nicky squeezes his shoulder before moving over and joining Joe and Nile at the kitchen table.

It’s an easy morning, simple and quiet, the way many of their mornings have been in the years they’ve been together, but deep down he knows something has changed. He knows his days with them are numbered, knows that he wants to eventually live out the rest of his days away from the action. And him living out his days means that Joe will leave too. Even if he tried to make Joe stay, there’s no way that he will. No way that he would be left alone without him.

“Did Copley the Fourth give us any information on our target?” Joe asks, reaching for Nicky’s hands and tangling them together as Booker brings their breakfast over to the table. Not the easiest way to eat, but Nicky will never say no when Joe wants to be close.

After James Copley there was Elaine Dawson. After Elaine there was Darren Whitaker. After Darren there’s Mustafa “Moose” King. Or Copley the Fourth as they affectionately like to call him. The Copleys are all chosen by their predecessors, happily keeping them secret and helping them stay out of the ether. Merrick taught them a lesson they never wanted to learn, but they learned it well when they had to. And their habit of trusting one person has proven valuable over the years.

Though Nicky has reservations about Nile’s relations with the current Copley. But he knows this is a tale she must discover for herself. He’s had Joe the entire time, how can he begrudge her some happiness.

“His name is Mustafa. And yes, he did. He gave us all the info we needed,” Nile replies. Joe, Booker, and Nicky all share a look, hiding their amusement from the youngest member of their team. All this time and she is still such a 1990s kid. “We still have about two weeks until we can move out, so I’ll monitor with him-”

“I’ll bet you will,” Booker murmurs under his breath, causing Nile to give him a slight smack.

“Until then there’s no harm in us staying here, right?”

“Staying right here, close to your boyfriend. Yes, no harm.” Booker laughs as Nile smacks him again, harder. “We can stay, Nile. The perimeter is secure and so is this house. I promise.”

“Okay, good. We agree then? Two weeks and then we move out.”

“Si.”

———

They spend the two weeks together, being near one another as much as they can. Nicky knows it’s because they want to savour their time with him, in case something happens on the mission they have to see through. In case he actually dies and does not come back. It’s a somber thought, and one he will not entertain for long. It is not his time yet.

He’s still restless, uncertain in ways he hasn’t been in years. Possibly never, but he doesn’t really remember anymore. The last time he felt any kind of nervous was when Andy was mortal. Though a mission was not what killed her, he does not believe that will be his end either.

———

He’s almost wrong. Feels the panic settle deep in his skull as the bullet tears through his leg. Hears Joe yell in fury, as Booker sprints, faster than Booker has ever sprinted, over to him and starts putting pressure on the wound. Sees him and Nile, even Joe, finally accept that he is indeed mortal when the wound doesn’t close.

He decides then and there that if he survives this then he will leave, unless they need a sniper. He wants to live the rest of his years with his Joe, his Yusuf. He doesn’t want to miss out on the things he never thought he would have.

“I was thinking about that time in Malta,” he whispers, hands tangled with Joe’s as Booker patches him up and Nile watches from the side. Ever vigilant, even if they are out of danger.

“Which time in Malta?”

He gives Joe a look, a slight, secretive smile on his face. The smile he knows Joe adores more than almost anything. His kiss is the only thing Joe adores more.

“Oh, that time in Malta.”

“We should go back there. And stay.”

Booker’s hands still for a second, two, before he goes back to wrapping the wound. Nile takes a deep breath, her controlled breathing loud in Nicky’s ears. Joe just looks at him, a bit of the grief he holds inside on his face. But he smiles back, loving and warm as always.

“Yes, let's go back to Malta.”

“Do you guys mind, if we leave?” He asks. He will not leave Booker and Nile alone if they do.

“Not if we can come visit,” Nile replies, her gaze sad but a smile appearing on her face. Booker nods in agreement, short and sure like Booker always is nowadays.

“Any time you like,” Joe says, looking at them both. Nicky watches him catch Booker’s eye as he says the second part of his sentence. “If we don’t see you at least once a year we will come find you, comprendre?”

“Oui. Ce sera mon honneur,” Booker says with obvious relief. “Where in Malta will you go?”

“We have a place.”

———

Nicky understands now, why people who get hurt complain about the lingering aches of time. His foot healed well, exactly the way it should but ten years from that date it still pains him on days with bad weather, when he takes the wrong step or if he sleeps slightly wrong. He’s felt every one of these ten years, from the way his body aches in ways it never has before, to the greys in his hair, to the way Joe looks at him. He’s never doubted that Joe loves him, he doubts it less now, their simple lives in their cottage a testament to that love and devotion.

Their cottage is a place of emotion and has been since Nicky acquired it in the late 1800s. It’s been ‘inherited’ down his family, all of them versions of his alias of course. But from Nicolò de Genovo to Nicky Genova it’s still his. His place to call home with Joe. Secretly at first, in the open now though Joe is still careful when he’s outside so people do not believe he hasn’t aged. A little makeup and some hair changes has always kept them safe.

Nicky doesn’t need that now, aging gracefully as he is. Some part of him has been waiting for this, but his sadness at doing this without Joe is still there. He keeps it to himself as much as he can but after so long it’s not the easiest to do. Knowing Joe feels the same makes it all better.

He knows Joe tests his healing every month. In the hopes that his has ended well. It breaks both their hearts that it hasn’t. But they do not focus on it.

Instead, they focus on the good things, how living a quiet life suits them. They focus on Joe’s endless fascination and admiration for how Nicky changed. They focus on loving one another and making the most of all their days.

They travel when they want to, rediscovering memories in good places, make better ones in bad places. It’s a simple life, but a good one. They meet up with Nile and Booker when they are able, the two of them still together and doing what they can for the world. Joe joins them at random intervals when he’s needed or wanted, Nicky as well. Though now he stays out of sight, doing his best work with his sniper rifle when it’s needed.

A simple life, a quiet one. But still filled with excitement and adrenaline, when they want. And if Nicky joins Moose in doing research often enough that Moose gets exasperated because technology is not Nicky’s strong suit, no one has to know. Though Booker laughs at him when he has the chance. So everyone knows.

His favorite days still belong to Joe. Sleeping till late, spending slow and quiet mornings in bed, soft touches and lazy kisses that turn hot and possessive in mere minutes, their skin gliding together in a symphony well practiced and lovingly done, both of them screaming for an encore the minute they finish, even if Nicky’s body doesn’t always appreciate it these days. He still loves to bury his hands in Joe’s hair, tugging the way he knows Joe adores while pressing bruising kisses into his skin as Joe takes them in hand and brings them to completion on the less than good days, or one of them coming deep inside the other on the better days.

His body might grow older, but their passion never does.

———

Twenty years down the line and he’s noticeably older, his hair longer and full of grey, his body softer and slightly less defined even if he’s still muscled and fit. His body is technically in its 50s now, even if his mind and experience have passed a millennium.

They’re still in Malta, still in their cottage, still living a peaceful life. But over the ten years they’ve been joined by a Briard dog that Nicky found on the streets one day, his tawny colored fur matted and filthy, the dog angry and scared as Nicky approached it. Thankfully he’s always been patient, he has been with Joe for a very long time and his lover does know how to push buttons, so with a bit of time and some cold cuts he managed to get the dog safely back to their place.

Booker didn’t laugh the first time he heard the dog had been named after him, but a mangy and scared Frenchman, even if the man in question had four legs, was too good to pass up. A few years later and even Booker laughs when both he and the dog react to their names at the same time. And he’s always there to doggy sit if Nicky and Joe decide to travel.

He keeps being told of the adventures of Booker and Booker when they get back from their travels, never by Booker but by the people that live close to them. He decides early on to never tell Booker that he knows, just in case the day comes when he wants to tell them himself. He hasn’t so far but Nicky has faith, always faith.

Though Booker the dog doesn’t seem to be aging, so perhaps Booker the man has finally found the companion he’s been searching for. Nicky sincerely hopes that is the case.

Joe has taken to not being around the other people in their village, after twenty years in the same place without him looking any different, even if Nicky carefully dyes silver into his hair so it seems like he’s aging. Nicky thinks the town’s people know, or at least suspect, their… Joe’s secret. But no one seems to care. Just like no one comments on how Booker and Nile have never changed, on their yearly visit (that often turns into 6 times a year). Nicky pays close attention when he’s out and about with them, especially Joe, but the people around them just smile and greet them as if nothing is out of the ordinary. He’s incredibly thankful for it, he really doesn’t want to leave their place. Especially now that Joe has taken to not going on missions at all.

Instead he stays home with Nicky, seemingly loving the way he turns older, how his flesh fills out more in a natural way of aging, how his hair is turning more and more silver, how the blue of his eyes never loses their shine or affection for the things around them. Joe never stops touching him, never stops running his hands down his body or through his hair, kissing his neck or cheek or shoulder, whichever part that is reachable at the moment. Growing old with Joe by his side is a blessing in that he never feels unwanted or unloved, never feels like his ever changing body is a source of disgust or annoyance. He’s just loved in every moment of his mortal life, as he was in every moment of his immortal one.

It’s a wonderful feeling and it never stops being wonderful, spending the days within reach of Joe and in his arms.

———

Thirty years down the line and he’s in his 60s. He’s been completely fine with his aging body, but turning sixty has been the complete opposite. Especially with Joe’s still young and gorgeous self around. He hates how things are starting to sag, he hates how he can’t keep up with Joe, or even Booker and Nile anymore, he hates how old he feels compared to them. He hates that his foot still randomly hurts.

He has moments of extreme self consciousness, where taking off any piece of clothing in front of anyone, even Joe, wrecks hell on his confidence and self-image. He’s at times afraid to touch Joe because he believes that at any moment Joe will shy away from him, give him a look of unbearable disgust that would destroy his everything. Sometimes he forgets, his mind tricking him into thinking that he’s still young and immortal and he kisses Joe without thinking about it. He’s always horrified when he remembers. But Joe always smiles and wraps his arms around him, no sign of any discomfort on his face. He’ll whisper sweet words into Nicky’s ear and crook of his neck, biting him gently and sucking bruises into his skin, lazy kisses anywhere on his skin and flicking his tongue over the lobe of his ear to rile him up. It always makes Nicky chuckle, that soft, quiet chuckle of his, which in turn makes Joe smile widely and kiss him properly, his hands running up and down Nicky’s body like he never wants to let him go. It usually leads to slow and easy love making that lasts deep into the night, Joe coaxing as much pleasure out of Nicky as he possibly can, while Nicky himself just turns into a puddle of goo who is so deeply in love with his partner that nothing else matters. It reminds him of who they used to be, though Nicky knows that they’re still those people, even if he is older.

He needs the reminder that even if he has trouble loving himself at times, aging as he is, Joe has no trouble loving him, worshipping him, being thankful for every day by his side. He needs to remember, then he won’t have trouble believing it. And perhaps he won’t feel like he has to let Joe go, to live his life away from him and Booker (who really isn’t aging) so he can live it to his full potential with Nile and Booker and not stay with a sagging old man and an undying Briard. Joe wouldn’t leave even if he tried to put it forward and he won’t ever disrespect him like that. It would only cause a fight, one that Nicky doesn’t want to have. He loves Joe too much for that.

“Nicolò, il mio cuore, are you planning on joining me in this water or are you going to stay there all day?”

Nicky looks at Joe, laughing as he splashes around in the deep cerulean water not far from their cottage.

“No, my Yusuf, I don’t want to get my hair wet,” he replies, tugging slightly on his longer, now silvery hair.

Joe snorts, a deep sound that makes Nicky smile fondly, though the smile turns to a grin as Joe walks out of the water and towards him. His body is muscular and gorgeous, tanned skin stretching beautifully over lean hands and slender legs, his shoulders wide and so gorgeously touchable, his waist narrow and tapered. He’s slightly sad he can’t see Joe’s rear, but watching his front in tight swim trunks with the beautiful thighs that he knows the exact strength of is not a bad option. He still spins his finger, laughing lightly as Joe actually turns around and flexes, showing off his ass and his delightful back that Nicky has spent many hours touching, kissing, worshipping as if it is a wonder of the world. And to him it is.

“Prego,” he says as Joe looks over his shoulder. Joe winks and wiggles his ass just because he can before he turns around again and walks over, sitting down in Nicky’s lap facing him.

“I do like your silver hair,” Joe murmurs, his hands coming up to run through Nicky’s hair. Nicky closes his eyes and just relaxes into his talented hands, soft moans dropping unwittingly from his lips as Joe gently massages his head and tangles his fingers in his hair just the way he likes it.

“Jesus Christ, Nicky, you know what those moans do to me.”

Nicky opens his eyes, watching Joe bite his lower lip as he continues his ministration. “It feels very good when you touch me, Joe, you know this.”

“You are a goddamned tease, Nicky.” Joe uses his hands and pulls him close enough to give him a deep kiss. “No wonder I married you.”

“Did you? Marry me? I do not remember this.”

Joe mock gasps, one hand leaving Nicky’s hair to land dramatically on his chest. “Why I never. And here I thought we were madly in love and had a delightful ceremony.”

“You made me speak the Rite of Marriage since Booker said I would become a priest again when my immortality ended,” Nicky says, still smiling adoringly at his beloved, moving up to stroke along his lower back.

“Yes well, we had witnesses, the words were spoken, we both said yes. We’re married.”

“Of course we are, mi amore.” Nicky pushes himself forward to put a small kiss on Joe’s cheek. “I have married you many times during our years together and I will marry you as many more as you wish of me.”

“Molto bene,” Joe whispers, kissing Nicky softly. “Can I touch you?”

The damning insecurity rears its ugly head, making Nicky freeze without meaning for a second. He shakes it off, but Joe is already looking at him with a look he always hopes he doesn’t have to see. It’s not pity, it’s not despair. It’s just a look of understanding that feels wrong, even if it isn’t.. “I’m-“

“Please do not apologize, Nicky. You never have to apologize to me.” Joe sighs, his gaze deep and imploring as he looks at Nicky. “I love you no matter what you look like or feel like. You are the love of my life, nothing changes that.”

“I know,” Nicky replies. “My insecurities about me aging and you staying the same are catching up to me. I know you love me, I know you still desire me, I know you still look at me with lust in your eyes. My mind must catch up, but I do not always find it easy.”

“As long as you know that I do. And that you know I love touching you, feeling your skin against mine.” Joe runs his hands through Nicky’s hair as he talks, moving his hands down the front of his shirt and around to his ass. “I desire your presence every hour of every day and that will never stop. You are my heart, Nicky, and I love you more than life itself.”

“Did I not call you an incurable romantic, once?” Nicky asks softly. He probably has what Nile affectionately calls heart-eyes, but he does not mind one bit.

“Mm, in an armored van on our way to be tortured. What a life we’ve lived together.”

“We still have many years, Joe.” Nicky smiles, a hint of the smug smile he also knows Joe loves. “But for now, do with me as you please.”

“Any time you wish,” Joe replies, locking their lips together. And Nicky loses himself to the man he loves, gladly, willingly. Lovingly.

———

He’s closer to eighty, now. Forty years and change since he lost his immortality. He’s become much more frail in the last ten years, his back aching and his leg never really feels good any more. He’s in slight pain more often than not, even if he’s still in somewhat good shape. He still does light training with Joe when he feels up to it, still swims whenever he can so he can still feel somewhat fit next to Joe.

But he knows it won’t matter for much longer. He can feel it in his bones, in his faith, that he’s running out of time. His mortality has been good, what he remembers of the first thirty-three years and what he knows now of his last forty-five. And all those years in between, all of them with Joe. With Andy, Quynh, Booker, Nile, and Booker the Briard, who’s still running around, currently with the two-legged Booker and Nile who never leaves their side for long.

He’s lived a good life, and a very happy one with a lot of good days. But it’s now that he’s coming up on his last days that the sadness of leaving Joe appears again. It’s always been there, at the back of his mind. Lurking like a bad dream he will never be rid of, the day he goes off to pastures unknown without Joe.

Joe still loves him like he was thirty-three, like he was forty, fifty, sixty. They still sleep the same way they always have, Joe wrapped around him, they still have lazy mornings in bed and long make out sessions that leave them both breathless and panting. Nicky laments the fact that his libido has slowly disappeared more and more over the years, but he still gets an amazing thrill at seeing Joe in the midst of ecstasy, he still adores helping him through it, be it by hand or mouth or their greater collection of toys. He still wants and needs to give Joe everything he can, just like Joe does for him.

They’re having one of those lazy mornings in bed, Nicky tenderly wrapped in Joe’s arms when he notices it. At first he thinks his mind is playing a trick on him, a cruel joke on the last of his days. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and reopens them. It’s still there. His heart starts beating a bit faster, his breath taking a quicker pace.

“Joe. You have a bruise on your throat.”

For a moment, a second, two, there’s quiet. Their breaths can’t be heard as they’re holding them, the sound outside the window disappears, the creaking of their cottage stills.

“Are you sure?”

He hears the trepidation in Joe’s voice, and he nods instead of answering. His finger lifts to press slightly on it, he hears Joe do a sharp inhale as he feels it. And once again his everything lunges for a knife, but instead of the slashes he did all those years ago, he does a small cut to his finger. Much like the small cut Nicky did when he first discovered his mortality.

They both watch as the blood wells. And how it doesn’t stop welling as it’s wiped away.

“We’re mortal, together.”

Joe cries, after that. Nicky holds him tightly in his arms, as silent rivulets of tears run down Joe’s cheek. The last of Nicky’s days, and they’re finally here together. The way they’ve always been since they found one another all those years ago, after a few rough starts and a mountain of bad blood to wash away between them.

Nicky can’t help but thank his Dio, the God he might not always believe in anymore but still has faith in that he doesn’t have to live in the afterlife without Joe for long. He doesn’t doubt that Joe is sending his prayers to Allah for the same thing.

They stay in bed that day, the last of Nicky’s days. He knows it now, knows that this is what he was waiting for. Waiting for his faith to give him his happy ending, with the other half of his soul. He falls asleep in Joe’s arms like he has so many times before.

He knows no more from then on.

———

A few days later Booker, Booker the Briard, and Nile enter their cottage. Booker the Briard starts whining the second he gets through the door, running to the bedroom and opening the door with his paws the way he’s done a thousand times before. He stops in front of the bed, a soft woof leaving him as he looks at the two men on the bed.

Nile follows, Booker behind her. They stop inside the door, knowing instantly that both men are dead.

“Of course they went together,” Booker says, grief welling inside of him but still he smiles as he sees their two beloved friends, their family, wrapped together on their bed. In their home for so many years.

“Do you think...”

“No, Nile, they would not take their life like that. Nicky has always had faith that when it was his time to go Joe would follow. And Joe believed the same.” He smiles at her, taking her hand. “Nicky might’ve lost his immortality first, but Joe was never going to leave him alone. There wouldn’t be the one without the other. They were soulmates, from beginning to end. That’s all.”

“We need to bury them,” Nile says, after a few minutes. She’s holding Booker’s hand tightly, tears flowing freely. Grief unites them, but they both cannot help but be happy that Joe and Nicky are still together, wherever they are. “We’ll give them to their final resting place, together.”

“Together.”

———

Years later Booker and Nile dream. Dream of two men, waking up together in immortality. Their hands holding the other, flashes of blue eyes and curly dark hair.

They wake up and smile, Booker the Briard barking around them as if excited about something. Maybe reincarnation isn’t a thing, maybe it never will be. But they still choose to believe.

They find them in a cottage in Malta.

#the old guard #the old guard fic #joe x nicky #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #sebastien le livre #nile freeman #booker the dog #nicky loses his immortality before joe #but they still go together in the end #moments of a happy life #their cottage in malta #found family

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yeochikin · 4 years

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egg tarts. | s. mingi

a/n: thank you for requesting this fic, anon! i do apologise if it is not exceeding to your expectations. but still, i hope you enjoyed this! also, this is not proofread so do excuse any mistakes in this! this is also a long read, 10k words!! so i really hope you guys will like this ✨💖

to say that today was a bad day would be an understatement yet saying that it would be the worst day of your life could be too exaggerated as well. but all you know is that you wanted to go back home and let sleep take over your exhausted body as soon as you jumped into the plush mattress of your bed, wrapped into a cocoon made with your soft blankets. all you wanted today was for everything to go smoothly like it always had been, but life managed to just laugh and add a little spice to it just to stir things up.

you had the worst sleep last night, courtesy of your neighbour next door who somehow just decided that it was a good idea to rearrange all of their furniture in the ass crack of dawn which had caused you to not only have a little amount of sleep for the night. that wasn’t it, oh no. life would always add a few sprinkles here and there. as if having little hours of sleep, someone had bumped into you during your morning run and spilled their drink onto your pants. you would have cursed the person out but instead, you just made a run for it to run to campus.

like some type of cherry on top, your literature lecturer, professor kim, seemed to think that it was a good idea to suddenly drop a project that was due in two weeks.your professor thought that it would be a good idea to make up an entire storyline with the elements of what he had taught your class. of course it wasn’t bad but for a huge procrastinator like you? it might be a huge nightmare, considering that you had more assignments at hand from your other classes. yet, that wasn’t the core of your dread.

professor kim just had to pair you up with one of the most obnoxious boys in your class, song mingi.

“i swear, professor kim either hates me or he just really likes to see me suffer.” you groaned into the palm of your hands, both elbows rested on top of the table you and your best friends, yeosang and wooyoung, were sitting at. yeosang could only look at you in a pitiful manner with his large hand patting the top of your head, while wooyoung cackled out next to you.

ah yes, song mingi. the boy that could come straight out of a cliche love story. The boy who was a part of the basketball team of your campus, also known as the captain of the team. the boy everyone loved yada-yada. of course you didn’t hate him, oh no. let’s just say that if mingi were to have his toe being stubbed, you would be the furniture that he stubbed against. So, no, no hard feelings at all.

okay maybe there was some sort of.. unpleasant feelings (as what you had claimed it) between the two of you.

believe it or not, mingi and you used to be close friends during middle school and high school. you remembered the time where you would always wait for mingi during your lunch with him, knowing how he could take his time during his meals, yet you didn’t mind. sometimes, some of his friends would even join the both of you at your usual table. you would always fill the time by doing your own work or even making some random conversations with him and his friends. truly, you enjoyed spending your time with him. it was after the first half of your final year in high school, was where it started. ever since he joined the basketball team, he had gotten together with a girl that was part of the cheering team. don’t get me wrong, she was nice! everyone seemed to love her sweet nature, and she would even join you and mingi during lunchtime. surprisingly, despite being in a relationship with her, they weren’t too big on the pda. you would be lying to say that you didn’t have a small crush on a certain tall boy but as a good friend, you supported them.

it was during a couple of months before you graduated that the two of you seemed to drift apart. you had tried to contact him yet, it was either a simple one worded answer or none at all, until the two of you finally stopped contacting each other. you would even catch mingi in the hallways talking to his friends, his girlfriend at his side as usual, and tried to make a conversation. but every time you did, he looked at you with an unreadable expression, face all stoic while his friends looked at you in pity. to say you were confused, would be an understatement. it felt as if you were kept in the dark. this went on until it was finally the time where you bid goodbye to your old school and start a new page in your life, your university life.

to your surprise, the two of you had enrolled in the same university. you went to greet him one time with a huge smile on your face but.. he merely looked past you, much to your disappointment. you’ve tried to greet him a few more times after that, and still received the same reaction. like any other person who needed some closure, you had confronted mingi one time when you ran into him in the hallways of your campus to ask what happened to him, to the both of you. you had hoped you could get some valid answers from mingi, hoping that the two of you could ever reconcile once again and go back to being friends who dragged lunch time in the cafeteria.

but there was none.

mingi merely looked down at you, some type of coldness was held in his eyes, at least from what you remember. without even a word, he walked past you as if you never even asked a question. thus, that was all it took for you to finally accept that he is no longer a part of your life anymore, making the emotions inside you to be all jumbled up, you becoming overwhelmed.

it was now that whenever you see mingi, all of those memories would come rushing back to you. the memories that only made you choke up on your tears from how easily he had thrown them out of the window, just like that. before you know it, the sadness in your chest you felt every time you saw mingi around campus somehow grew into a ball of anger. it also didn’t help due to the fact that mingi is in the same major as you, so whenever you had class with him, you made sure to sit as far away from the tall boy as possible and hopefully, not interact with him at all.

until today.

“oh come on, y/n. i’m sure it won’t be that bad.” wooyoung reassured, pulling you away from the brief time of reminiscing the past, yeosang humming in response.

“who knows? maybe the two of you could finally get that closure.” the blonde male continued.

you merely deadpanned at the two of them, “or i could be the one doing all of the work for this project.”

wooyoung rolled his eyes at your answer before looking down at his phone. “oh crap, i should get to class, professor park would have my head if i’m late!”

with the claim, the three of you started to gather your things. you were about to bid goodbye to the two of your bestfriends and head to your respective classes until a deep voice called out your name, your whole body feeling a flash of chills running down your spine. you knew who that voice belonged to all too well.

before you responded to him, you gave yeosang and wooyoung a reassuring smile, watching as the two boys stared between you and mingi for a few seconds before walking off, wooyoung mouthing at you to text him when you were done.

“what is it, mingi?” you finally said, arms folded in front of your chest as you faced the tall male, feeling the growing anger just bubbling up in your chest.

said boy rubbed the back of his neck with his hand while the other one was hidden in the pocket of his pants, “so.. we got paired up for this pr-”

“ah, yes. tell me something more obvious, mingi.” you cut him. of course, you did not intend to have snapped at him but how could you not from what he did?

mingi, on the other hand, was taken aback by your sudden sassiness before exhaling through his nose, “can you just remain civil for a bit?” he grumbled, only making your eye twitch before scoffing at his words.

“me? why don’t you give that advise to yourself.” you hissed.

“fuck, y/n. i have no time for this.” mingi groaned and ran his hand through his hair.

“me too, so tell me now instead of making me late for cla-” your words died down as you felt a large hand cupping your mouth, effectively shutting you up. with eyes still glaring daggers at the said boy, you raised an eyebrow at him, mingi taking it as a cue for him to finally start talking.

“i know that you will hate working on this project with me but if we want those points we gotta work together on this or we won’t even get to continue this class.” he started, you listening to him intently though still glaring at him.

“so, what do you say about getting that project started after our classes today? in the library?” he continued, teeth sinking down against the soft muscle of his lower lip, albeit nervously.

it took you a little while to process his words. from the months of not talking to each other and cold glares being thrown every now and then, what gave him the audacity to come up to you and ask this as if nothing ever happened? you could feel blood rushing to your face out of frustration. but, as much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. whether you like it or not, he is still your partner for this project.

your tense shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, a hand slowly moving mingi’s hand away. with a heavy sigh leaving your lips, you nodded your head and tugged on the strap of your bag, adjusting it on your shoulder.

“fine. in the library after classes then, don’t be late.” was the last thing you said and brushed past him, heading to your class.

as soon as you were sure that you’re out of mingi’s vision, you felt your legs give out, yet not to the extent of collapsing completely right on the floor. your breathing was ragged as you tried to calm yourself from the sudden crash of emotions hitting right then and there, a hand quickly reaching up to muffle the quiet whimpers you released, feeling the concerned eyes from the other students passing by you, hushed whispers being exchanged with their friends yet you were too overwhelmed to care.

you don’t hate him. you never hated him. yet why did he do that? why would mingi just shut you out all of the sudden and suddenly started talking to you so casually? you don’t know. but will you ever find out the reason why he acted like he had?

finally having yourself composed, you took a deep breath before standing up, walking off to your next class with one thing left in mind as you did so.

maybe yeosang was right, maybe you’ll soon have that closure from mingi.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

“are you guys up for milkshakes at the diner?” wooyoung asked, running his fingers through his now messy hair from his habit of running through them numerous times, as soon as he saw you walking out of your last class with yeosang leaning against the wall next to him.

yeosang shrugged his shoulders, “i don’t see why not. y/n?”

you, on the other hand, was staring blankly on the floor, only looking up in shock once wooyoung slung an arm around your neck to catch your attention.

“huh? what?”

“we asked if you were up for milkshakes later.” yeosang repeated, his brow raised from the distracted look on your face. “you good?” he asked.

“yeah, you’re kinda out of it. wait, it’s because of mingi, isn’t it? let me beat his a-” wooyoung said, rolling his sleeves before starting to walk, only to be abruptly dragged by yeosang by his collar to where you were standing.

“as much as i wanted you to do so, i don’t think it’ll solve anything, no?” you joked, an attempt to lighten up the mood with a shake of your head.

“though i’m gonna have to sit this one out, guys. mingi and i are supposed to be discussing the project today.” you continued, a small pout on your lips from not being able to hang out with the two boys.

wooyoung and yeosang looked at each other then at you, “you’re actually starting your project early at least.” yeosang said.

cue the sounds of a gentle slap on his arm from you and the sound of wooyoung’s high pitched laugh.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

your foot tapped against the floor impatiently before looking down at your phone to check your phone. you had been waiting in the library for almost two hours now so where the hell is mingi? your eyes looked around the place and saw some students popping in and out yet still no sign of a certain tall male. with a frustrated huff, you slowly gathered your things, convinced that mingi had somehow blew you off.

just as you got up from your seat, the doors suddenly burst open, and in came a panting and not to mention, sweaty, mingi. his eyes frantically looked around the library until he finally spotted you in the corner of the library, quickly making his way towards you. upon arriving, he literally collapsed on the chair in front of you, taking deep breaths to catch his breath. raising an eyebrow at him, you were about to ask what took him so long until he raised a finger as if to give him a moment, still panting. you could only roll your eyes and decided to sit back down in your seat, waiting for him to calm down.

“sorry, i had a last minute meeting with my teammates and the coach.” mingi managed to say between his pants. for the captain of the basketball team, he sure seemed like he was struggling for air.

you waited for him to finally calm down his breathing with a finger tapped against the table, eyes looking everywhere but the male in front of you awkwardly. how could someone not be awkward with their supposedly close friend who suddenly dropped them without telling them anything, was in front of them. your nerves were getting the best of you and made you fidget in your seat, much to mingi’s attention.

“you alright there, y/n?” he asked, snapping you out of your thoughts.

‘why did you do it?’ was what you wanted to ask yet it remained stuck in your throat as your eyes were met.

you felt a huge lump threatening to form in your chest, wanting nothing but to just bombard him with questions of what had happened to make him treat you like the way he did, what did you ever do to him, or what had happened to the friendship you both built. yet, you just couldn’t ask him. no, it was more like, you weren’t ready to know the answer. not now, not when you’re letting your emotions almost get the best of you.

“y/n?” mingi called out again, a flash of concern shown in his features.

“huh? oh, yeah. definitely.” you rambled, sitting straight in your seat before clearing your throat, “should.. should we get started?” you offered, busying yourself by taking out your laptop.

mingi could only study your expression for a few seconds before nodding his head without another word before scooting a little closer so the two of you could finally start discussing about the said project, giving each other certain tasks to do. you would have to say, keeping your mind on the project you were working out seemed to be effective in taking your mind away from the gnawing thoughts in the back of your mind, yet a different type of frustration was instead being replaced, a certain feeling that students from all around the world knew all too well. everything was going smoothly, the both of you managed to discuss most parts of your project yet somehow you were stuck on how to actually start with the storyline.

“mingi, for the last time, we can’t suddenly put two of the characters in the script to suddenly start fighting right at the start.” you groaned, rubbing your face in the palm of your hands. with a roll of his eyes, said boy aggressively pressed onto the keys of your keyboard to erase the sentence he had started.

“uh huh, you say that yet you apply that in real life.” he grumbled underneath his breath, to which made your eye twitch out of annoyance.

“i don’t do that, what are you talking ab-” you started until mingi deadpanned at you.

“when i asked you about this project? or did you hit your head on your way here that you forgot all about it?” he retorted, to which made you scoff out of disbelief.

“if you weren’t being an ass, i wouldn’t do so.” you snapped, clicking your tongue as you snatched your laptop away from him to work on your part.

“says the one who looked like they were about to bite my ass earlier.”

a loud slap on his arm reverberated throughout the library along with mingi’s yelp that came along with your neverending bickers afterwards, only for the librarian coming up to warn the both of you to keep it down or else she will have to kick you out.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

“you going back home?” mingi suddenly asked, his eyes watching you pack your things.

the both of you decided to stop the discussion after a couple of hours, agreeing to meet back in the library the next day to finally get a work on the storyline after finally being able to write out some outlines. fixing the strap of your bag, you raised an eyebrow at him from the sudden inquiry.

“what does it look like?” you answered, though there was a bite in your tone, mingi disregarded it.

“calm down, for fuck’s sake.” he rolled his eyes before getting up from his seat. “i just thought that i could accompany you when you head back.” he offered, much to your surprise.

“ain’t really a good idea to let you walk alone, it’s getting a little dark.” mingi continued, nodding his head towards the windows, to which made you look out.

mingi was right. the sky was turning dark, only a few traces of crimson were apparent in the darkened sky. it didn’t help with the fact that your apartment took a little while to get to by foot. turning back to look at him, you narrowed your eyes up at him.

“how do i know you are not planning to kill me?” you asked, mingi poking his tongue against the inside of his cheek, amused.

“and what will i even do? knock you out with a basketball?”

the response was enough to make you snort, a hand coming up to cover your lips to release a faint chortle. the corners of mingi’s lips twitched up ever so slightly from your reaction, a little familiar tug was felt in his chest. he won’t lie. he had missed seeing your smile. he had missed making you laugh. hell, who was he kidding? he missed everything about you. so why was he acting all cold to you? why was he acting like an ass whenever you tried to greet him before?

from your side of the view, you were clueless. But to mingi, somehow he was the conflicted one. he remembered the time when he was on a date with his ex girlfriend in the past. he had recalled the time whenever you and him hung out during lunchtime, he had to deal with the girl whining as to why you would be at their table right when you left the table to head to class. confused, he had explained that you had always been hanging out with him during lunch time, much to the girl’s dissatisfaction. the girl merely complained that she felt threatened, thinking that you were out to steal him away from her.

it took mingi to put two and two together to realise the situation he was in. he needed to pick a side. It was either his… ‘sweet’ girl or you who was always there for him through thick and thin. but to a lovestruck mingi? he simply chose the girl, listening as she would insult you behind your back to mingi and how she mentioned you were only around him to date one of his friends, even to the extent of not making mingi interact with you in any way possible. hence, the dirty looks he sent you every time you tried to talk to him back then. his friends had noticed the tense atmosphere and decided to confront mingi about it, saying how she was controlling him and how he shouldn’t just drop you because of her. this only led up to a heated argument between mingi and the boys.

fast forward to being in uni, he had finally broke the relationship off with the girl, having enough of her controlling side. the male was surprised that you enrolled in the same university as him, being in the same major even. but.. he couldn’t talk to you. no, he chose not to interact with you at all. it was the guilt that was eating him alive that made him avoid you at all costs, instead, focusing on basketball with all of his practices and games to keep his mind off of you. It was his teammate and one of his close friends he made during his time here, yunho, advised mingi that he should at least give you some closure instead of letting you stay confused and wonder what you had done wrong. the amount of times he had tried to approach you, he chickened out. every time he wanted to approach you, the words were stuck in his throat. he just couldn’t face you.

that was until, today.

“mingi?” you called out, mingi looking up at you with wide eyes.

“yeah?”

“you ready to go?” you asked.

“oh.. oh, yeah! right, let’s go.”

with a confused gaze set on the male in front of you, you shrugged it off before walking out of the library with him.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

the walk to your place was a little awkward, mingi looking around everywhere but you, and you leading the way. thankfully, the street lights and neon signs from a few shops here and there were already lit up, so the walk back wasn’t that long. however, the previous thoughts you had started to appear in your head once again, the same heaviness filling your chest. It was when you both stopped at a playground, just a little further away from your block, you called out mingi’s name softly.

you want to ask him. no, you need to.

hearing your voice, mingi turned to look at you, raising his brows as if to say you had his attention. you looked over at the swingset and pointed at it.

“can.. can we sit there for a bit? please?” you asked, mentally slapping yourself from the slight quiver in your voice as you spoke.

confusedly, mingi merely shrugged his shoulders before making his way towards the swings, sitting down on one of them, then looking up as you sat on the swing next to his. silence hung over the two of you, only the occasional squeaking from the rusty chains of the swings could be heard.

‘come on, ask him. you need that closure!’ your mind screamed, you heaving out a shaky breath.

mingi, upon hearing your sigh, furrowed his brows in confusion and concern before asking softly if you were okay, or if you were feeling faint. you slowly shook your head as if to reassure him you needed a moment, to which, mingi quietly complied. with a shut of your eyes, trying to ease the growing anxiety just bubbling up in the pit of your stomach, you took in a few deep breaths. once you were ready, you parted your lips to speak.

“i’m sorry.”

your head snapped to the side to look at mingi with wide eyes, not expecting him to be the first to say something. the words that you at least wanted to hear from him. mingi’s gaze was set on his feet, teeth gently chewing against his lower lip. your throat felt like someone was squeezing onto it, feeling as if all of the emotions you felt from all the pent up frustrations slowly started to pour out.

“why did you do it?” you asked, mingi’s heart aching from how shaky it was, somehow feeling how broken it was. and it was all because of him.

it was when he finally explained everything to you that made you feel as if time had stopped. from how the girl was spreading something about you behind your back, to poisoning mingi’s love struck mind, and to the breakup they had. Your mind was all over the place the longer you listened, heart starting to beat rapidly in your chest as your breathing grew ragged, vision slowly turning red.

so this was the reason? this was the reason why he was avoiding you ever since high school? thinking you would steal and date his friends? this was the reason that made you think that there was something wrong with you? your eyes welled up with tears of anger, laughing in disbelief before abruptly getting up from the swing to stand in front of mingi, eyes all glossed with fresh tears, along with hurt that was apparent in them.

“that’s it? you avoided me in high school and our time in uni just to believe her words?!” you whispered shakily, clenched fists at your sides. mingi looked up at you in alarm and stood up as well, he called out your name softly.

“y/n..” he started.

“no… no! mingi, did you fucking know how i felt? did you know how many nights were spent thinking that there was something wrong with me? did you even know how hurt i was for you to suddenly drop me like some type of a doll?!” you yelled, tears now cascading down your cheeks, mingi pleading for you to listen to him.

“and you even listened to someone you just met in the span of a few months? and not only that, but implying ever so slightly that i’m some type of whore just to date your friends?” you ranted.

“y/n.” mingi whispered.

“no, mingi! you even had the chance to explain it to me right AFTER you guys broke up, so why didn’t you? were your friends all in on this as well? is that why i was kept in the dark-”

“i wanted you to hate me! i couldn't live with the fact how selfish i was for choosing her over you, so i purposely avoided you to make you hate me more. i’m guilty!” mingi yelled back, effectively cutting you off.

silence.

it felt as if everything around you was muted, mingi’s last words the only thing ringing in your ears repeatedly. said male’s breathing was ragged from the sudden outburst, his torso heaving up and down. you pinched the bridge of your nose and sank your teeth down against the plush muscle of your lower lip, before looking up at him.

“do you have any idea how fucking stupid this is?” you said, suddenly feeling too exhausted as you gathered your things, swinging your bag over your shoulder.

“y/n, you don’t have to forgive me but.. i just wanted to let you know that i missed you.” mingi responded, his hand holding onto your wrist.

once again, you felt a fresh wave of tears flooding your vision. you wanted to say that you missed him too. you missed hanging out with him during lunch. you missed laughing at his lame jokes. you missed everything about him.

you missed song mingi.

you wanted to say those words out loud but not even a whisper could be heard. it was when you felt a large hand wiping away the lone tear rolling down your cheek managed to steal your attention away from your now jumbled up mind, looking up at mingi who was staring down at you with a hopeful look in his eyes. the two of you stared at each other, as if waiting for the other to say something. with a low sigh, you finally broke the silence.

“i missed you too, mingi but.. after all of this? i’m hurt, mingi.” you whimpered out, taking a deep breath a few times to stop yourself from breaking down once again.

“i’m sorry, y/n. i really am.” mingi whispered, eyes casted down on the wrist in his large hand.

“i might not be able to forgive you now. but if you really do want us to start over again.. you need to prove it. mere words are not enough.” you continued as you slowly moved his hand away from your wrist.

“and how do i do that, y/n? i’ll do anything, please.” mingi asked, desperation glinted in his eyes as he tried to reach for your wrist again, to which you took a step back.

“that’s for you to find out, mingi.” checking the time on your phone, you emitted a soft sigh before sending him a faint smile.

“i’ll.. see you tomorrow.”

and with that, you turned around to leave, leaving mingi standing there alone while watching your retreating figure head off to the apartment’s direction. a wave of mixed emotions hitting you like some type of a tidal wave, coming all at once. now that you finally had closure, were you relieved? were you disappointed? you were not sure. but all you know, is that you feel as if a huge weight has been lifted off of your shoulders.

meanwhile, a heavy sigh was heaved from mingi’s lips before he looked up at the sky, the stars hanging on the canvas of the night sky.

“i promise i won’t let you down again this time, y/n.” he whispered, staring at the sky for a little longer before turning around to leave as well.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

“that’s it, i’m gonna beat his ass!” wooyoung yelled out, only to be dragged back by yeosang to make him sit back down in his seat, other hand holding onto a chicken wing he was eating. of course, you had expected his reaction after you told them what had happened yesterday.

“wooyoung, i swear, he’s just gonna step on you like some type of bug.” the blonde deadpanned, wooyoung pouting in response as he sulkily sipped on his drink.

“guys, please. i’m conflicted.” you groaned, smacking your forehead on the table, yeosang grimacing at the soft thud your forehead had made against the surface before shaking his head.

“give it time, hm? though, valid. but who knows?” he took a bite from his chicken then continued. “maybe he really does wanna make it up to you?”

there was a reason why you and wooyoung had called yeosang the reasonable one of the group. he was the one who kept giving some more options before wooyoung or you did anything rash out of impulse.

“and if he’s not doing that, then i would have to talk to him.” wooyoung grumbled, teeth biting down on the straw he’s chewing.

of course, a friend group wouldn’t be complete if the chaotic one of the group is not present. and that role would be given to wooyoung, the life of your little circle.

“speaking of the devil..” yeosang mumbled underneath his breath, eyes focused on something, or rather, someone from behind you.

you paid no attention to it, only keeping your head on the table as you were fighting with your inner thoughts. it was only when a familiar deep voice called out your name that you immediately lifted your head to look at the owner of the voice. however, as you did so, your whole body seemed to jump in place, causing your knees to hit against the table. hard.

a string of curses flew out of your lips, hands rubbing against your poor kneecaps, much to yeosang and wooyoung’s amusement, both boys clamping their mouths shut and started to look around everywhere in the cafeteria but you as an attempt to hold in their laughter. you sent them a glare until mingi mumbled your name.

“you okay there?” he asked, eyes full of concern.

you still didn’t want to look at him, instead keeping your gaze on your knees. you swear you can feel them still throbbing from the impact.

“what is it, mingi?”

“can i… can i join you?” he asked out of the blue, making you look up at him in shock. it was only now that you noticed that he was holding a paper bag in his hand while the other held a duffel bag, probably filled with extra clothes for basketball practice later.

wooyoung was about to deny his request until yeosang pinched his thigh, effectively shutting the boy up. with a glare from him, wooyoung huffed underneath his breath yet he behaved, though subtly glaring up at mingi’s way. for some reason, his anger reminded you of a chihuahua.

“oh, what about your friends?” you asked, you didn't hold any malice in your tone, but you were just genuinely curious as to why he had suddenly come up. though to mingi, he flinched at your question as he rubbed the back of his neck in a sheepish manner.

“oh uh, yunho had to go for practice and i haven't exactly had lunch yet since i got out of my previous class a little later than i intended to.” he admitted, a shy smile on his lips.

“i thought that.. i could sit with you?” he continued. you could only stare at him, losing your voice all of the sudden until yeosang cleared his throat.

“oh, would you look at that, wooyoung. i think i heard professor park looking for us.” he declared, standing up from the table, much to wooyoung's confusion.

“what do you me-”

“see you guys later!” yeosang waved and pulled wooyoung away from the table, his eyes catching the panicked look on your face.

‘talk to him.’ he mouthed before walking off, wooyoung whining next to him.

as soon as the two boys were out of your line of vision, you turned back around to finally face mingi. much to your surprise, he was already looking at you after sitting down right across from you. this certain moment right here was enough to make you feel like you were in a repeated dream, memories of you and him from back then rushing to your head. Maybe he’s just sitting here until both of you were done with the project? You weren’t sure, yet would it be selfish of you to think he would still talk to you? the both of you sat in silence until mingi’s features flickered, making it seem as if he realised something, before rummaging through the paper bag and pulled out two egg tarts.

“i remembered that you liked the tarts from that old bakery we always hung out at after school. I know that the bakery closed down and these aren’t exactly the same but i just thought that you would like them.” he explained.

at his words, you couldn’t help but smile ever so slightly, touched at his gesture before taking one of the tarts from with a quiet ‘thank you.’ again, you both sat in silence as you ate your tarts, mingi fidgeting in his seat. the awkwardness was so thick in the air that you could almost cut it with a knife. with a clear of his throat, mingi was the one who broke the silence between the two of you.

“so.. how are you?” he asked, a look of uncertainty was etched in his features as if wondering whether it was the right thing to say.

finding it endearing for some reason, you chortled lightly, “i’m.. okay, i guess? and you?” you asked with a slight tilt of your head.

“i’m fine, good. yeah, good.” mingi rambled on, almost wanting to hide behind his tart at the little crack of his voice.

another giggle had made its way out of your lips, hand coming up to cover them as you did so. and that was enough to have mingi relax ever so slightly in his seat, at least you are smiling. so that’s a positive thing maybe? he hoped so. he really wanted to patch things up, catch up with each other, but of course, with how he had acted towards you before? It wasn’t easy, but mingi is willing to try. so, the two of you spent the remaining free time you had, just talking about the project you were both partnered for most of the time. occasionally, the two of you would even throw in a few bickers here and there but all were lighthearted.

it was when you looked down at your phone that you had to cut the brief hang out short, much to your silent dismay, and mingi’s. as you were gathering your things, the male called your name, making you halt in your movements.

“is it okay if we meet in the library again? for our project, i mean.” he asked, fingers nervously tugging on the ends of his sweatshirt.

you were taken aback from the sudden question but sent him a smile, shrugging your shoulders.

“i mean, we are partners, no? so, i don’t see why not. same time?” you agreed, watching as the corners of the boy’s lips quirked up.

“oh yeah, definitely.”

“and don’t be late, mingi.”

“yeah, yeah. I won’t, see you soon, y/n.”

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

it has been a little while now after that closure you both had. you expected for things to still be awkward. worst case? mingi going back to being a total asshole like before. yet from the amount of times mingi and you kept meeting up to work on your project, you felt as if the awkwardness around the both of you slowly fade away. both of you starting to open up to each other once again, sharing pieces from the past and even what happened during the time the both of you drifted apart, catching up with each other. of course, you were still hurt from the way he treated you from before but, as much you didn’t want to admit it, you still gave mingi another chance.

even when the both of you had completed your assignment, you were surprised that he came by your table to join you, yeosang, and wooyoung every time the both of you had lunch the day after turning in your assignment to professor kim, even to the extent of bringing egg tarts whenever he came by. you were even more surprised at how wooyoung stopped wanting to beat his ass, instead, laughing his high pitched laugh at mingi’s jokes while you and yeosang would sigh at the lame joke. his friend, yunho, sometimes would join in. despite him being intimidatingly tall, he had a bright personality that reminded you of a golden retriever. before you could even realise, the days of hanging out turned into weeks, and into almost two months by now.

more often than not, you would even tag along to watch mingi practice. despite seeming like a bouncy kid during most times, he was serious in the court. the way he dribbled the ball across the court away from the opposing players, and made a couple of three pointers easily, it was no surprise at how he was chosen as the team’s captain. whenever he was done with practice, mingi would always ask if you wanted to try playing with him. now, for one, you weren’t exactly a sporty person, so suddenly having to play with the captain of the basketball team? yeah, you would definitely have to pass.

as usual, you were sitting at the sidelines watching the team practicing their aims and evading, along with mingi trying out new strategies with the team, you couldn’t help but to admire them. occasionally, you would catch mingi staring at you whenever your eyes landed on him after watching his other teammates play in the court, confused when he avoided your gaze as soon as you looked at his way. did you have something on your face? brushing the question away, you continued watching them. It was probably nothing.

everything seemed like a blur, and before you know it, everyone was packing up their things, giving each other words of encouragement on the way out of the court. once his teammates had left, you went up to mingi who was still standing in the middle of the court, bouncing the ball in his hand absentmindedly before getting ready to shoot it into the hoop.

“you did well today, as usual.” your voice surprised him, missing his timing as he threw the ball, missing the hoop. with a playful scowl of his lips, mingi looked down at you.

“damn, you weren’t supposed to see that.” he complained, making you roll your eyes at him.

“just like how i wasn’t supposed to see you trip a few times today?” you retorted, smiling as mingi rubbed the back of his neck, a clear habit of his whenever he felt embarrassed.

“i thought you didn’t notice.” he chuckled, the timbre of his deep voice somehow sending a chill down your spine yet you kept your calm demeanour.

“i may not know how to play, but that doesn’t mean i don’t notice the small things, mingi.” you laughed and crossed your arms, raising a brow up at him.

mingi mimicked the expression on your face and crossed his arms, lips quirking up as if there was a lightbulb having his switch being flicked on. you knew what was coming up as a groan left your lips, shaking your head at him.

“mingi, for the last time, i don’t wanna play. I don’t even know how to pl-”

“then let me teach you how to play!” he pleaded, pulling his best puppy eyed look. did yunho teach him that?

you stared at his face for a little while, mingi about to give up before he grinned upon hearing the sigh out of defeat from you. well, what’s the harm in learning anyway. at least if you embarrassed yourself while playing, mingi would be the only one to see it.

“okay, fine. teach me how to play, captain.”

and with that, you spent the rest of the late afternoon just having mingi teach you the basics of how to play basketball, exchanging laughs and teasings here and there. though you still weren’t entirely a fan of the sport, you find it rather enjoyable.

“okay, let’s play one game. winner makes the loser do anything they want.” mingi suddenly declared, balancing the ball between his side and arm.

your mouth fell open. was he being serious right now? you barely even got the hang of all the techniques he had taught you, and suddenly he wanted to one up against him, the captain of the basketball? with a scoff, you shook your head at him.

“mingi, there’s no way i’m gonna do that.” you rejected, clicking your tongue.

“come on, y/n. i’ll go easy on you, please?” mingi whined, nudging your side, you deadpanning up at him in return.

“no.”

“please!”

“i said n-”

“i’ll buy you ice cream tomorrow after classes.” mingi offered, knowing how you had a sweet tooth.

“..fine.” you sighed out, to which made mingi cheer and took a few steps back from you with a huge grin on his face. running over to the side to pull out his phone and placing it on the bench, then running back to where he stood before.

“whoever has the most points before time’s up, wins. ready?” with a look of determination, you nodded your head.

“start!”

before you could even react, mingi ran towards your goal, causing you to squeak at his sudden moves before quickly trying to block him from getting closer. but of course, with the years of experience, and maybe due to his long legs as well, it was almost impossible. he smirked down at you once he made his first shot through your hoop, you huffing up at him.

‘going easy, my ass.’ you groaned in your head as you narrowed your eyes up at him.

the quiet court was now filled with the sounds of mingi’s laughter mixing with your own, you yelling at him for being ‘unfair’, and the soft thudding of the ball hitting against the basketball court’s floor. this went on for quite a while until the timer in mingi’s phone went off, you two immediately halting your movements, chests heaving up and down to catch your breaths. too tired to stand, you sat down on the floor, mingi doing the same next to you.

“looks like i won, princess.” mingi teased, earning a gentle slap on his shoulder from you.

“oh, come on. someone who knew to actually play versus someone who never dribbled a basketball across the court? of course you would win!” you whined, glaring over at the laughing boy next to you.

“i went easy on you, y/n. be thankful.” he defended, sticking his tongue out.

with a scoff, you turned slightly in place to face him while staying seated on the floor. “okay, okay. now what do you want?” you asked, voice sounding rather sulky.

mingi went quiet for a few seconds, teeth chewing on his lower lip as his gaze was casted down on his fingers that were fiddling with his shoelaces. your eyebrows furrowed, confused as to why he went quiet. surely it couldn’t be that hard in wanting whatever he wished for. you were about to ask whether he was alright or if he did not hear you when you asked before he suddenly turned to look at you, causing you to jump slightly in surprise.

“you owe me some egg tarts.”

dumbfounded, you could only stare at his face, why would he want some considering he basically had been eating them every time you guys had lunch? but.. you couldn’t complain. he is the winner here, and what a winner wants is what they will get. with a nod, you mumbled out a soft ‘fine’, causing mingi to grin over at you and jump up to his feet.

“i’ll go and take a brief shower, then we can go to the bakery i always go to!”

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

the sweet smell of various baked pastries filled your nose upon entering the bakery mingi led you to. the bakery wasn’t too small nor was it too big, it was just the appropriate size for people who just wanted to chill or needed to unwind after a long day with a plate of their favourite baked goods of their choice. you noticed the decor a few knick-knacks as well, probably to fill the empty spaces of the bakery.

“oh, mingi, you are here!” an unknown voice reached into your ears, making you turn around to see a middle aged lady, maybe in her late fifties, giving mingi a hug.

“hi grandma, i am! I guess i couldn’t resist your treats.” mingi laughed after he pulled away, a hearty laugh leaving the woman’s lips before your eyes met.

“oh my, i take it you are a friend of mingi’s?” she asked, sending you a smile that somehow reminded you of a mother’s warm smile. not wanting to be rude, you bowed your head slightly in response.

“my name is y/n, y/n l/n. i am a friend of mingi’s indeed.”

right after your name, the middle aged woman gasped as her eyes stared up at mingi’s wide ones, much to your confusion from the sudden reaction. mingi could only purse his lips and gave her a vague gesture, the old woman forming her lips into a small ‘o’ in response. your eyebrows creased together, was there something going on?

“my, it is nice to finally meet you, y/n.” she giggled, eyes holding a certain glint that you just couldn’t figure out.

that was until you realised when her words finally processed in your mind. finally? what did she mean by that? you looked over to mingi, his cheeks somehow a tinted pink as his eyes were looking up at the written menu board hanging on the walls. something was going on, you just know it.

“now, what can i do to help you, lovebugs?” ‘grandma’ had said, making her way to the cashier.

lovebugs? before you could ask, mingi suddenly spoke up.

“the usual please, grandma.” he chuckled, albeit nervously. why was he acting so weird all of the sudden? yet, you decided to ask later and walked up to the cashier to pay for the treats until grandma tutted.

“no, no, dear. this one is on the house. consider it as a lil present to meet the infamous y/n our mingi has always mentioned.” she chuckled, hearing mingi slapping his forehead in the background.

thanking her, the both of you made your way to a vacant table just at the back of the bakery right next to the window with some type of device in your hands to inform you when the tarts would be ready. once both you and mingi had sat down, you released a little noise out of interest that piqued mingi’s interest, wondering what had made you to do so.

“the sky’s really pretty.” you mumbled, irises focused on the sky, mingi doing the same.

it was your favourite time of the day. the sky ranging from how the shades of crimson had mingled with the orange colours, along with a few streaks of pink here and there, looking as if someone grabbed a huge paintbrush and the sky was their canvas. it was always this time of day that made it seem like time around you had slowed down, letting you whisper your goodbye’s to the daylight before finally having to greet the night sky.

mingi tore his gaze away from the sky to look at you, saving your awed expression in his mind. the male took the brief opportunity to admire your side profile, the familiar tug in his chest reminding him the feelings he thought were long forgotten. but how could he?

how could he forget when you are just sitting right in front of him? how could he when you looked especially pretty when you briefly stopped in your tracks to admire the things you loved in life? how could he when you genuinely looked at ease? he could feel his heartbeat just beating so rapidly against his chest, his large hand coming up to rest on his chest. With a glance towards you again, he knew damn well what he was feeling.

mingi fell for you.

it would be a lie to say he didn’t. it would be a lie to say he didn’t develop these feelings for you when you would always have that quiet yet snarky side of you. it would be a lie to say that he didn’t purposely make mistakes in the project just so he could hear your voice explaining to him. but.. did he even have the right to do so? he had been an asshole towards you. though with the two of you finally having patched things up, he still felt the guilt gnawing at his mind every time you looked up at him with those bright eyes of yours.

it was the sudden beeping from the device along with your voice calling his name making him just snap out of it, you looking at him, concern painted over your visage.

“are you alright?” you softly asked.

he needed to tell you. sooner or later.

“i’m fine! just daydreaming for a bit there. i’ll go get the tarts!”

as quickly as he stood up from his seat, mingi went off to return the device along with getting the said baked goods.

you, on the other hand, weren’t stupid. you had noticed the gaze that landed on you while you were looking at the sky, you noticed the way he briefly placed his hand on his chest as soon as he tore his gaze away from you. with a shaky breath escaping your lips, you shut your eyes momentarily. It felt as if you were back in high school again, feeling the way your stomach flipping every now and then.

you had thought those feelings were long gone. yet, with all the lingering gazes that were exchanged between the two of you whenever your eyes met? or how you felt some sort of electricity shooting up your spine every time his arm brushed against yours when he stood next to you? but should you even tell him how you felt? no matter what the consequences will be?

your eyes looked up to the said male as he bounded over towards the both of you, a bright smile on his lips as he mentioned how good the tarts smelt, fresh out of the oven. seeing how his eyes widened ever so slightly out of excitement, you had your answer.

you needed to tell him. sooner or later.

but for now, you needed the right timing to do so.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

you laughed as mingi had told you one of his rather embarrassing moments during the first few months of becoming the captain of the basketball as you two walked side by side, mingi offering to walk you home considering the two of you lost track of time in the bakery. the crimson sky from before turned into night.you swear that you could feel the little tears just rolling down your cheeks from how much you were laughing as mingi continued on with his story.

“if only my voice didn’t crack that time, the other teammates wouldn’t even start to drag me every chance they get.” he sighed, though the corners of his lips twitching up at the sound of your laughter.

“hey, they do listen to you. your teamwork is great too! i’m sure they would be frozen in place if you kept a strong persona.” you reassured him.

suddenly halting in his steps, his eyes landed on the familiar place. the place where he finally came clean, the place where you burst into tears, the place where… he had promised to himself that he won’t let you down yet again.

turning around, you only noticed he had stopped in his tracks from the lack of presence next to you. “something wrong?” you asked.

pointing at the swingset, mingi looked over at you. “can we.. sit on the swings?”

deja vu. only, the roles were switched.

without a word, the both of you made your way to the swings and sat down, side by side. the sounds of the creaky swings filled your ears as you slowly swung yourself, both of you growing quiet as if the words in your heads disappeared. that was, until mingi spoke up.

“you do realise that technically you still need to do what i want you to do.” mingi reminded you.

he was right. the egg tarts weren’t actually from you, it was on the house. raising a brow, looked over at mingi.

“and what are you planning, hm? don’t tell me you want another egg tart.” you joked, an attempt to lighten the mood, mingi chuckling in return.

however, the smile on his lips disappeared as soon as it was shown. you would be lying if you said that you weren’t nervous. suddenly, mingi stood up and knelt in front of you. your eyes widened as you stared into his own intense one, gulping the huge lump forming in your throat, fingers clutching tight on the chains of the swings.

“min-”

“i want… i want you to like me. to take responsibility for what you are making me feel.” he spoke up abruptly, effectively making you freeze in place.

silence hung over the both of you, the sounds of cars occasionally passing by filling the quietness. did.. did you hear it right? or were you just dreaming? yet, the cool breeze of the night air was enough to tell you this was very much real, you were not dreaming. you could hear the way your heart beating violently in your ears, not being able to find the words to answer him.

to mingi, your lack of response was enough to make him grow nervous. the negative thoughts started to swirl in his mind, scolding him for suddenly acting rather hasty. he was starting to feel scared. scared that you might run away, scared that he won’t be able to watch him during practice, scared that he might not be able to walk you home.

scared that he would lose you once again.

“i’m.. i’m sorry i shouldn’t have said that. you can reject me, y/n. just please.. please don’t leave me again. you can forget this ever happened. you can forget i ever said any-” he rambled.

however, your actions effectively made him stop talking. your hands cupped his cheeks before crashing your lips against his with your eyelids shut tight, couldn’t say the same for mingi though. poor boy was frozen in place. it took him awhile to process what’s happening before slowly reaching up to place his hand on the back of your nape, eyes slowly fluttering closed to reciprocate the kiss. it felt as if time had slowed down around the two of you, lips moving in sync.

both of you wished that you could have this moment forever but the need for oxygen was urgent, burning both of your lungs. slowly, the both of you pulled away, faces just centimetres apart from each other’s. no words were exchanged between the two of you, just staring at each other as mingi rubbed the pad of his thumb along the length of his cheekbone, and your own digits playing with the strands of his hair absentmindedly. clearing his throat, mingi started to speak to break the silence.

“i guess that’s a yes then?”

with a jovial titter, you pulled him by the collar of his shirt to place your lips on his once again, mingi happily returning it as he circled his arms around your waist, the twinkling stars on the night’s canvas along with the bright moon being the witness of the start of a new level between the both of you.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

“are you fucking kidding me?” wooyoung screeched, eyes all wide at the sight of you and mingi coming to your usual table hand in hand. yeosang, who was peacefully drinking his tea, nearly did a spit take at the sight while yunho laughed at their reactions with a shake of his head before looking back at the two of you.

“i’m guessing you have something to tell us?” the other tall male asked, spinning a basketball on his index finger before swiftly catching it in his hands as wooyoung poked it.

“what else do they have to say? the answer is right there, puppy.” yeosang gestured at the your intertwined hands, not missing the fact that both of your cheeks were in a faint tint of pink.

yunho merely raised an eyebrow at the blond, amused, “for someone with a snarky attitude, you sure can’t sense someone else’s sarcasm.”

wooyoung cackled at the way yeosang deadpanned at yunho, immediately shutting his lips at the sight of the blonde’s glare, though not without letting out a stifled laugh.

you couldn’t help but to laugh at your friends’ antics as both you and mingi sat down at the table, eyes turning into small crescents as you did so. It was when yunho had asked the two of you what exactly went down between the two of you, yeosang and wooyoung leaning in expectantly. you looked over at mingi, who was already looking at you with fondness and adoration just written all over his face, before turning back to your friends to finally tell them.

alas, the rest of the lunch time you had was filled with your friends just teasing the both of you. though you didn’t mind, you were content.

somewhere in the back of your mind, you thanked the heavens for giving mingi and you another chance to start over. It was a rocky start, yet you didn’t drop each other right then and there. and you were glad that you didn’t.

“wanna go to grandma’s after this, y/n?” mingi whispered into your ear as your three friends bickered in the background.

“just don’t be late, hm?” you teased, making mingi roll his eyes in a playful manner before gently pinching the bridge of your nose.

“hey, don’t make us feel single, lovebirds.” wooyoung yelled.

cue a slap on his arm from you along with the round of laughter filling the air.

#ateez #ateez writing #ateez fanfic #ateez angst #ateez au #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez song mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez yeosang #song mingi #ateez yunho #mingi scenarios #kpop #kpop scenarios #colly's writings

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oohnoniall · 4 years

Text

Bonding [Niall Horan x Reader]

The thing stared up at them, warning them from coming near it. Its big, brown eyes seemed to be glaring into their very souls. With a sharp beak and those glaring eyes it made a terrifying predator that neither wanted to deal with. Yet the bright pink fur that covered the body of the furry little creature made her want to hold it and play with it.

“What are we naming it?” She questioned her best friend.

“I don’t know. Probably something like Moonflesh or Cynthia the Devourer of Souls.” He said with a shrug of his shoulders. “They’re kind of like those names on tumblr.”

“God, we can’t even come up with a good name!” She sank down into the seat beside her sewing machine.

Niall had brought up the idea of getting Furbies about a month ago. She had one upped him. They had bought the Furby two weeks before, it had just come in the mail two days prior. She had made sure to procure the necessary equipment in order to create the hellbeast known as a Long Furby.

Needless to say they hadn’t slept in days, too busy sketching up designs and arguing over what the damn thing should look like. They’d also spent ample amounts of time trying to figure out who would own the cute little guy once it was complete.

“Hand me the scissors,” Niall said as he sat down across from her. The two were in her living room. It was small, cramped and smelled like her favorite pecan pie candle. It didn’t matter what time of year it was she was always burning that damned candle. Niall often wondered how she had so many of them. But he wouldn’t put it past her to stock up on the damn things during fall.

She had brought as many lamps as she could into her living room, cramping the already cramped space. She had made sure they would have plenty of light. Although she had kept the curtains closed as she had told him it would be easier for her to see what she was doing with a constant light source instead of one that was constantly changing. Niall had just assumed she didn’t want anyone able to see what they were doing to a children’s toy.

She handed him the scissors. As she did he couldn’t help but notice that she held a needle between her lips. He was somewhat worried that she would end up accidentally swallowing it. With a lack of sleep and her normal accident-prone self he was certain that she would do something stupid.

“Careful with that,” he stated as he began to make a cut along the seam of the Furby.

She did not say anything, instead just flipped him off. It was obvious that she wasn’t in the mood for him teasing her like that. She never was. He just always found it rather amusing.

The two worked in silence, Niall cutting the Furby into small pieces and making sure to be careful of the electronic elements and the face plate. He was certain that if he even scrapped the eye with the blade of the scissors, she would kill him. He wouldn’t even feel bad about it. She would have every right. They had been looking forward to this for weeks now.

Making bad decisions was the height of their friendship.

“That’s starting to look good,” she said as she began to trace some lines in chalk on what would be the body of their Long Furby.

He looked up from what he was doing, the face plate had just fallen into his palm. “What does?”

“The demon eyes that are staring up from your hand.” She gestured once towards the face plate in his hands. “Seriously, I’m going to have nightmares about that for months.”

He would have been offended had she not started to giggle afterwards. A bright grin spread across his face. “Oh yeah? I’m gonna have nightmares about the faceless Furby.”

The two looked each other in the eyes for approximately ten seconds before they both began to laugh about the whole thing.

“Hand me the spine,” Niall said after his laughter had subsided. She continued to giggle as she handed over the long, five foot spine. He had joked that the Furby was going to be taller than she was. She had told him to fuck off.

As Niall glued the face plate to the spine, she began to sew the panels of the back together.

Once the two had finished their prospective tasks they decided to call it a night.

“Are you bunking over?” She questioned as she walked back into the living room. She had disappeared into the kitchen five minutes before. He’d listened as she made several clanging noises and had cried out when she stubbed her toe.

“Might as well,” he said as she handed him a beer. He gave her a grin as he popped the cap. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Do you want some dinner? I have literally nothing in my fridge but I do have pizza coupons,” she sank into her recliner in a cross-legged position.

“We really have to talk about your food habits.” He shook his head once as she took her phone off the coffee table. She paid him no attention as she began to order their usual.

Sleepovers had been a near constant thing when the two had been growing up. They had both assumed they would be over after his time on the X-Factor. Then they had thought it would change after they grew up. It hadn’t. They were still the same people that they had been when they were kids. Best friends who were unable to be away from each other for long.

Niall had always appreciated her friendship. She had always been certain that he was going to be by her side forever. This was just another reason why they had decided to make this stupid thing. It was going to be a long, hard task but it was worth it to spend some time with each other.

The pair soon ate their pizza, talking and joking about whatever they possibly could. Niall ended up passing out on her sofa while she texted some guy that she was interested in. Niall hadn’t thought he was good enough but he didn’t think any of the guys she was interested in were good enough for her. He just hadn’t told her about it.

The morning light hit him in the face, causing him to blink twice as he began to wake up. He wasn’t sure what had led her to opening up the curtains but he was happy to see the sunlight. He looked over, ignoring the crick in his neck as he did so. She was sitting at the sewing machine, finishing up the panels and sewing it onto the headpiece.

The sunlight glinted off of her hair, turning it almost golden in the light. He had never actually seen her in this lighting before. He’d never seen her so focused on something before. He knew that her work ethic was one of the most amazing things about her but he’d never actually seen her in the midst of things. His experience with her work ethic was her telling him to stop sending her messages as she was working on homework.

She didn’t notice him for a while. Instead, he had enough time to just watch as she worked. He had enough time to take in the way she moved, the way she breathed. He’d never noticed just how beautiful she was. He’d never noticed the way her hair fell over her shoulder, hiding part of her face as she worked. He had never noticed the crinkle by her eyes and the way she would chew on her lip while she concentrated.

God, he wished that he had noticed it before.

He cleared his throat once as he stood up from her sofa. She jumped slightly, turning her head to look at him as he slid on his jacket.

“Uh, I’m going for coffee. You want anything?”

“Yeah, can you get me my usual?” She pushed the hair that had hidden her face behind her ear. His stomach flipped wildly and he wondered why he had never noticed the way she smiled at him before.

He figured this whole thing was because they’d been staying in close quarters for the past few days. This damned Furby was changing their relationship. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

“Yeah, course,” his accent was gruffer than normal. He didn’t say more as he left her apartment. His thoughts were running wild as he walked the three blocks down to the nearest coffee shop. It was a local place that they’d been going to since they’d moved to London. He was certain that it was the best coffee in the world. However, he was not thinking about the robust dark roast. Instead, he was thinking seriously about the way she had looked in her pajamas working on their Furby son.

He was a mess.

It took Niall about twenty minutes to get their coffees and head back to the apartment. He wasn’t sure if he was going to say anything about his current feelings and the wild thoughts that he was having.

“You’re a lifesaver, Horan,” she stated as he handed her the coffee. She took a sip of it, a look of pure bliss crossing her features.

“Yeah, I know it,” he winked at her before he sat down on the sofa. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Uh,” he shook his head slightly as he heard her. Of course, she hadn’t.

“Let me guess, you were too preoccupied with the Furby thing?” Niall questioned, grabbing the open bag of polyfill from where it sat on the recliner.

“You know me far too well.” She stated as she brought the Furby’s body over to the sofa. She sat beside him, moving to rest her legs on his lap. It was a normal action, but it made him pause for just a moment. If only because he had not been expecting her to act so normal.

“If I didn’t no one would ever yell at you for your sleep habits.” As he spoke the two began to fill the Furby with the polyfill, making sure to make it as huggable as possible.

The two worked in silence, which was broken occasionally when she yawned. He was concerned that she wasn’t getting enough sleep but he also knew that she wouldn’t sleep until she was damn well ready. That was one of the many things that he loved about her.

She began to stitch the bottom of the Furby, closing it up and making sure that none of the stuffing would fall from their adorable little monster.

“Just like that, we’ve created a hellbeast.” He said with a light laugh, looking over at her for a moment.

“Cynthia the Devourer of Souls,” she said sleepily.

Niall looked over at her, watching as her eyes fluttered for a moment. He took his jacket from where it laid over the arm of the couch, laying it across her shoulders. “Get some sleep. We can celebrate later.”

Without thinking about it, he leaned over and kissed her forehead. He wouldn’t say a word about his feelings or the thoughts that he had been having about her. Their friendship meant more than anything to him.

It was why he had brought up the idea of the Long Furby. It was a bonding experience. One that they had both needed.

#long furby #one direction #niall horan #niall horan x reader #one direction fanfic #niall horan fanfic #one direction fanfiction #long furby fanfic #what have i done

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hiccanna-tidbits · 3 years

Text

Hiccanna--100 OTP Questions, Part 2

So I said I would finish this OTP question meme someday--and I decided, entirely on random impulse, that “someday” is today!!! My Hiccanna-centered account has not been producing enough Hiccanna content lately, and this simply WILL not do.

QUESTION SOURCE: https://the-moon-dust-writings.tumblr.com/post/159857601812/100-otp-questions

LINK TO PART 1: https://hiccanna-tidbits.tumblr.com/post/635744326176129024/hiccanna-100-otp-questions-meme-part-1 51. Does either of them know how to fight? I mean...canonically yeah, they both do??? Lol I mean Hiccup has his fire sword and obviously would know how to fight with the weapons he makes/invents, and Anna literally just instinctively grabs a sword to protect her buddies in Frozen 2 and I mean we all really love Sword Anna anyways and also she PUNCHES A MAN OFF OF A BOAT so long story short yes they can both fight 52. What do they do for Valentines Day? Anna rents a rom-com and pulls Hiccup down onto their couch to watch it with her, and he kinda internally groans because he figures it’ll be something super sappy and cheesy and Anna will just be squealing with delight the whole time. Legit as soon as the first scene begins, Anna begins brutally roasting the main couple. Turns out it’s a really terrible rom-com and Anna rented it solely to make fun of it. Hiccup is like “aight this definitely wasn’t what I was expecting but I’m on board” Also Hiccup gets Anna like 3 boxes of fancy chocolate because...do I really need to explain? Anna gets Hiccup a particularly aesthetic floral arrangement for their kitchen table, something she knows damn well he secretly likes but would never admit XD 53. Who swears more? Anna, for sure. This tends to surprise people, but Anna is actually a notorious pottymouth when she gets comfortable XD Hiccup has a pretty big and borderline pretentious vocabulary, and so he tends to express his frustration in more...articulate ways when things don’t go his way. Like he’d stub his toe and just say “wow, I’d literally rather saw off my other leg than have to deal with this right now” while Anna, in the same situation, would let loose every curse word known to man XD 54. Who has the better comebacks? Hiccup, absolutely. His smart-ass comments to every conceivable situation on earth go absolutely unmatched. Anna can’t help but envy how he can almost instinctually pull out a near-perfect snide remark within seconds, whilst she, at best, thinks of the ideal comeback in the shower 3 days later. 55. Who would start a fight with another parent at a bake sale? I feel like Anna would seek out the most passive-aggressive, bitchy, entitled Karen and just wait with barely-concealed anticipation for her to say something super awful so Anna can just nail her in the face right in front of all the other moms Hiccup and their kids, meanwhile, can’t help but be awed at their wife/mother’s impressive Right Hook 56. Who reads buzzfeed? Anna. Hiccup keeps being like “you know half the stuff on there is total bullshit, right?” and Anna just shrugs like “who cares? It’s entertaining!” 57. Who is the hopeless romantic? Anna, good god, ANNA. After the whole Hans debacle I imagine she’s a bit more subdued about so openly showing this part of her personality, but at heart she just can’t stop being a romantic. Once Hiccup catches wind of this, he naturally makes a point of frequently surprising her with Grand Romantic Gestures and such, which makes Anna’s entire face go bright fuckin red as she cries out “NO STOP WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS YOU’RE TOO NICE” 58. Do either of them know how to do a handstand? Nope! They’d both fall on their faces and it would be hilarious. 59. Who can rap better? I love the idea of them both being looped into a rap battle somehow and Anna just dreading it immensely because she figures they both really suck and then when it’s their turn Hiccup comes out and busts out the BEST, MOST SAVAGE RHYMES Anna has ever heard COMPLETELY ad lib and the poor girl just goes completely catatonic with shock for like 10 minutes. 60. Do either of them want to go sky diving? See initially I was gonna say Hiccup definitely would not because it would give the poor boy an anxiety attack, but then I remembered he basically skydives in canon??? And Anna strikes me as a bit of adrenaline junkie too, so fuck it--yeah, I think they’d both enjoy it. 61. What do they usually text about? They talk a lot about movies, games, books, and shows they both like, I imagine--Hiccup especially likes to overanalyze them to ridiculous extents and Anna thinks this is adorable. The rest of the time, they send each other dumb memes and talk about random animal fun facts. Anna likes to brag that her boyfriend knows more lizard trivia than anyone else on the planet, and how many lizard facts does YOUR boyfriend know? Probably little to none, you big loser. 62. Who is the dramatic one? Anna is INCREDIBLY dramatic. Although Hiccup certainly does have a “dramatic flair,” as he puts it, I still think Anna can out-dramatic him, at the end of the day XD Although perhaps admittedly not by much. 63. Is either one confrontational? Anna certainly can be. She’s usually pretty friendly, but if she ever feels like she’s being challenged, demeaned, mocked, or generally not taken seriously, she’s ready to go to WAR. She certainly not as soft as she might look! I imagine there’s situations where someone is being a dick to either Anna or someone else and Hiccup has to physically hold her back to keep her from just decking them XD 64. What is their favourite cuddle position? Probably just good old-fashioned spooning. Hiccup actually really loves being the little spoon (because Anna just makes him feel so damn safe), but he is loathe to admit it. They also have one I like to call the “Needy Cat,” where Anna just goes and completely drapes herself over Hiccup when he’s sitting on the couch. He’s usually in the middle of doing something else, and is forced to find ways to play video games/read his book/watch his show around Anna XD 65. Who are their favourite musical artist(s)? Hiccup has exactly 3 music moods--pretentious classical stuff (to listen to while working on inventions), obscure underground 90s hipster bands no one’s heard of (to play air guitar to when no one else is home), and some more well-known emo/alt rock stuff (to sing along to in the car dramatically). I can see him liking Panic! at the Disco, The Killers, Fall Out Boy, Linkin Park, that kinda stuff. Anna, meanwhile, likes the trashiest, most generic-sounding pop music and refuses to apologize for dancing to it in the car XD She is most DEFINITELY a Swiftie, no question. She also likes some “edgier” bands like Paramore and Hey Monday. She went through a hardcore Avril Lavigne phase in middle school and she still totally listens to her but is embarrassed to say it. Also I feel like Anna would be into 90s/early 2000s boy bands??? She relates to the boys’ endless pining and just flips the genders in her head so the songs are about Hiccup (before they start dating obs) XD I AM DEFINITELY NOT SPEAKING FROM EXPERIENCE HERE, NO SIR 66. What are their parenting styles? Anna would probably be like...kind of stern, when she needs to be, but intensely nurturing as well, if her relationship with Elsa is anything to go by. Hiccup would be a pretty laid-back, chill dad who would probably try too hard to be cool and make no end of absolutely horrible dad jokes XD They both lowkey seem like the kind of parents who would end up letting their kids get away with a lot though lmao 67. Who would be the more laid back one? Hiccup probably. I mean, he IS the pacifist/diplomat guy, besides have you MET Anna??? Girl absolutely has NO chill. 68. Who listens to more vulgar music? Anna, surprisingly! Hiccup just kinda enjoys what he enjoys and doesn’t really feel the need to “prove” anything by listening to songs that swear a lot. Anna purposely listens to vulgar music to feed her hidden rebellious side and because it makes her feel badass XD She honestly kinda hates being written off as 100% wholesome and innocent all the time and will readily pull out the “I’M NOT A SWEET LITTLE FLOWER I SANG ALONG TO THAT SONG THAT JUST SAID FUCK SEE” line whenever given even the slightest chance XD 69. Do either of them have secrets even the other doesn’t know? Kind of depends on when in both their timelines they meet. If they meet in the middle of HTTYD 1 or Frozen 1, they probably wouldn’t tell the other right away that they have a dragon and an ice-powered supersister, respectively XD I definitely think they would as they came to trust each other, though. Also I read a headcanon that Hiccup has burn scars from the Red Death incident where he lost his leg, and that’s why he wears so much armor and generally long sleeves--and I kind of love that. So maybe Hiccup would be cagey with Anna about how he lost his leg and that whole incident for a while before he finally opens up to her about it. Other than that I feel like they’d be pretty honest with one another, other than maybe trying to hide the more embarrassing parts of themselves to impress the other person XD 70. Who is their go to couple for a double date? Jackunzel, obviously! They’d probably all go to an arcade or an amusement park or something else pretty fun and high-energy. 71. Do they tip the waiter/waitress on their date? I mean yes, they’re not huge assholes????? 72. How do they work out a fight? I imagine Anna tends to get more worked up and yelley and loud, while Hiccup doesn’t raise his voice much at all but can say some damn cutting things if he wants to. Since Anna probably gets angrier, I imagine she apologizes first, whether or not the fight was actually on her or not--it’s just kinda this girl’s default to apologize for everything XD She’d probably say sorry for yelling and probably overreacting, while Hiccup would also be EXTREMELY apologetic if he realized he crossed a line with one of his jabs at her. I imagine a lot of what they fight about is Anna doing some impulsive Dumb Shit^TM and Hiccup just being like “oh god DAMMIT that’s DANGEROUS you can’t just go WORRYING me like that!!!” and Anna getting offended because she kinda views this as him being a little overprotective and not trusting her to make her own decisions. Ironically, Anna occasionally also gets mad at HICCUP for doing Impulsive Dumb Shit, so he’s not always nearly as much the Voice of Reason as he thinks XD Hiccup also sometimes gets mad at Anna for not taking better care of herself (take it from a fellow ADHDer--we tend to Wallow in Despair sometimes, or straight-up forget to do basic care things like eat lunch XD)--I have an IRL friend who reminds me a lot of Hiccup and he’s ALWAYS getting on my case about not eating enough, not drinking enough water, constantly berating myself, stuff like that. I imagine Hiccup sometimes slips into Mom Mode with Anna when she gets in a bad spot, which she appreciates after the fact but kind of annoys her at the time because she wants really badly to be independent and all that. Basically TL;DR most of Anna and Hiccup’s fights can be resolved by Anna and Hiccup agreeing to next time Use A Brain Cell before they do a thing, or Anna agreeing to take better care of herself XD 73. Who brings home an illegal pet? In literally every AU possible I like to think that Hiccup brings home some variation of illegal pet XD I mean, it’s probably just a dragon (”just a dragon” is never a string of words I imagined myself using in that order like what do you mean JUST a dragon lmao) in a standard crossover timeline, which he basically does in canon, but I do love the idea of a modern AU Hiccup showing up to their apartment with some kind of weird exotic monitor lizard from Bali and being like “I found him in an alley, he’s gonna live with us now” and Anna is like “D: Is someone gonna arrest you???” And Hiccup is like “Nah, no cops followed me home” and Anna’s like “Okay!!! :D” and then goes to PetSmart to buy a big fluffy bed for her new scaled friend XD 74. What side of the bed do each of them sleep on? I honestly don’t think either would care much, and they usually sleep in a tangled-up mess anyways so by morning you can’t really tell who started on which side XD 75. What is their favorite photo of them two together? One from before they got together: I’m just imagining a big group photo with the Entire Squad (Rapunzel, Jack, Merida, Moana, etc.), and Anna has her arms laced around Hiccup’s neck and her chin on his shoulder and a GIANT smirk on her face. Meanwhile Hiccup is laughing and trying to push her off, but his cheeks are BRIGHT fucking red and he’s trying really unsuccessfully to hide it because he’s a pale boi. Anna loves it because you can so CLEARLY see Hiccup’s blush, and she loves to tease him about how flustered he got around her. Hiccup loves it because it reminds him of what was probably the first time Anna was THAT openly cuddly with him, and how exhilarated and giddy he felt the first time he had her that close to him. 76. Who takes longer in the bathroom? Probably Hiccup, if only because I HC him as a bit of a germophobe who is a tiny bit obsessive about washing his hands sufficiently. 77. Who has more songs on their ipod? Anna, mainly because literally every time she hears a song she likes she’s like “!!!!! Gotta download it!!!!” LITERALLY EVERY TIME. And she wonders why her ipod is always running out of space XD 78. What movie did they first see together? As of the Modern AU Hiccanna one-shot I wrote ages ago, Revenge of the Ancient Dragon Masters! XD If we’re talking movies that actually exist, I imagine it would be a Marvel movie, a Star Wars movie, or some super-fancy-CGI high fantasy epic. 79. What do they like to see each other in? You mean like...which of the other’s outfits would they find the sexiest??? Aight, I’ll take a stab at this. Anna gets literally SO fuckin thirsty every time Hiccup wears his dragon rider outfit (the one from HTTYD 2), like it shows off his cute skinny body in the most perfect possible way whilst making him look like a badass and oh how Anna DREAMS of feeling him up in that! (One day, she finally gets to! XD) She’s also very into the scale armor from HTTYD 3 when she’s in...a very different kind of mood XD As for Hiccup, his favorite outfits of Anna’s are probably her coronation dress and her queen dress, mainly because he loves how she looks in green. He also really likes her travel outfit from Frozen 2, mainly because it’s sexy AND practical and damn, he’s gotta admit, that’s a nice shade of purple and she absolutely SLAYS in it XD 80. Who makes jokes during inappropriate times? Honestly both of them??? Like neither are great at picking up social cues, and Anna canonically DOES do this in Frozen! (Remember her comment about ice-selling being “a rough business to be in right now”???) I can see both of them attempting to lighten a tense mood by making an ill-timed joke, hoping to make things less uncomfortable, and they end up making everything MORE uncomfortable XD Honestly sue me, I love the idea of these two idiots bonding over how terrible they are with social cues in general 81. At what age do they discuss the possibility of children? I imagine not til like...their early 30s, if ever. Like I mentioned in the first part of the questionaire, I actually am not sure if they would even want to have kids at all, but if they DID decide to, it definitely wouldn’t be until they’re older and have settled down a bit, and have (somewhat) gotten both of their lives together. 82. What do they love about each other the most? Hiccup loves Anna’s energy and optimism, and how she’ll basically cheer him on and believe in him with all her being no matter how high the odds are stacked against him. And oh boy does he LOVE how hard she can kick ass when push comes to shove, and how goddamn overprotective she is of him. The sword skills and the general willingness to punch problematic people in the face are definitely up there as well. She’s like the perfect blend of fun and badass, and there’s never a dull moment with her for him. Anna adores Hiccup’s connection with animals and general animal skills, especially with the more less-loved and “scary” of the world’s creatures (i.e. dragons lol). She also loves and admires the shit out of his intelligence and inventiveness, and wishes she could make contraptions half as cool as what he turns out. And, of course, she loves that he’s a pretty humble dude who's actually pretty insecure about his accomplishments, and isn’t some cocky guy wanting to shove them in everyone’s face. And, of course, she loves his sarcasm and his dry sense of humor, and few people can make her laugh as hard as Hiccup can. Before she met him, she had no idea pessimism could be this entertaining XD 83. Who is the one that sees the big picture, while the other focus’s on the small details? Hiccup is very detail-oriented--he has to be, in order to make any of his contraptions work! Anna is very much focused on the big picture and gets stressed and exasperated trying to keep track of details--she figures she’ll either sort through the details as she goes, or Hiccup will help do it for her XD 84. What would they write on their partner’s social media’s for their anniversary? One of my IRL friends wrote “Happy anniversary bro, you’re pretty great” on his girlfriend’s instagram for their anniversary, and she wrote back “Happy anniversary, you’re a good buddy, I love you” and I just XD That’s the EXACT kind of weird dorky nonsense I can see Hiccup and Anna doing for their anniversary tbh 85. Who is bad at math? Anna, bless her soul, needs a calculator for literally EVERYTHING. Hiccup kinda trained himself to be decent at doing math in his head, since he often has to calculate measurements for his inventions and whatnot, but Anna is absolutely atrocious at it and generally would like overly-complicated numbers to not be anywhere near her. 86. Who googles everything? Probably Anna, mainly because she’s pretty forgetful and doesn’t trust her own memory half the time so she feels the need to verify everything on the internet XD 87. Who does stuff on impulse? Anna 100% canonically does, although Hiccup has some shades of this too more than he would ever admit, in fact, for someone claiming to be the Voice of Reason 88. How do they comfort each other when they are helpless to do anything about the situation? Hiccup’s approach is probably just to try and distract Anna and take her mind off of it, which he’ll do by either trying to make her laugh, telling her a story, or explaining one of his inventions to her (which she never gets bored with btw, because everything that boy gushes about is fascinating to her <3). Basically he figures if he entertains her enough, it’ll take her mind off of whatever is freaking her out and she won’t fixate on it as much. Anna’s approach is more to accentuate the positives in a bad situation (although like I mentioned in Part 1, not really in a condescending “count your blessings, it could be worse!” kind of way, but more in a “I hope he’ll feel better if he focuses on happy things” kind of way, if that makes any sense?) and also focus on when Hiccup DID do great and utterly kick ass and tell him he’s always better than he thinks he is. 89. What is an inside joke they have? If anything, him calling her “Tiger” as a pet name (which I think I mentioned briefly in Part 1??? Can’t remember) is this, because in my mind it developed because whenever Anna is about to do some Dumb Shit, or punch someone she really shouldn’t in the face, Hiccup has to physically hold her back like “Whoa, slow down there, Tiger!” This happens so frequently that eventually it just gets shortened to him nicknaming her “Tiger” and all their friends are kind of baffled as to why XD 90. Who makes the other smile with almost no effort at all? Hiccup barely even needs to start talking in funny accents or imitating his dad before Anna is just DYING laughing. She thinks he’s the funniest damn person on earth. He honestly gets a kick out of her impressions too--she can do some pretty amusing ones, if that deleted coronation dress-up scene from Frozen 1 is anything to go by. So the feeling is mutual!!! They’re super good at making each other smile and laugh with little to no effort!!! 91. What is their favourite holiday? I feel like Anna especially would get REALLY into Christmas/Yule, mainly because of how much Elsa can spice it up with her powers. And judging by the OFA short, Arendelle gets very hyped for the holidays in general, so it’s probably hard NOT to have a good time. Anna probably also like Mayday a lot because the dancing, the spring cheeriness, and the flower-related festivities are definitely to her taste. Hiccup just likes the energy and general vibes, and would rather sit back and relax and watch Anna dance around and have fun XD Also dun best believe they BOTH get hella into Halloween, because they’re dramatic motherfuckers who loves to dress up, and it gives Anna an excuse to buy a shitton of chocolate and eat all the leftovers XD 92. Who is the one that is calm and collected while the other is angry and destructive? Lmao Anna is definitely the “berserker” of the two of them. She DOES tend to get destructive when she’s angry, if being ready to fight a giant-ass snowman and smacking a wolf in the face with a lute is anything to go by. Hiccup is definitely the calm and collected one, and very rarely gets genuinely angry. 93. What is their favourite board game to play? Does Dungeons and Dragons count??? I can totally imagine Hiccup being hyped up over that or some other super nerdy RPG game and being so enthused to show it to Anna, who just falls even more in love with him after seeing how EXCITED he gets about it. Of course he’s super eager to teach her, and TBH Anna has a really hard time getting it at first because DAMN these rules are COMPLICATED, but after she finally gets the hang of it, she realizes she absolutely LOVES DnD and RPG games in general (I mean...have you SEEN OFA??? Girl gets just a little TOO into reminiscing about her old play-pretend toys XD) and she and Hiccup constantly geek out about it together. 94. Who accidental sets something on fire? Anna, 100% also this is an ever funnier question if applied to Hiccanna in my Fire!Anna AU 95. Who has the car ready while the other is robbing the store? Anna is waiting while Hiccup robs the store, if for no other reason than that Hiccup is much better at Stealth Mode than Anna is XD Anna’s uncoordinated ass would probably knock over like 5 shelves’ worth of merchandise before reaching what they were actually trying to rob XD 96. What artist/group did they go to for their first concert? I M A G I N E D R A G O N S lmao Look what can I say Anna likes the Imagine and Hiccup likes the Dragons 97. Who sleep talks? Hiccup. He mumbles about dragons a lot. Sometimes he jolts awake randomly and just yells out “THE DRAGONS ARE IN TROUBLE!” and Anna has to calm him down after she dutifully manages to not burst into laughter at this. Doubly funny if this takes place in a Modern AU. 98. Who is the more social one? Anna! Hiccup generally prefers to either keep to himself or hang out with animals. 99. What are their karaoke songs? For some reason I feel like anything by P!nk??? Idk why, but I can see them like rocking out and singing along to p!nk songs together and getting really into it. Also basically anything by The Killers and, at Anna’s request, The Chainsmokers (Hiccup thinks this is very basic music indeed but goes along with it for her sake XD). AND “Whatever It Takes” by Imagine Dragons. And they sing it LOUD. 100. Who would get up on stage and make a fool of themselves just to make the other laugh? Highkey both of them??? I kinda feel like Hiccup moreso though, if his little comedy routine imitating his dad in HTTYD2 is anything to go off of. He definitely wouldn’t be averse to making an idiot of himself to amuse Anna, especially since she’s so damn cute when she laughs. Anna, for her part, loves returning the favor, and is all about trying to do all sorts of Goofy Antics to amuse her boyfriend. And she’s overdramatic af, so she gets WAY too into it XD

#hiccanna #hiccup x anna #anna x hiccup #hiccup #anna #otp questions #hiccupxanna #annaxhiccup #rotbtd #rotbtfd #httyd #frozen #crossover #hiccup haddock #princess anna #queen anna

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spaceorphan18 · 4 years

Note

1-15 for the writers meme for ‘With Every Broken Bone.’ (I’m in a rereading mood for fanfic and I’m thinking about rereading this). Also you know I love this one!!

Aww thank you dear <3 Now I won’t shut up about process and the ins and outs of writing, lol...

1: What inspired you to write the fic this way?

When season 6 came along, admittedly, I had a really hard time reconciling going from a happy ending in season 5 to broken in season 6. And writing about it kind of was an interesting cross-section of therapy and analysis. While I was figuring out the timeline of events -- I noticed that there were some interesting parallels/juxtapositions going on, and because I thought I may not be writing more Klaine fic after this one (ha) I might as well take my own spin on a few famous portions of Klaine’s story.

2: What scene did you first put down?

I tend to write chronologically, so the opening flashback scene was probably first. I can’t fully remember. I did have a whole outline, though, before writing.

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

Hmmm, I’m not entirely sure, since a lot of the specific narration I don’t remember as much anymore. I do love the entire month of June chapter, though, which is mostly narration. I love that it’s Kurt finally getting what he thought he wanted -- to be alone -- and finding himself through that, but also that even he can experience loneliness when having too much distance from everyone else.

Also early in the story when Kurt goes dancing with a guy and he starts to connect to him -- feeling Blaine through him -- only to realize the dude isn’t Blaine and basically has a panic attack. That moment was always really clear in my head, and I liked writing that one.

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

Oh, ha, it’s, like, my favorite line of dialogue ever, cause it’s a delightful metaphor for Klaine’s story at the time (And I’m sure people aren’t really that impressed with what I find clever, and are sick of me quoting myself, but I’m still amused by it)

“You know what it’s like? It’s like I stubbed my toe. And my toe hurt. A lot. And I tried to ignore the pain in my toe, but after a while it got so bad that something had to be done. So, instead of taking care of my toe, I chopped off my foot. Do you know how much worse chopping off your foot feels? Of course it took me four months to figure out how much it fucking hurts. And now I don’t have a foot. Just a bloody stump. I shouldn’t have cut it off. I could have fixed the toe.”

In addition, I also really enjoy some of the convos with Mercedes -- the one where she’s discussing her break up with Sam, and how, in a way, the two break ups are similar. I also love the July flashback with Mercedes -- because it foreshadows a lot of the story, and I thought it was rather clever.

5: What part was hardest to write?

The July chapter! Oh god, I think I had most of the rest of the fic done and kept having to put that on pause. I wanted Kurt to have another romantic interest during the summer - and get a sense of what casual relationships are like, and discover what he’s like in relationships that aren’t with Blaine. And to have to do that, set it up, pay it off, go through the whole thing and have it be meaningful was really hard. It took a long time to figure it out.

Not as difficult, but still I found challenge with, the flash back to the first break up. Trying to figure out how Kurt felt differently, and exploring how it was a different thing in a short amount of time was difficult.

The September flashback was difficult, too, because I needed Blaine to be frustrated without being too needy, or too much a bad guy. I know betas and talking it out helped a lot on that one.

6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?

This was my first big fic for Glee, and the first one where I felt like I was a decent writer. It also helped me figure out Kurt and the show in a way that I hadn’t before, and I love the character more from writing it.

7: Where did the title come from?

The lyrics of ‘I Lived’ -- I thought it was a nice touch that it was the last song on the show, and it fit with story I was trying to tell.

8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?

Yes! A lot of my experiences of New York I wrote into it here and there.

Also the story about thunder being god bowling. I had a cousin who used to tell me that so it didn’t seem so scary.

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

Not really? The only big thing I cut out was an extension of the stuff with June Dalloway in chp 3 (?) -- my betas talked me into cutting that way down, and they were right to do so.

10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?

I mean, well, they’re who I write. The pairing picked the story.

11: What do you like best about this fic?

I really love the story it explores with Kurt in it. I’m proud of how Kurt grows in it, and how I feel it does bridge the two seasons nicely. I really love how it gets deep into Kurt’s psyche -- drawing on canon as much as I could to paint a full picture of who he is. I think he’s a fleshed out and flawed character, and he feels real to me in this one.

I also really love that I was restrained in my use of Blaine -- he’s a ghost that haunts this story, and I was fascinated with the idea. I think it really comes through. Blaine is always there, even when he’s not, even when Kurt’s trying hard to move on. You miss Blaine in the story, but that’s intentional -- because Kurt deeply misses Blaine.

12: What do you like least about this fic?

There are still some parts that feel a little clunky to me. Certain sections that maybe go on too long, or not long enough. I can tell it’s an earlier fic of mine -- I could have worked on better and more concise sentence structure in a lot of places. I could have fleshed a few ideas out. And the October chapter, which is all of season 6, goes on a little too long -- and it feels slightly out of place, but I knew it did even when writing it -- I’m not sure how I’d re do it, but it feels slightly different than the rest of the fic.

I give myself a lot of leeway because it was my first time writing one, but the sex scene was a bit on the simple side. It felt more like an obligation - and I was super scared to write it, and basically my betas had to help me construct it cause I had no idea what I was doing and felt funny writing it.

I also think the Nov. flashback is a little too cheesy, but I was trying to get in all the last minute canon references, so I left it in there.

13: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

Yeah, I had a whole playlist for this one!!

Chapter 1 (March): Teenage Dream - Darren Criss

Chapter 2 (April): Shake it Out (Acoustic) - Florence and the Machine

Chapter 3 (May): Rockstar - A Great Big World

Chapter 4 (June): I Shall Believe - Sheryl Crow

Chapter 5 (July): Daydream Believer - Mary Beth Maziarz

Chapter 6 (August): Dream City - Free Energy

Chapter 7 (September): Head Over Feet (Acoustic) - Alanis Morissette

Chapter 8 (October): Halo - Beyonce

Chapter 9 (November): I Live - Fate Under Fire

Each of the chapters kind of had a musical aesthetic going on with it! Also intentional were the use of Kurt solos as chapter titles -- those paired along with each chapter purposely.

14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?

I have no idea - that’s up to them to get anything out of it.

15: What did you learn from writing this fic?

I did! I learned a lot about writing (which having a few fantastic betas really be strict with my writing helped a lot). I got myself out of some bad habits, and tried to be more introspective than I had been with previous writings. And I just felt like I stepped up when it came to writing. I think this is far from a perfect piece of writing, but I’m proud of how it turned out.

I also learned a lot about Kurt, he became a part of me writing this, and now his story is much more special to me than it had been before. And I learned a lot about Glee -- how it is as a show, and how it works, cause I looked at the structure of canon, and how it was written.

#gorgxoxus #thanks so much! I could talk endlessly about this one! :)#that's how s.o. sees it

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devilrising · 4 years

Text

Fallen Draco, Pt. 18

This story is following a prompt set by @mymindsmadness

Summary: AU where Draco is a fallen angel, and the way he gets his wings back is by guiding Harry in defeating Voldemort, but it all goes wrong when Draco starts falling in love with Harry

Word Count (Part 18): 3,069

Word Count (Total): 57,450

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of abuse/torture (non-graphic), confined spaces and darkness

***

29th April, 1998 (continued)

Light is swallowed the second I enter. I’m plunged into thick darkness, and there’s no apparent way out. I whirl around to glower at Ron, but the maze’s walls have covered the entrance. The only thing there is hedge. I sigh but turn back around all the same. According to Ron, the only way to get through this maze is to alter the lighting. I need to adjust the brightness and darkness constantly if I want to find a way out, all while avoiding the random objects serving as obstacles. I groan. This is going to take ages.

Squeezing my hands into fists and opening my eyes wide, I try to increase the light slowly. Instead, it rapidly illuminates and forces my eyes shut. I feel like screaming. I haven’t even walked a metre yet, and I’m already losing my mind. But this needs to be done. I need to help with the war, need to help Harry, and if I lose all of my faculties in a maze to do that? Well, that’s just a side effect. Taking a determined breath, I actually manage to slowly decrease the light. As I do, the first paths become more and more visible. The maze veers off to the left, as well as continuing straight ahead. I’m not sure which option is the better one to take. On a whim, I decide to move forward. The second I take a step though, the maze is plunged back into darkness.

I pull at my hair. Hard. This is so frustrating. I take a step back, fingers crossed that Ron was feeling nice when designing the maze’s mechanics. With a rush, the light increases again. It seems that I can only light up single steps at a time, and either have to keep changing the brightness, or memorise everything. I will tear Ron apart if I ever get out of here. Taking a breath to calm myself down, I notice that a couple of steps ahead there is a large vase to the left. Other than that, the path straight ahead is clear until a wall cuts it off. Hoping for the best and praying that I’ve remembered accurately, I take a single step forward. I’m careful to keep to the right. I don’t want to knock the vase over, no matter how ugly it is.

It’s weird, walking forward but not being able to see where to go next. My hand stretches out ahead of me, hoping to stop myself crashing into the wall. Eventually, after shuffling cautiously for a while, a leaf digs into my skin. I push forward slightly further, and my entire hand rests flat against what has to be a hedge wall. Grinning to myself, I drop my hand and clench my fists once again, trying to lighten the maze. Slowly but surely, new obstacles are revealed. One thing that hadn’t happened earlier though, was that as the light continued to brighten, new objects appeared while others faded. Thankfully though, the only path available is to my left. It seems to be half the distance of the first stretch, but it has four obstacles that I’ve seen. I continue to lift the brightness until I can’t see anymore. There are only the four objects—a giant book, a crystal bowl, a grimy kettle, and a child’s chair—but only two are visible at once.

I fiddle with the light and note where each one is in comparison to the others, but also compared to me. I figure out that the kettle is closest to me and to the left, followed by the bowl on the right with the chair just after it, and then the book on the left at the very end. It’s a lot to remember. Especially since once I take a step forward, it will all vanish. Gritting my teeth, I close my eyes. If I’m going to lose my vision, it might as well be on my own terms. Moving forward slightly, I see the world fade through my eyelids. I veer to the right, avoiding the kettle entirely. The last thing I want to do is stub my toe on the bloody thing. Swerving to the left when I think it’s safe, I move out of reach of the bowl. Being pure crystal, it is probably a relic from the nineteenth century. Apparently muggles have their own versions, but if it’s from the Wizarding World then the only thing holding it together is magic. Sometimes the muggles manage to come up with better ways of doing things—like having a bowl actually stay a bowl without it threatening to cave in—but we make fun of them and continue as we are.

When I think I’ve passed both the bowl and the chair, I shift to the right once again. A grunt of pain pushes through my lips as I stub my toe on the chair. I feel like cursing the sky away, but my pride gets in the way. I may have just walked right into a tiny, wooden chair, but that doesn’t mean someone outside of the maze has to know that. Regardless, it hurts quite a bit and I frown. How does something hurt so much through shoes? At least I now know where I am. Trying and failing to ignore the pain in my little toe, I feel around the chair and continue on the right side of the path. I reach out my hand again, and soon there is hedge poking against my skin. I shout in triumph.

Turning to face the way I just came from, I play around with the light. Once I get it correct, I scowl. Even though I walked right into the chair, it is in exactly the same place. Scoffing at the awful piece of furniture and suppressing my desire to burn it to ashes, I turn around and look for the next path. I can only move right this time, but I can see from where I’m standing that the path splits up ahead. I have to choose between right and left. I keep adjusting the brightness, but no obstacles make themselves visible. Even when I decrease the light with the thought that something might glow in the artificial darkness, nothing shows up. Shrugging to myself, I step forward. Considering I had just darkened the room, the inevitable plummet in light isn’t anywhere near as bad as the last couple of times were.

I walk straight ahead, my hand already up since it’s a rather short path. In eight steps, I feel the hedge under my palm yet again. Now I have to make a decision; based on literally nothing. Cursing under my breath, I decide to go left. I don’t know why, but it seems like a reasonable option. I feel around for the entry and then step into it. Once again, I tweak the light. There is a small coffee table right in the middle of the path, but that’s it. I calmly walk forward and off to the right, hoping to avoid stubbing my toe again. When I get to the end, my hand happens to land on a very sharp stick. Now I really do curse. A little bout of swears I wouldn’t want my mother to hear leave my mouth, and when I adjust the light I realise that I’m bleeding.

Huffing to myself, I carefully glide my wand over my hand and heal the skin. Clearly I’ve picked a few things up from Harry, as it smooths over and the bleeding stops. Not even a scar remains, and the pain instantly fades. Now that I’ve fixed my hand, I look around. There is only one option again, so I fiddle around with the light and then turn left. There don’t appear to be any objects anywhere, and when I lean forward I can see that the path swings right. Deciding to just go with it, I walk away from the spot I can see in and onto the next path. I continue forward until a leaf gently pricks my hand, and then feel around for the other entrance. Once I’ve found it, I stop moving and play with the light again. Immediately, it becomes quite obvious that I’ve turned the wrong way. A wall of hedge sits at the other end, with no obstacles or entrance.

Remembering that Ron said some paths were visible under different lights than others, even in the same path, I decide to keep trying. I widen my eyes as much as possible, light swarming the maze, but there aren’t any paths. I then squeeze them closed and dim the light as much as I can. When I open my eyes again... nothing is revealed. I groan and turn around to go back the way I’d just come from. To my surprise, the maze immediately brightens so that I can see where I’m going. It must be a feature that when you realise you’ve chosen wrong, it allows you to go back to the actual route. Hopefully that means I don’t run into any more furniture.

As I wind my way back to the last split, I take a wide berth around the coffee table. Once the maze evens out into a straight line again, I see the option to go right or forward. I came from the right, meaning I must continue to go straight ahead. The very second I step into the split the light vanishes, leaving me dizzy in the darkness. Without a second thought, I start to alter the light. There is a passageway up ahead with only a saucepan in it, and if I squint I can make out a turn to the left. Preparing myself for the inevitable blackness of the next step, I squeeze my eyes shut. Plunged into darkness yet again, I begin to walk forward.

It’s only as I run into something that feels a lot like metal that I realise I didn’t actually note where the saucepan was. I groan loudly as the big toe of my left foot begins to swell up. Already I can feel it starting to bruise! Sighing to myself at my stupidity, I pull my wand out and fix both of my toes. The little one doesn’t feel too bad anymore, but as the big one is healed it’s like my mind is free again. Happy now that I can think beyond the pain, I keep walking forward down the black path. After a couple of really paranoid steps—even though the only thing to run into was the saucepan, and I’ve already hit it—my outstretched hand brushes leaves. I immediately turn left, remembering that that was the only option.

I continue on in a whir, my consciousness fading and my feet taking over. Adjusting light becomes easier and easier, requiring less effort the more I do it. The maze really was a clever idea. Even if I’m sick of cutting myself on branches and running into random household items and pieces of furniture. I turn left, left, right, right again, left, and promptly hit a dead end. Burying my head in my hands as the maze lights up, I move back onto the path and plunge into the dark. Any fears I used to hold of the dark are gone, both from spending an uncomfortable amount of time in it, and also because I can now dispel it and replace it with light.

Once I’m back on the path I turn left, right, right two more times, left twice, right twice, left, left, left. My hand hits a wall and the lights come back to life. Returning to the correct passage quickly, I continue. Left, left again. As I adjust the light to look for the next path, I note that there is only one option again. I take it, turning right. I’m blinded as I step into sun-soaked day time. Cheering erupts around me, three people clapping and whooping as loud as they can. It’s surreal, being in this much light after being enclosed in the dark for so long.

“You did it Draco!” Hermione shouts from a few paces away.

I turn to her, giving her a grin that hurts my cheeks. Just as I’m about to reply though, Harry is barrelling into me and wrapping me up in a tight hug. I relax into it immediately, comforted in his strong arms. A tug of embarrassment pulls at my stomach, but I ignore it. There’s no need to be embarrassed about affection, despite what my pureblood childhood might say against it. The people here won’t use this against me. They won’t turn my emotions into a weapon against myself, and Harry certainly couldn’t care less about that.

A hand claps me on the back, and Ron’s voice booms behind me. “Just under an hour! Good job mate!” He hits me hard twice, nearly knocking the wind out of me. I feel unbelievably pleased at being called ‘mate’. Ron reserves that for his closest friends, and even though I’ve brought myself to use his first name, it’s a totally other thing to be called ‘mate’.

“I’m just glad you’re out!” Harry exclaims, tightening his hold on me and pressing a kiss to the side of my head. “I don’t know what they were thinking, trapping you in a maze!”

“Harry,” Hermione laughs, “you know it would have disappeared after the hour and he would’ve been safe.”

“Still.” Harry releases me, holding me at arms length and just looking for a second. Something seems to nag at him in his head, as he kisses me full on the mouth. It’s very unexpected, but I return it readily. It’s warm and happy, a safe and comfortable place. There’s a spark of longing and possessiveness from Harry’s side, and my stomach does weird things at that thought. I try to return the sentiment, while still being painfully aware of his friends right next to us. Our friends.

“How are you feeling, Draco?” Ron asks when Harry releases me. “Did you hit any of the obstacles?”

After smiling at Harry for a while I turn to scowl at him. “Yes, actually, I did.” I lift my head and sniff the air. “And it really hurt. Especially that saucepan.”

Ron and Harry both chuckle, Hermione the only one to actually look concerned. “Do you need any help healing anything? I’ve gotten quite good at healing charms recently.”

Ignoring the reason behind why she’s become good at them, I shake my head. “No, I think I have them all. Although, I did walk into a broom which was suspended from the wall at head height.” I glare at Ron, certain that was his idea. “I might need help easing the bruising.”

Hermione nods and busies herself with her wand and various creams. As she sets about casting complex spells over my head and smearing a cream which leaves tingling all over my skin, Harry starts talking about a room that he’s set aside.

“Set aside for what?” I ask.

“Oh!” Harry only just seems to realise he hasn’t actually explained any of the context. “Well, Ron mentioned Murder in the Dark earlier yeah?”

I nod in response.

“Okay, so basically I’ve cleared out a room so that we can walk around without running into furniture.”

I purse my lips. “So you’re telling me,” I start, “that I bumped into furniture for an hour by myself, but that you don’t have to?!”

Harry smirks but breaks into a laugh. “Exactly correct, Dray.”

When Hermione tells me that I should be set for minimal pain and bruising, we all move back inside. Harry leads us deep into Grimmauld, dragging us up to floors I’ve never been on. Eventually, he stops before a regular door.

“Here we are,” he announces. “I’ll explain the rules once we’re inside.”

With that vague statement, he opens the door and gestures for us to file in. It’s well-lit and, as promised, void of any furniture. Hermione stops in the centre of the floor and Ron quickly joins her side. I awkwardly stand behind them, not wanting to get in the way. I know it’s stupid, and they aren’t going to do anything to make me feel left out or like a third wheel—which is kind of ridiculous, since if anything this is more like a double date, if you ignore the reason behind the gathering…—but I still don’t want to intrude. Harry smiles at me, a soft and private thing that’s only meant for my eyes. I try hard to stop the grin spreading over my face, but I don’t think I quite succeed.

Harry rubs his hands together and clears his throat. “Murder in the Dark.” He paces a couple of steps back and forth before turning to face us. “Draco, since this training exercise is mainly for you, most of the rules centre around you. This isn’t the traditional game though, so it’s really important that everyone listens,” he starts. “Ron, Hermione, and I are all murderers—or in this case, Death Eaters. Draco, you have to avoid us using any means necessary. You have three choices of how to defend yourself, none of which will cause actual damage. The first option is to dim the lights so that no one can see where they are going. This is typical of Murder in the Dark, hence the name of the game. Your second choice is to brighten the room so sharply that our eyes need a second to adjust, giving you time to duck out of the way.

“The third and final option is something you’ve never done before. You should be able to bend light so much so that you can create a reflection, or even make yourself invisible. I must admit… I’m not quite sure how you’d do that, but it should be possible. You could reflect whoever’s closest to you back at them and confuse them for a second, or you could warp light to bend around you, rendering you basically invisible,” Harry explains. “The rest of us—the Death Eaters—need to tap you somewhere above the waist but below the neck. While the real ones won’t have any difficulties hitting you elsewhere, we don’t actually want to cause anyone any harm.”

Everyone nods around him, prepared to play.

“Let’s get to it,” Hermione announces.

***

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I am writing on a new schedule it seems to be working much better!! So excited to get this out, I will see you guys next week :) Xx

Masterlist — Previous Part — Next Part

@draconianhorntail @p3trovass @cowboy-simp @queeneyart @ohheavenlylord @h0pehauntedmyw0rld @unsolicted-chick-picks @itsclayclay @harrybpoetry @slash-slut @jianing2603 @magical-fairy-princess-stuff @give-me-the-queer @youmakeprettybeautiful @hello-i-am-moi @slytherclaw134689 @sinnysin-sin @lafilleetlechatnoir @absolutetrashcan @irrelevantdrarry @glo-up-goddess @birdy1032 @d-addict @pizzasandwich72 @madison-is-a-small-baby @joshoriande @sugarhoneyice-t @imaginemymemories @shipperofalltheships @uniiicornen @thewanderingnomadsworld @randominternetloser @levi7755 @localxmermaid @biyaaaaaaaaaa @just-some-bibliophile @pizzabitch @champagnemonarch

#devilrising #fallen draco #drarry #harry potter #draco malfoy #drarry fanfic #drarry fanfiction #fic rec #ficlet #hermione granger #ron weasley

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todisturbtheuniverse · 5 years

Text

FIC: Liminal Grief [2/3]

Rating: T Fandom: Stardew Valley Pairing: Shane/Female Farmer Tags: Pre-Relationship, Developing Friendship, Grief, Alcoholism, Depression Word Count: 10,613 (total) Summary: The new farmer has a level of equal-opportunity-friendliness that reminds Shane of an old friend, but when the mask comes off, it’s more like looking in a mirror. Also on AO3. Notes: Very much based in the game, but littered with my own headcanons, both for this particular farmer and for Shane. Like other stories in this series, this could be considered standalone, but follows the same farmer (named Lydia) and the same Shane, and shares continuity with those other works.

Part 1 here.

Jas wasn't in her usual spot.

Shane stared at the shady place beneath the big tree by the forest lake. He didn't expect her to materialize, but he hoped, which was a pretty big leap for him. If he hoped hard enough, maybe he could will her into existence. Maybe she was just hiding behind the tree, still mad at him…

He looked, even though he knew what he would see. Nothing. A whole lot of nothing. He gave the upper branches a perfunctory check, just in case she'd suddenly become capable of climbing a tree this big, but there was no sign of her lavender dress, of her green bow.

Shit. She'd been gone an hour already. If he'd known she was upset enough to go running off to a new hiding place, he'd have followed sooner.

At least, he told himself that, that her screechy voice hadn't provoked a headache so powerful that he'd been mostly incapable of stepping out into the sunlight until now. Screechy voices and hangovers were a bad combination.

He was going to have to enlist Marnie's help. Great. Fucking perfect. He didn't know how many more worried, disappointed looks he could endure from his aunt, but he was just going to have to suffer through it somehow. It would almost be better if she would just berate him outright. Almost.

He took his time heading back, hoping he'd find Jas somewhere in the intermittent forest and meadows. She loved the wide open space out here. She could be anywhere.

Anywhere. A hand closed tight around his lungs, squeezing them, cutting off his air. She could be anywhere. She could be hurt. She could be…

But he didn't get much further than that. It was an old fear, well-trod. It had lost its sharp edge, the squeak that had once kept him up at night.

Marnie looked up from the cash register as he came in, face tight with worry. "You didn't find her?"

"No," he snapped.

Marnie didn't even flinch. "Maybe she'd have gone to Vincent's? I can—"

"No," Shane said, his tone better moderated this time. "No, when she's mad, she always wants to be alone." He didn't know much, but he knew that. In this one way, Jas had always matched him in temperament, rather than her parents.

Slowly, Marnie nodded. "All right, then...maybe...check with Lydia? She's still got a lot of undeveloped space on that farm, and it's nearby."

It was solid logic, but Shane resisted it. The last place he wanted to look was that farm. The last person he wanted to see was Lydia. He'd been in a weird place the night before, and it'd been...fine...having a drink with her, but he didn't want to give her any ideas about staying friendly.

So he'd just have to be extra rude while enlisting her help. Sure. Those two things went together.

"I'll come along," Marnie said, stepping out from behind the register, oblivious to his internal torment. "It's a big piece of land. Three of us searching separately will cover more ground."

"Assuming she wants to help," Shane muttered. It was probably too much to hope that she'd give them the run of her farm and then vanish into town for the afternoon.

"Of course she will. She's a sweet gal."

Shane didn't offer up any commentary on that, any of the words he'd use to describe her instead. Marnie locked up the ranch, and then they took the hard-packed dirt path north, following the old signpost pointing the way to Northern Lights Farm.

Shane vaguely remembered stumbling this way on a drunker night or two. Even wasted, he'd known to turn back. The southern entrance to the farm was overgrown; trees had crowded in, concealing any paths that might once have provided a route to the farmhouse.

Lydia hadn't completely cut back the overgrowth—impossible for one person in a single season to do—but she'd cleared a path, revealing old fences that were battered in some places and entirely broken in others. Nevertheless, the space between them was clear, showing a way through the trees, and Shane and Marnie followed it. In the distance, a dog barked.

"Sounds like Archimedes," Marnie said.

"Weird name for a dog."

"Lydia thought he had a clever face."

He lengthened his stride, even though it didn't help his headache one bit, hoping she'd be too out of breath to talk.

No such luck. Of course a woman who wrangled cows and chickens and sheep most days had the lung capacity to keep talking no matter how fast he walked. "Seemed like you two had a nice time last night."

Small towns. Only one bar, and it was the same bar everyone—including your aunt—went to. Usually Marnie was too busy chatting with Lewis to remark on what company Shane was or was not keeping, but not this time, apparently.

He didn't answer. That seemed safest.

"She seems a little lonely, isolated out here, fresh from the city," Marnie continued. "Bet you two have a lot in common."

There had been similar comments about other people—newcomers and community fixtures alike—over the last few months. Cautious encouragement to get out there, meet people, make friends.

"No," he said, "we don't."

"Shane—"

"Whatever it is, just stop, okay? Focus on finding Jas."

She sighed, low and disappointed, but didn't push further. They emerged from the path into an open field green with growing crops, and a dog rushed to meet them, tail wagging. Marnie leaned down to pat his head as he panted.

Shane saw the straw hat in the middle of the field before it popped up above the bean trellises. Lydia's face split into a wide grin as soon as she saw them. "Hey, neighbors!" she called.

Marnie shot him a look, as if to say, See? He glared back.

Lydia sidled through the trellises and walked over, still beaming, brushing the dirt from her gloves. "What brings you up here?"

"Jas is missing," Shane said, before Marnie could hem and haw about it.

Lydia's face fell. "Oh, no. What can I do to—"

"We need to search your farm," he cut across her.

"Of course," she said, nodding. "Archimedes and I can help—"

"That's not necess—"

"If you think she ran up here, it is," Lydia said grimly. "There's a lot of land I haven't cleared yet, and I don't know what kind of hazards the weeds might be hiding. It'll be faster with three of us looking."

"Fine," he bit out, and before she could argue further, he picked a direction and started walking.

"Be careful!" Marnie called after him.

He ignored her, plunging back into the trees, and searched for any sign of a misbehaving little girl. Any handholds on the trees that might have allowed her to scale them. Any tall reeds around the swampy pond that might conceal her. Any boulders that were the right size for her to hide behind.

The sun moved overhead. He'd been hoarse to start with, but after half an hour of calling for her, he hardly had any voice left. It felt like his blood was pumping too sluggishly through his body, slowing him down. Every time he passed from shade to sunlight, he had to squint against the glare.

A squirrel ran for cover nearby. A woodpecker took flight. Every rustle could have been her dress, every squeak could have been her giggle—but it was just some creature moving through the wilderness, and she was nowhere to be found.

The right thing to do was to keep looking. Keep wading through the tall, prickly grasses that had consumed the southwestern quarter of Lydia's land; keep stubbing his toes on all the rocks and fallen branches hidden within the grass; keep scanning the horizon and then the treeline for any sign of a green bow vibrant against dark hair, a small head bobbing away from him into the woods.

But Shane was tired. Powerfully hungover. Head killing him, sun trying to stab his eyes out, stomach churning, limbs like noodles. They’d been at this an hour. If Jas was on the farm, she was doing a good job of ignoring them entirely, staying quiet and out of sight.

Or she just wasn’t here.

He sank down against the nearest tree, letting the tall grass conceal him up to his neck, and closed his eyes. In the distance, he could still hear Marnie calling for Jas, the fear in her voice blunted a little by an hour of searching.

He’d long since lost that anxiety. Long since stopped peeking into Jas’s room before he turned in for bed, just to make sure she was still breathing. Used to be he could reassure himself that way, even wobbly and drunk, convince himself there was still something left to him, that somehow his best friends lived on through her, a last lifeline, and if he just checked, she would make it through the night.

But it was a stupid ritual. A false sense of security. She would make it, or she wouldn’t, and the universe wouldn’t ask his input on the matter. He couldn’t protect her. He couldn't protect anyone.

A shadow fell over him. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting here, steeped in exhaustion, head throbbing; maybe long enough for the sun to shift, to cast the shadow of another tree over him. He squinted one eye open.

Not another tree. Lydia. He barely repressed a groan.

He expected her to have a hard time hiding her disgust—or maybe reprimand him outright. She’s your goddaughter. How could you just sit here? He welcomed it, even. Give him a chance to snap at her. Really deliver the kind of cutting words that would make her think twice about poking her nose where it didn't belong.

He wasn’t even sure she knew that Jas was his goddaughter. Marnie called the kid her niece, even though she wasn’t, technically. Maybe Lydia thought they were cousins. Siblings. Maybe it wasn’t immediately obvious how irresponsible he was.

Either way, she looked concerned instead of repulsed. From what he could tell, anyway, backlit as she was by the sun.

“Well, you look like hell,” she said, a statement of fact rather than an admonishment. “Here.”

She leaned down, offering a canteen of water. He considered refusing, but his liver could probably use it. He took it, spun the lid open, and drank, not bothering to thank her. It was fresh and cold. He just hoped she hadn't scooped it out of the pond.

“There’s a treehouse around here somewhere,” Lydia said, shading her eyes and looking west. “Used to love it when I was a kid. Bet if Jas found it, that’s where she is.”

He let his head fall back against the tree, breathing deep. “You remember where it is?”

“Ehhh, sort of.”

He stretched out his arm—a monumental effort—to return the canteen to her. She slipped it back into an outer pocket of her backpack, then offered her hand down, as if to help him up.

“Come on,” she said. Encouragingly. Like that was going to improve his mood. “I think it’s just a little further.”

He didn’t exactly want the help, but he wasn’t sure he could get back to his feet without it, either. Was this section of her farm full of quicksand? Was that the hazard she'd warned them about? It felt like it was pulling him down, convincing him to lie in the tall grass and go to sleep, maybe let it swallow him whole.

He took her hand. It was heavily calloused even under his own rough fingers. A season on the farm really had transformed her from desk jockey to hardy manual laborer.

She heaved, easily setting him on his feet, and nodded when he didn’t immediately fall back down. “Let’s go.”

It occurred to him that she was sacrificing precious daylight hours to help him. That she could be fighting battles against these weeds, clearing more land or watering her existing crops or doing pretty much anything except look for a runaway little girl.

What was she even getting out of this? Would she expect some kind of reward? A gold medal, or just gold, for being neighbor of the year, finder of lost children?

Or was her kindness just inherent and altruistic? Hard to believe the world hadn't crushed it out of her yet. She'd worked at Joja. How had she survived?

“We’ll find her,” she said, like a promise.

His heart softened—a little. Just a little. If the world hadn't crushed the neighborly do-gooder instinct out of her yet, fine. It would. Eventually. But he wasn't going to be the one to do it.

“Sorry,” he said. Grudgingly, but he managed to force the word out. “Bet you didn’t plan to spend your afternoon playing hide-and-seek.”

“I didn’t,” she acknowledged, “but it’s okay. Archimedes!”

A bit of grass several yards away rustled and the blond head of her dog popped up above it, black nose gleaming, snout glistening like he'd recently stuck his face in the pond.

“Find anything?” she asked, for all the world like the dog was going to answer her.

He barked, turned a circle, and went plunging ahead west.

“All right,” she said. “Good as any other direction, probably. There used to be a big rock out here marking the way to the treehouse, but I can’t remember if Granddad broke it up after…”

She trailed off, and despite his determined distance, he found his interest piqued. After she’d stopped visiting? After he’d come back as a ghost to strew hazards all over the farm for his granddaughter to deal with? After the angry creatures in the wilderness reclaimed this part of the farm for their own?

Any seemed likely, coming from her. He remembered her playful hints at magic the night before. But she didn’t finish the sentence, just frowned and continued on, following the rustling grass that indicated her dog’s path.

And he followed her. If he couldn’t do the right thing, he could at least walk in the shadow of someone who would.

"You know," she said, as if she was allergic to silence, "if you want, I could give her a tour of the farm. Show her the places she ought to stay away from. That way, if she runs off again—"

"She won't."

She gave him a sidelong look. "Sure. Kids are totally predictable and obedient that way."

He scowled. "You could put a gate on the entrance by the ranch. Solved."

"Unless you want me to build a ten-foot-high concrete wall, she'd just climb it. And even then...I've seen her and Vincent testing the trees in town. She might still get in. Trust me," she said, and smiled. "I was once seven and precocious."

"Never would've guessed," he said, thick with sarcasm, and she laughed like he'd made a joke.

"Granddad never did get this part of the farm running. He always had plans for it, but he always stopped short. Cleared the path every season, maintained the fences, but kept the woods in the end. It was the first place I'd run off to whenever I was sad, or upset, or had just been scolded." She looked around at the trees as they walked, wistful around the eyes.

"Why?"

She shrugged. "Sometimes you need to lick your wounds in peace, right?"

"Not that. Why didn't he finish it?"

She glanced at him. "Said he had enough land, enough crops, to handle already." She hesitated, chewing on her lip. "But sometimes he told me that it was the forest spirits' home, so he couldn't cut it down."

"Let me guess," he said, unable to help his skeptical tone. "Those sounds you were talking about?"

"Sure," she said, all good-natured, like his cynicism didn't even touch her. "Why not?"

"Why not," he repeated in a mutter, and then, louder, "so you won't be clearing this, either?"

"Well, I don't really know if Granddad was telling the truth about having his hands full, but I certainly do." She shook her head. "I keep the path clear, and the rest is future Lydia's problem. The one who theoretically has a working sprinkler system."

He snorted. She took a look around again and pointed at a jagged boulder rising above the grass, maybe sixty feet in front of them.

"That's the marker. Okay. If we overshoot it a little and look to the right…"

He saw the evidence of an overgrown path here—a narrower track than the one Lydia had cleared through the forest, marked by old fences. This was just beaten down by, presumably, a history of footsteps. Lydia made her way along it, Archimedes at her side now rather than ahead.

"Aha," she said, quieter now, eyes traveling up a nearby tree trunk. "I think we've found our fugitive."

Shane's heart leaped in relief. He could see the old, partially-rotted handholds nailed up the trunk of the tree, the intact structure among its branches, and the thinnest sliver of a green bow through the window.

"I'll give you two some space," Lydia said, still quiet, and retreated back to the boulder, gesturing for Archimedes to follow; he went, tail wagging.

Despite his skepticism, and some derision—the same kind he felt every time Emily made a comment on his aura, truth be told—he appreciated this. Maybe Lydia was just too blind to see what a fuck-up he was, but even so, she'd given him the benefit of the doubt, the space to handle Jas on his own.

It was like Marnie'd said. She was a sweet gal. Too bad this unruly farm was going to break her of all that.

He considered the hand-holds, decided the risk of breaking a bone was acceptable, and began to climb. By the time he'd gotten halfway up, Jas knew he was coming, but there was no escape, and she wasn't desperate enough or stupid enough to jump out the treehouse window. She watched him with big, wary eyes as he contorted himself through the treehouse floor and settled gingerly on the worn floorboards.

For a long moment, they sat in silence, looking at each other. Shane was out of breath, and didn't know what exactly to say, anyway. Jas huddled in the opposite corner, tearstains on her face, some combination of defiance and guilt in the set of her jaw.

"You scared the sh—" He caught himself just in time. "You really scared me."

Her lip wobbled. He braced himself. "I'm sorry," she said, eyes gleaming again.

He stretched his legs out, enough to tap his shoe against hers. Almost instinctively, it seemed, she tapped back.

She'd still been a baby when he'd taught her to do that.

"Me too." He cleared his throat. "I was a real grouch this morning."

"Me too," she echoed, and rubbed a fist into her watering eyes. "I miss them so much."

How many times was it acceptable to say Me too? It didn't matter, because Shane couldn't get the words out. He patted the floorboards beside him instead, and Jas scrambled over to sit next to him, leaning against his side.

It wasn't sufficient. He was a poor substitute. No substitute at all, really. But he was all she had. Him and Marnie.

Poor kid.

"Don't run off again," he said. "Or at least go places I know."

She sniffed. "I like this treehouse."

He had a sudden, terrifying premonition of further forced interaction with Lydia.

"Look. There's drawings." Jas pointed, and he saw the little carvings in the wall. Your standard initials—L.A.V. in a shaky hand, B.I.V. in a steadier one beneath it—but also pictures. Little round creatures with guileless eyes and thin limbs, painted over in faded colors, sometimes outside the lines.

Forest spirits, probably.

"It's not our property, kiddo," he tried.

"Lydia's really nice. She always says hi to me when she's talking to Miss Penny. She gave me a dandelion once." She turned her tearful face up to Shane. "Maybe she'd let me come over sometimes."

Shane relented. It was hard to tell her no, especially for something so innocuous. He always felt like shit afterward, anyway.

So he'd have to put up with Lydia's sunny attitude once in a while. Whatever. Maybe Jas could get a little bit of happiness out of it. A childhood in the middle of all this horror. He could make some sacrifices on his personal comfort for that.

"We can ask her," he said, making a mental note to also ask her to replace the handholds on the trunk. "Can't believe you climbed all the way up here by yourself."

She grinned. "I'm strong, right?"

"You sure are," he said, and thought, Way stronger than me. "Let's get down from this thing, okay?"

She nodded, wiped at her face again, and hugged him quickly before scrambling past him to begin the descent.

He was an unfeeling asshole these days. The entire world had blended into some kind of dull, vomit-colored blur. But he loved her, even so.

If only it was enough.

He followed her down to the ground only to find her already frolicking with Archimedes, laughing as the dog enthusiastically licked her face. "Oh, he's so soft!" she exclaimed, gently petting the blond head.

Lydia approached from the boulder, smiling. "He likes you," she told Jas. "And he loves hide-and-seek. You gave him a good game."

Jas looked down, shy again. "Sorry I hid on your farm, Miss Lydia."

"No harm done," Lydia said. She cast a questioning look at Shane.

He sighed. "Jas likes your treehouse."

She brightened immediately. "It's a great treehouse. Used to spend a lot of time in it when I was a kid."

Shane nudged Jas. She buried her face in Archimedes' fur—he weathered the hug happily—and then peeked up at Lydia.

"Can I visit sometimes?" she asked, barely audible.

Lydia looked another question at Shane. So respectful, so intent not to overstep the bounds of his terrible guardianship.

He nodded.

"Of course!" Lydia cast a critical eye at the steps. "I'd better replace those steps first, though. Don't want anybody to get hurt."

She really was excruciatingly, painfully nice. He hated it. But he sort of, grudgingly, appreciated it.

"I can help with that," he offered. "We've got spare lumber at the ranch, and if Jas is going to be using it…"

It was fair, he figured. She was doing Jas a good turn. He didn't want to incur any debts. Maybe he could fix up some of those fences for her, too.

"Perfect," Lydia said. "Maybe we can do that next Saturday? Jas can hang out with Archimedes. If you don't have any plans."

Plans. Watching the pizza rolls spin in the microwave, maybe. Downing a few beers when the clock said it was acceptable to do so. Wandering the woods after Jas had gone to bed, coming back after Marnie had gone to sleep.

Jas looked back and forth between them, arms still looped around the dog's neck, some strange hope in her sad little face.

If she wanted to believe he was making a friend, fine. If she wanted to believe things were going to get better, great. He just had to maintain the illusion.

"We're free," he said. "If Jas really wants to hang out with this stinky animal all day."

"He's not stinky," Jas protested. Archimedes licked a broad stripe across her face, as if in thanks, and she giggled again.

Lydia flashed him a subtle thumbs-up. He rolled his eyes. It was one Saturday.

He could still fit in the beer-drinking and woods-wandering if they finished early enough.

Go to Part 3 ->

#stardew valley #shane/female farmer #sdv shane #sdv farmer #universe writes #in quarantine we post new chapter of fic daily #(i'm spreading out posting of each chapter but they're all up at AO3 fyi)#depression cw #alcoholism cw #developing friendship #pre-relationship

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raendown · 6 years

Link

Commission for @magnustesla, thank you!

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Rated: T+ Word count: 1940 Summary: Everyone has bad days. And everyone has that one special person that always makes it better.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Fly The Banner High And Proud

On a good day Madara actually liked the weight of his hair out behind him when he walked. Whenever the wind caught it at just the right angle the whole mass lifted to stream behind him like a war banner and he enjoyed knowing what an impressive figure he cut as he strode through the village streets. Today was not a good day, however. Today he was walking downwind and his voluminous hair kept flying in to his face, obscuring his vision, adding unnecessarily to his already foul mood. The more he struggled to push it away the more he looked like a crazy person waving his arms and shouting at the empty air around him.

His stomping footsteps reverberated around the genkan when he finally crashed through the front door of his home, pausing for a moment to claw at his hair. Trying to kick his sandals off with a little too much vigor sent him overbalancing in to the wall and Madara scowled at the beige paint squashed under his face. He’d never liked that color anyway.

“I don’t suppose you brought home that proposal for the budget meeting tomorrow?” a voice drifted down the hall from the living room and Madara jolted upright, scowling even deeper.

“Damn it,” he grumbled under his breath. “I knew I’d forgotten something. I just fucking knew it.”

Tobirama appeared in the hall with his head cocked to one side curious. His eyes drifted down and back up Madara’s body, taking in every detail of his disheveled state, but his only reaction was to hum and nod very slowly. With one hand beckoning in invitation he turned away to disappear back in to the living room.

When Madara stomped his way in to the room he found his husband curled in to one corner of the spacious loveseat and two steaming mugs of tea waiting on the side tables at either end. Every fiber of his body wanted to huff about lazy assholes sitting comfortably at home while other people had to spend hours in the office dealing with idiots one after the other – but even in this state he was able to recognize a peace offering when he saw one. He did make sure to huff loudly before throwing himself down on the vacant cushion and reaching for his tea.

Amazingly, his husband waited for an entire fifteen minutes before saying anything, just enough time for Madara to finish his tea and take a few deep breaths to clear his mind.

“I take it your day was not a pleasant one?” Tobirama guessed in a mild tone. Madara snarled.

“No,” he ground out between his teeth. “It was very much not a pleasant day.”

“Mm. I see. Well then, come here.” Lifting one arm, Tobirama wound it around Madara’s shoulders and very gently guided him to lay down so that his head rested on a pillow of thickly muscled thigh.

Actually it was quite pleasant. Neither of them were much for cuddling outside of the bed, usually, but there was something about resting his head in his partner’s lap after a terrible day that appealed to Madara in that soft gooey part of himself he refused to examine too closely. Rather than think about it he settled his empty mug on the floor and turned on his side to nuzzle against Tobirama’s belly while pale fingers began to gently detangle his hair.

“What was so terrible, then?” his partner asked. Madara snorted with derision so sharp it was practically weaponized.

“Everything! Absolutely everything that could go wrong did! Papers misplaced, ink pots spilled, council members insulting each other, missed appointments; even Izuna! He picked the wrong time to start pulling pranks! When I find out what he did with all of my pencils I’m going to stab one of them in to each side of his head!”

“Violent,” Tobirama noted, though there was a marked lack of disapproval in his voice. “Although it sounds as though you could certainly use the stress relief.”

“Hmph! And that’s not even the half of it! Your idiot brother rearranged my office – some bullshit about feng shui – so of course I stubbed my toe no less than three times on the damn filing cabinet. And of course the hinges on the door are beginning to rust so every time someone came in to the office the damn door squealed like a dying pig. And! Some idiot started mopping just after I went in to the Archives! The second I came out I stepped in to a massive puddle and almost went flying down the stairs! I had to catch myself on the head archivist’s desk and I got a splinter.”

Bending his head, Tobirama gravely inspected the finger Madara help up for him. “Quite deep,” he remarked calmly.

“It hurt,” Madara insisted. “A lot.”

“Yes, it looks like it. I suppose you had Hashirama remove it for you.”

“Of course I did. These stupid thick fingers of mine couldn’t get the tiny little shit out.”

Madara moved to pull his arm back down and was foiled by the hand that grasped his wrist to pull it farther up. When he peeked to see what his husband was up he was left gaping, embarrassed by the soft kiss Tobirama granted his wound. As soon as his hand was free he jerked it down and curled up against the man’s abdomen again to hide his face.

After a few moments of silence he twitched when wandering fingers returned to straightening out his hair. It was rather nice, if he were to be honest, having the strands tug lightly against his scalp and feeling the drag of blunt nails between the knots. Had they been in bed he would have asked Tobirama to pull a little harder and see where it might lead but for now he was content to nuzzle the belly in front of him and let his limbs turn to jelly.

He must have fallen asleep eventually because it seemed one moment he closed his eyes and the next he opened them to find the room dark, lit only by a few candles. Clearly neither of them had moved so it must have been a clone that fetched the blanket now draped over him and brewed the warm tea he could hear his husband sipping on. Since Tobirama didn’t seem to have noticed him waking yet Madara closed his eyes and simply allowed himself to bask in the calm atmosphere for a while longer. One of the windows had been opened to allow the sound of cricket song and night birds to drift in, trying to tempt him back to sleep. He resisted but it was a close call.

Eventually he shifted, waiting until he heard Tobirama set his mug down to squirm and kick off the far edge of the couch, pressing himself farther up until his head was tucked just underneath the other man’s chin.

“Welcome back to the world,” Tobirama greeted him, arms draping around his waist to hold him in place. “Feeling any better?”

“Not yet.”

“Oh? I would have thought some sleep would do you well.”

“You haven’t kissed me better yet,” Madara said. Thankfully hiding his face in his husband’s neck meant his embarrassed flush was hidden too.

A deep chuckle reverberated in the small space between them, passing through Tobirama’s chest and in to his own, a physical comfort he would never be able to explain no matter how hard he tried. He allowed himself to be tilted away so Tobirama could peer down at him with a gentle smile. “My apologies, allow me to correct such a grievous oversight.”

He did so immediately. Madara sighed as their lips slotted together because it was good. Even after all the years they had been together he’d never quite gotten over his husband’s ability to melt his bones with nothing but a simple kiss. It was a crying shame that Tobirama simply wasn’t big on kissing – he had a weird thing about other people’s breath, never really up for making out unless Madara had just brushed his teeth – but that only made it all the more special that he was setting his own preferences aside for the moment.

Their kisses lingered and deepened and Madara’s sigh had been followed with a light groan by the time Tobirama pulled away, the light of satisfaction dancing in his eyes while he brushed at the hair framing Madara’s face.

“Now do you feel better?” he asked with a hint of smugness.

“Yeah.” Madara couldn’t even find it in him to say anything about it. He had earned the right to be smug, after all. “What time is it?”

“Quite late. It is time for me to take my turn sleeping if you would be so kind as to let me up.”

Grumpy about losing his comfortable perch, Madara huffed and sat up to cross his arms. He watched Tobirama stand and stretch with a mild interest stirring in his belly but it was easily pushed aside in favor of following the man down the hall. Sleeping all day had been nice and all but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still going to crawl in to bed now that night had fallen. Even if he didn’t sleep any more he had always found lying next to Tobirama to be incredibly relaxing. It was somewhere he felt safe, wanted, and it was easy to forget the woes of the world outside when he could rest his head on a sturdy chest and let the rhythm of Tobirama’s heart beat away his ever-churning thoughts.

So he did just that. It was just another pleasant surprise when he did manage to fall asleep again, rising only when the sun was creeping up over the horizon and feeling more rested than he could remember feeling in the past several months. He was also in a startlingly good mood. Maybe he should have listened to one of Hashirama’s long-winded talks on taking better care of himself; there might actually be something to this whole ‘get more rest and feel better’ crap.

Walking to the tower that morning only improved his mood. The wind was still blowing east, sending his hair billowing out behind him and adding an extra bit of swagger to his walk. Not even Tobirama’s poorly hidden amusement could bring him down. Within the first hour of arriving to work he had located the missing files from yesterday, gone over the budget proposal, made some excellent edits that would sound innocuous yet benefit his department immensely, and slipped in to Tobirama’s office only to be granted another lingering kiss with no fuss and no wrinkled nose.

The budget meeting came and went, the council accepted his proposal, and Madara floated through the rest of the day feeling like he’d won a hundred wars. It was almost as though the universe was making up for the utter shit show that was yesterday.

His favorite part of the day, however, was still the moment when he returned home to find that Tobirama had beaten him there once again and he got to crawl in to his favorite person’s lap for some cuddles that he would never verbally deign to ask for, cuddles he’d gone decades thinking he was fine without. This might just have to get added in to his daily routine, a perfect way to end each day.

And if it encouraged more kisses, better sleep, and a general improvement to his daily mood? That was really just the icing on the top of an already delicious cake.

#rae writes #commission #madatobi #madara #tobirama #fanfiction

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theresconfettieverywherehelp · 6 years

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ya asked, ya get. ramble about any one (or all) of your characters! i want to know how they talk and sleep and yell and cry, give me the good stuff

*pulls out character project files* My time has come.

Let’s see…. Ah yes, my murderous son and my cyclops. Let’s do those!

Micheal Anderson

Hey, there are links in his name. Which you should click. Without question.

So this is Micheal, also goes by “Dottie”. He’s actually the only character that I have at the moment that, in the story he’s written in, is introduced as a child. Like, other characters can have a flashback scene to when they were a child, but he just starts as a child character and the first half of his ark ends as a child character. Then he grows up in later stories.

Current playlist is “Toxic” by Britney Spears and “Bad Romance” by Lady Gaga (the Glee versions) because he has a habit of kind of just wanting to murder his romantic partners. But since these songs don’t really tell a story for him, they aren’t themes, just a playlist.

ANYWAYS

Micheal’s talking patterns are very… adaptive? He won’t talk to you if he doesn’t have to or until he knows how to interact with you. For example, he’s a pediatrician, so he knows how to talk to parents and small children. But if a random person were to start a conversation with him, he would probably just stare until they go away. Though, if they find a way to fiddle some conversation out of him, he has a terrible stutter, is fairly quiet, and is a man of few words.

He is on a fair sleep schedule. 7 hours when he has plans the next day, free for all if his schedule’s open. How does he maintain such a schedule? Sleep drugs. Lots of very strong, dreamless sleep drugs. If you shot him with a tranquilizer dart, he would probably pull it out and keep on his merry way. Then proceed to pass out when he got home. He’s not immune, just tolerant.

Yell…. How does Micheal yell? His temper doesn’t really give to the point that he yells. He did cut all of his fingers off his left hand to attach a tooled prosthetic. If he didn’t have a cloth in his mouth, I’d assume the sound coming out of his mouth would be like he literally had glass and blood coming up.

And he cries silently. He’s not very vocal, doesn’t hiccup. He just breaths super hard and, in the worst case scenario, he digs his nails into his arms ‘til they bleed.

Quick reminder that I love him very much and am very sorry for putting him through this.

Aislin Shores

Aislin, my monster character! Honestly, I don’t know what they are. A cyclops? Alien? My own little bit of a fever dream? Yeah. Tumblr won’t let me include more than one photo, so just use your imagination. Or the links. Links work, too. There’s two links in Aislin’s name.

Aislin is a Dream Caster. A Dream Caster can literally make their dreams come true. They want a sword? Boom, they got a sword. Want food? Got food. Want a completely sentient friend? Bestie right before your eye(s). Only downside: Extremely narcoleptic and have a bad sense of what is and isn’t real.

Aislin’s theme song at the moment is “Sweet Dreams” by Beyonce.

This dork either speaks in riddles, cryptic phrases, or not at all. The thing with that is that they’ll forget that it’s rude to talk inside of people’s heads instead of just opening their mouth. So what happens is that you either have this cyclops with blue dreadlocks staring at you very intensely or a long haired stoner that is constantly touching you and you’re hearing whispers make it stop.

Narcoleptic. Passes out constantly. Now, some might think that being a narcoleptic pirate captain would be very inconvenient, but take into account that Dream Caster bodies are made to last. And by last, I mean defend itself, even when asleep. Or, better known as sleepwalking. You think a cyclops with long limbs and claws coming at you with a sword would be scary? How about a cyclops with an eye on the end of every dreadlock coming at you with two swords? Ye.

Aislin does not yell. At all. They just nope. Like, if they stub their toe. Lay down on the floor and wait for the pain to stop. Sees a jumpscare in a movie. Leaves. Wife dies in front of them. Picks up her corpse, jumps off the side of the ship, hopes they drown and that there’s a heaven. But those are just examples, you know?

Cries over everything. What they don’t show in vocals, they show in tears. If they get angry enough, they start crying. If they’re in pain, they start crying. If their wife dies, they start crying. Y’know, just a big stream of water behind that (those) eye(s).

Love my weird kids.

#ask #my first ask!#dionian-gayce #theresconfettieverywherehelp #micheal anderson #dottie #aislin shores #my ocs #cyclops #i know series #i present words #writeblr

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anactualcaseofthetruth · 7 years

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Call Me A Safe Bet, I’m Betting I’m Not - Chapter 7

(AO3 Link- Chapter Seven)

Even though scientists are still quite baffled after multiple millennia of medical and technological advances of exactly how the soulmarks work, there has been enough research and study that we now know when and how to expect them… There has yet to be one soulmate coupling occur before the female has experienced a menstrual cycle and the male to begin producing sperm. In short, soulmarks have never appeared before entering puberty…

There are many, many more cases in which two people have insisted they are soulmates only to not mark with one another. All in all, only about 3% of couplings are correct in predicting they are soulmates before marks form.”

***

Betty Cooper is four years old when she meets Jughead Jones. She knows he is her soulmate, he’s not so sure.

Chapter Seven

“There is no written record of a society without soulmarks. For as long as humans have been on Earth and able to communicate, there has been evidence of soulmarkings and, subsequently, soulmates.

Perhaps the most commonly researched ancient culture regarding soulmarks are the Ancient Egyptians. Their hieroglyphs and recorded history tell of soulmarks that are markedly different from the kind we know of today… They left stories of soulmates who could feel each other’s pain, knew when something happened to the other, and even those who died when their soulmate did despite appearing relatively healthy.

Many researchers chalk this phenomenon up to intuition or tall-tales, but others believe in its existence, however speculate that as we evolve, so do soulmarks… but perhaps a better explanation may be that as humans become more and more desensitized and interested in only the physical, soulmarks have changed too.”

From Soulmarks Through History, 2013

The coolness of the window against her skin is calming until the train comes to a halt and jerks her forward against the expanse of glass.

It should be unsettling, but Betty just grits her teeth and stands, trying to focus on the fact that she’s home, even if it is a day late, even if her parents insisted they pick her up from the train station instead of (and without) Jughead, even if there are crescent shaped scars on her palms that are irritated because they are so fresh, even if it is her birthday and she’s spent it on a train with broken air conditioning.

Finally, she’s home in Riverdale, she’s in same zip code as her soulmate, breathing the same air, surrounded by familiarity.

Betty lugs her extra-large suitcase down the tiny train aisle and ignores the stares since she’s the only one getting off in her small town. They look at her like she’s a burden, because they have to spend ten minutes in Riverdale rather than speed past to get to somewhere more fun and exciting.

Well, fuck them, Betty thinks as she exits the train. She just had the most challenging summer of her life, and while it was unique, informative, and there are parts she will never forget, it was also long, hard, and unforgiving.

They can wait ten damn minutes so she can finally put this summer behind her and be a step closer to seeing her soulmate again.

She stops and sighs in the train station, surprised her mother hasn’t spotted her and pounced already. Something happened at home between her parents and Polly, she knows it, but isn’t very clued in just yet. All she does know is that her sister’s phone number is no longer in service, and her parents aren’t answering questions about it at all. Archie and Jug haven’t seen Polly around the house in weeks—a part of her is scared to go home and find that her sister has become a weird smell in the basement.

Who knows what went down when the two strong-willed Cooper girls finally blew up at one another?

Betty’s looking around when her eyes instantly find a figure leaning against a pillar across the mostly empty station—Riverdale isn’t exactly a travel hub, despite Pop’s being recently featured on the Food Network—something Jughead was very against as he saw it as the media exploiting something he savored as pure and the soul of his hometown. Her boyfriend complained about it for weeks, but Betty loved hearing him drone on about it on the phone, sometimes it was all that got her through the day without him there.

She blinks and thinks her mind is playing tricks on her.

Her mouth drops open as she takes in the sight, the beanie wearing boy she left home is not the person in front of her.

Instead, she sees a man, or almost a man, now officially a whole head taller than her, with lean muscles, broad shoulders, and a cut on his chin, probably from attempting to shave because he has actual hair on his face (instead of just insisting he does), and she manages to stand still for a whole minute before jumping into action.

He’s already halfway to her when she forgets about the suitcase, takes off in a run, and catapults herself into his arms, legs wound tight around his waist.

“Oh, my God, this better be you or else I’m wrapped around some guy who is now terrified or about to kidnap me,” she says into his neck and hears his laugh in her ear, and it’s like coming home.

Riverdale is just a place, a word to describe the dirt and structures around her. In reality, Jughead is her home, he’s where she belongs.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he says and her insides quiver—his voice is lower too.

“Keep—keep talking, I want to hear your voice. Fuck! I missed you so much,” she murmurs, clinging to him so hard her palms ache, but she doesn’t care.

“Language! What did the big city do to you?” he laughs and she does too and then pulls away just enough to press her lips against his.

It’s innocent, for all the naughty texts and phone calls they’d shared near the end of her internship program, but Betty’s just so happy to be near him, touching him, actually being held by him, that having a full-on make out session with roaming hands isn’t what is on the forefront of her mind.

They share a series of intimate kisses before Betty rests her forehead on his and runs a thumb over his bottom lip.

“I missed you so much, baby,” she whispers. “We’re never going to spend that much time apart again, okay?”

“Agreed,” he murmurs before kissing her again, this time a little deeper, a little longer, and makes her squeeze her legs tighter around his waist. Jughead smiles as their kiss ends and purposefully lets her slowly slip through his fingers until she’s back on her feet safely.

Betty refuses to let go and keeps her fingers locked around his neck. “How are you here? I mean, my mom said she wanted time as a family first and—ugh, is she dangling you in front of me just to be waiting in the car or something?”

“No, but I do love being treated like a piece of meat, and that’s not sarcasm,” Jughead answers easily. “She decided to honor the original plan of us getting to be together for the majority of your birthday. When we got word you train was delayed she called to let me know. I think I’m a present? So again, the piece of meat thing is working for me.”

“Best present ever,” Betty whispers with a soft kiss. “Can we get out of here? I mean, do you have a plan, or,” she stops and bites her lip.

“The original plan was to crawl through your bedroom window at midnight, give you your present, and then do some of those things we talked about,” he says with a devilish grin that makes Betty turn pink. “So, whatever you want, I’m down for. Food, family time, alone time—”

“Option three please,” she interrupts with bright eyes and Jughead chuckles, dropping his hands from her waist to grab the handle of her abandoned suitcase.

“I’d like to say your chariot awaits, but we’re walking, sorry,” he says as she wraps her arms around his free one, leaning into his body as they make their way out of the station.

“Hm, that’s fine, I don’t think my suitcase would fit on the motorcycle you’re fixing up, or so you told me,” Betty teases.

“Alright, so I might just be helping my dad by handing him tools, but it’s keeping us both out of trouble, which is something I thought you’d approve of,” he mentions pointedly.

“I do, you just don’t know the difference between a socket wrench and a torque wrench, so it’s hard to believe—”

“Well unlike you, my dad is nice about it and explains what they are and—”

“I do that! You just don’t listen—”

“I do too listen, but let’s not do this on your birthday, okay? But at midnight, it’s on,” Jughead states and Betty giggles into his arm.

“Hmm, you smell different,” she murmurs into the sleeve of his t-shirt. “But it’s not your shirt, it’s…” she trails off while sniffing up his neck.

“After shave,” Jughead fills in as their stride slows.

“After—are you shaving now, Jughead Jones? And you didn’t tell me?” she questions, a twinkle in her eye that makes Jughead grin without even realizing it.

“I’m sorry, I also stubbed my toe the other day, it hurt really fuckin’ bad, I swore and everything,” he jokes in return, to which she rolls her eyes as she hangs off his arm.

“Who doesn’t swear when they stub their toe?”

“Jesus, probably,” he answers and she smiles up at him because his own is so unapologetic, like he wouldn’t be able to stop if asked.

“You’re a doof, I don’t know why I even missed you,” Betty sighs dramatically.

“It’s about three inches soft, maybe six when it’s hard,” he fills her in.

“Jughead!” Betty squeaks, her cheeks flushing pink as she buries her face in his shoulder. “Wait, did you actually measure?”

“Using the finger method,” he answers, to which Betty raises one eyebrow. “Like, when you bend your index finger the middle part is about an inch, so you count how many you can make until you’re out of, well, room,” he explains.

“Hmm,” Betty hums.

“What, no comment?”

“Uh-uh,” she replies as they enter the trailer park. “I’m just gonna have to measure it myself later to settle this dispute,” she says with the most innocent of faces.

“Oh, are you now?” Jughead just about chokes and Betty shrugs nonchalantly. “The door’s unlocked, go ahead first,” he instructs when they reach his trailer, and Betty does as she’s told so Jughead can lug up the too-big suitcase she’s lived out of for two months now.

Jughead himself looks different, smells different, talks different, but the trailer is the same. A messy-clean, one where both boys know where the necessities are, but an outsider would be totally clueless. There are a couple dishes in the sink, some clothes scattered about, all FP’s it seems, but the surfaces are clean, the vacuums been used recently, and some air freshener is sitting out, probably for her sake.

Betty lets her overly large purse, practically a carry-on of sorts, fall from her shoulder to the floor.

“Hm, you still with me, baby?” Jughead questions, his arms wrapping around her waist from behind, his fingers slipping underneath her flowy white t-shirt that’s knotted in the front, but was bought that way.

It covers her mark, of course—probably her favorite part about being away was that she was able to show their mark, a sign that she was taken and happy. She’s in love, and it didn’t matter who saw it because no one in Boston knew her or ever heard of Riverdale.

“I think your hands got bigger too,” Betty murmurs as she leans back against him, an arm reaching up to settle around his neck as she angles her face to look at him.

“Too?”

Betty turns, her eyes locked on his, and she shivers as his hands roam and massage at the small of her back. “Mhm, your shoulders are wider, you’re taller, your voice is lower, you’re shaving now. So much changed in two months, Jug.”

“Maybe, but a lot has stayed the same,” he tells her.

“Like what, because to me, even your neck is thicker, and I like it! What is up with that?”

Jughead grins and reaches a finger up to hook her neckline. “This,” he murmurs as he tugs to show their crown. “This is the same, baby, and it will never change. And yeah, we’re different physically, but that’s it.”

“’We’re’ different?” Betty questions.

“You think it’s just me that went through a growth spurt, Cooper?” he demands to know. “The only part of me that I thought changed was my height, well, that and I’m aware I shave now,” he mentions in an afterthought.

“I like how low your voice is now,” Betty whispers. “I hope it gets even lower.”

“I like how many cannoli’s you ate,” Jughead offers in return.

“What?” she laughs, her eyes scrunched together.

“All summer I got at least one specific text every day, how you insisted you weren’t going to buy any cannoli that day, but later I got a picture of you eating one because you couldn’t resist,” he informs her. “That, and Boston Crème pie, but that wasn’t every day. You’re a real big dessert eater, you know?”

“Are you insinuating something, Jughead Jones?”

“I like my woman with a hearty appetite,” he answers easily. “And I like how because you were out from under your mother’s thumb you could do what you wanted. You didn’t have to worry about the look you’d get for having seconds, or answer questions about why you didn’t work out in the morning, or if you did what exactly did you do and for how long. You didn’t get compared to Polly or explain anything you did.”

“So you’re saying…?” she asks.

He grins down at her. “You grew too, Betts,” he says and reaches down to grope her ass. “In all the best ways.”

“My boobs got bigger,” she admits.

“Trust me, I noticed,” he agrees.

“Well, I had to buy new bras. In Boston, by myself. Usually I have Polly or Kevin.”

“Not your mother?” he asks with that shit-eating grin of his.

“Definitely not my mother,” she insists.

“It’s not just your boobs and ass, Betts, you’re different. More confident, more comfortable in your own skin because you didn’t have your mom’s voice in your ear. You carry yourself differently, but yes, Betty, eating those Boston delicacies definitely worked for you.”

“You think so?”

“I know so, you’re beautiful, Betty, but do you know the best part?”

“Hm?”

With a grin, Jughead quickly reaches down to wrap his hands under her bum and lifts her up. “We get to rediscover each other all over again.”

Betty shrieks, then laughs into his hair as he hastily makes his way down the hall to his bedroom—again, something else that has stayed the same. It’s still covered in movie posters, black and white classics, Star Wars, even a John Hughes one, but next to his bed is a corkboard covered in pictures of him and their friends, Jellybean, even a few from when they were kids, but mostly her, to be honest.

Surprisingly, his bed is made, the plaid comforter splayed across the mattress perfectly. It had been a joke she’d bought him one Christmas, but it was warm and soft, and Jughead loved it. The floor is clear, another air freshener adorns the bedside table and it smells clean, but not like Jughead per se.

Betty bites her lip and sighs as he kisses down the column of her throat. “You planned this?” she questions, but it sounds more like a statement.

“Not exactly this, but I hoped you’d want time alone eventually,” Jughead answers and lets out a long breath as he rests his forehead on hers and breathes her in. “Even if to just touch marks. We don’t have to do anything besides that. Whatever you want, baby.”

Betty nuzzles their noses together in a nod.

After how far they went on Valentine’s Day she’d suggested they calm down with the physical part of their relationship, at least in taking layers off their bottom halves. How much she wants to be with him physically scares her, something he knows, and so he quickly agreed, saying she was the boss of how fast, or slow, they went.

Betty doesn’t think having sex with Jughead would ever be a mistake, but she doesn’t want it to be impromptu either. She wants it to be a step they take together being fully aware of what they are about to do, to be responsible with the very big action they will be taking when they do. Maybe that’s her mom’s doing, always telling her how big of a deal sex is, but Betty doesn’t think it’s a bad thing, even if her mother is the reason she gets so nervous every time they go further physically.

“Jug, I wanna do what we talked about,” Betty says after a silent moment, her voice earnest and heart pounding in her ears. “On the phone, when I called you in the middle of the night after that dream I had—”

“I remember,” Jughead interrupts with hands cupping her cheeks.

“Is your dad coming home soon or—” she stops as he shakes his head.

“Not until the bars close,” he tells her. “What happened in that dream again? Remind me.”

Her eyes close as he strokes her cheeks and a thumb runs over her bottom lip. “Jug, I—you know,” she murmurs, her tone pleading.

“I want you to tell me what you want, Betts.”

“What we talked about, I want you to,” she stops and gives him a look while slipping her fingers under his shirt to feel his bare abdomen.

“Want me to what?”

“Jug, you know, I,” she lets out a breath and stares up at him with yearning eyes.

“Betty, when have I ever made you feel like you can’t talk to me about anything?”

“Never, but I—you know what I want, Juggie.”

“And I want to hear you say it,” he responds easily. “I love when you’re vocal, baby,” he admits and bites his lip while pulling her hips to meet his. “I love when you tell me what you want, how you want it, when you say my name, fuck, just the noises you make. So I want you to tell me what you want, then I want you to instruct me as I do it so you get exactly what you want.”

Betty takes in a deep breath and lets it out shakily, her pupils now blown, and nods ever so slightly. “Okay.”

Jughead presses their foreheads together and licks his lips. “Say it, Betty.”

“I want—I want,” she starts, then clears her throat. “I want you to go down on me,” she whispers and brings him in for a kiss. It’s all heat and open mouths and tongue.

Jughead pulls away just enough to tug her shirt off, then his own, and smiles down at her heaving chest, or their mark, she isn’t quite sure.

He licks his bottom lip as he brings a hand up to touch her bralette, it’s white and lacy and tight, holding in her breasts just so.

Betty shivers, but says nothing as his eyes take in the sight.

“Take your pants off,” he orders, his tone firm but soft, and she does as she is told, revealing the matching white bikini cut panties. They are practically sheer, with a few white lace flowers being the only real coverage. “And let your hair down,” he says once her jeans are kicked off.

Her hair, previously in a messy bun because it is longer now than ever before, falls around her shoulders in waves, full and heavy. The smell of her shampoo fills her nostrils and she shivers again as the tendrils tickle the top of her breasts, which are now sensitive and causes her whole body to break out in goosebumps.

Jughead threads his fingers into her hair and tugs her close, breathing her in and to Betty he almost looks high, like she’s a drug, one he hasn’t had in eight weeks and had been dying for.

Betty runs her hands up and down his bare sides and leans in to his hold.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Betty,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against hers as he speaks, “and I’m going to make you feel so fucking good, but you have to tell me what you need ‘cause we’ve never done this before, okay?”

Betty swallows visibly, but nods. “I love you,” Betty whispers and lightly scratches down his chest to his happy trail.

“I love you more,” Jughead states before capturing her mouth in a kiss and slowly starts backing her towards the bed. “Is this one of the new bras?” he asks when the back of her knees hit his extra-long twin causing her to fall back.

Betty smiles while situating herself on the mattress and relaxes into the comfort of it, into the smell of Jughead that erupts when it’s rustled. The cotton of the comforter is so different than the delicate and too-expensive pink one on her bed that is itchy and heavy, and sometimes feels like it’s suffocating her.

She waits until Jughead is on his knees between her legs to answer. “Mhm, the mall was one of the places approved for us to go during our free time, and since no one knew me or would be able to tattle to my mother I may have gone a little overboard. I might have a lingerie kink, if that’s a thing?”

“I definitely approve of it if you do,” he tells her while simply looking down at her. “Remember, be vocal, baby,” he whispers before descending upon her.

He goes straight for their mark and attends to it thoroughly using his teeth and tongue, every lick and nibble causing Betty to moan and arch her chest closer to him. She grabs onto a hunk of his hair to do her best to keep him there.

“Hm, this is so pretty,” Jughead says against the lace of her bralette.

“Do you have a lingerie kink too?” Betty asks in a breath, a smile on her lips.

“On you? Definitely,” he states and pays attention to the mounds of her breasts, his lips gliding over them, teasing. “But I bet you look better without it.”

“What a line,” she says in a laugh as he slips his fingers behind her back, quickly setting her chest free. Jughead guides the undergarment down her arms then tosses it aside.

“Look at that, I was right,” he says and grins before continuing his journey down her body.

He licks and sucks and kisses, making her writhe and moan under his touch. By the time he reaches her panties Betty feels like a livewire, like electricity is coming from her fingertips and snapping in the air surrounding them.

“Juggie, take off my underwear,” Betty pleads as his mouth kisses around the edging.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he says against her hipbone before tugging the lace down.

Once it’s gone, Betty tries to ignore the feeling of being so exposed and bites her lip under his intense gaze. It’s the first time she’s ever been completely naked in front of Jughead, and she lets out a shaky breath to get rid of the nerves.

“I wish you could see you the way I see you,” Jughead murmurs.

“Back at you, babe,” she counters, making him smile.

He slides his hands down her legs, pulling them further apart. “You still want this?”

“God, yes,” Betty practically moans.

Jughead situates himself between her legs and before Betty can even start to get nervous (again) his fingers separate her bottom lips so he can lick up her slit.

“Holy—fuck!” Betty cries against the pillow and she’s sure there are literally sparks of electricity crackling in the air.

He likes the encouragement and repeats the action, this time flicking his tongue, making Betty grip the sheets and mewl for more.

Jughead takes his time with her, learning what she likes and what makes her tug on his hair or swear. He discovers what and where her clitoris is, making sure to pay special attention to it and Betty’s eyes just about roll back inside of her head. He does as he’s told until her hips are bucking and she’s begging for more.

“J—Jug,” she stutters, pulling on his hair until he realizes she wants something from him.

“What, is everything okay?” he asks and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a sight that makes her stomach coil tighter.

“Jug, I want you to,” she stops and tries to catch her breath. “Finger me.”

Jughead nods. “Let me know if anything hurts or—”

“It won’t, but I will. It feels so amazing, Jug,” she assures him and while looking her in the eye Jughead takes his middle finger and gets it wet between her folds, his knuckle hitting her clit just right. “Jesus,” she moans, her head dropping back to the pillow.

“Actually, it’s Jughead,” he says and she can’t even find it in her to roll her eyes or make a snide comment in return. He sucks hard on her sensitive nub before his finger enters her.

It does feel weird at first, Betty thinks, but then he crooks his digit and hits a spot that makes her practically yelp. “There, Jug,” she says in a loud moan, “right there.”

He does as he’s told, flicking and sucking while rubbing the spot inside her. It feels so good Betty isn’t in control of her body, she can’t stop herself from begging for more or even trying to wiggle away because it feels too good. Jughead clamps an arm over her hips, keeping her still, and every time she manages to peer down at him he either looks like he’s devouring his favorite meal (and with his appetite that’s an honorable title) or his eyes are on hers, and it’s an extremely intimate feeling.

It’s their marks touching times a million, and then some.

“Jug, Jughead, I think I’m almost,” she says in pants and he speeds up his miniature thrusts inside her and in a matter of moments she’s screaming and trying to muffle it in his pillow.

Waves of pleasure wash through her, they are large and powerful, like a tsunami, destroying everything in its wake. And that’s how Betty feels, utterly wrecked. She knows she’s breathing heavy and that her throat is producing a hum she hasn’t consented it to do. It’s almost like she’s not in her own body, but floating above it.

No, flying.

Betty feels a light blanket come over her and Jughead cuddle up next to her.

“Thank you,” she sighs, and it’s the first action she has control of, but doesn’t think she’d be very useful doing much more just yet.

“For what, baby?” he asks and she shivers as his breath hits her sticky skin.

“For making me fly,” she answers with eyes still closed.

When Betty comes-to Jughead is rubbing her back and periodically kissing behind her ear.

“You are a very fast learner,” is the first thing out of her mouth and it makes Jughead chuckle. The rumble is welcome against her chest. “Jug, that was… wow, thank you.”

“And to think I’m just starting out,” he jokes and Betty nuzzles her face into his shoulder. “It sounds dumb, but I did research, sort of. I wanted to make sure it was good for you. You hear how so many girls fake it or whatever. I never want us to be like that.”

“It never will be,” Betty assures him. “You’ve never made me feel less than amazing, Jug. We’re learning together,” she tells him and kisses the corner of his mouth. “And, research? You mean you watched porn and called it research?”

“I read, actually. Surprisingly there are quite a few articles written on the art of eating out a woman. There were flow charts, diagrams, pictures of a clitoris, how to find the g-spot, and the best way to stimulate it. It’s the size of a nickel and three inches inside the vagina,” he informs her, his voice professional and matter-of-fact. “And, yes, I did watch some porn, merely for scientific purposes, not at all for personal reasons.”

“You’re so selfless,” Betty coos as she sits up on an elbow. “I bet you rewarded yourself for being so practical and making sure I’m taken care of.”

“I try very hard to be a good boyfriend,” he agrees.

She swings her leg over his hips and takes hold of his still hard erection. “I think you should be rewarded by me too. I mean, your research worked out so well.”

Jughead gasps and strokes the base. “Fuck, I—” he stops and bites his lip so hard she’s surprised there isn’t blood.

“You have lube, boyfriend? I’ve been doing research too,” she mentions with a wicked grin.

“Top drawer,” he grunts.

She puts a little in her hand and starts rubbing him up and down slowly. “This goes both ways, Jug, tell me what you like or want, okay?”

“I don’t think you understand just how much you merely being naked does to me,” he grits out as she starts twisting with her hands.

“If you’re still using big words I don’t think I’m doing so well,” she comments while stretching her body out with her head at his waist.

Betty takes her time exploring him too, kissing down the V at his hip bones, scratching at his happy trail, letting her breasts skim over his penis, her hair tickle his tip. Finally, when he’s gasping for more and she licks her lips and takes his cock into her mouth.

A string of curses slips from his lips as Betty’s head bobs. “Jesus Christ, Betty, holy shit!” he grunts, her cheeks hollowing out as she sucks. “Betty, I’m—you might want to,” he warns and Betty reaches for the box of napkins just in time.

“Fuck, did you do research too?” he gasps after Betty’s cleaned up his mess and tossed the napkins in the nearby trashcan, then settled back in against his side.

“Remember how I complained about my roommate for the internship because she never stopped talking? Well, she was very boy crazy, so I listened when I felt the information was useful.”

Jughead lets out a heavy breath and wraps his arms around her. “We make quite the pair the way we research and selectively hear, huh?”

Betty rubs her fingers over their mark and hums in agreement.

“Before I forget due to teenage hormones, I do have an actual present for your birthday,” he says as he’s already reaching into his nightstand, this time the bottom drawer.

“You didn’t have to get me anything, Jug, just seeing you is enough, and especially with what we just did—”

“I hope you don’t plan to only do this on special occasions, because I was hoping for some regularity,” he comments and Betty shakes her head at him. “You know how that new vintage store-slash-pawn shop that opened on the Southside?”

“Mhm, you couldn’t stop talking about the old camera you got there and how excited you are to develop the pictures in the dark room when school starts back up.”

“I found something else there, and I probably shouldn’t be spouting off about how I found it at a pawn shop like—”

“Jughead, shut up, I would love anything you got me because you got it for me,” she assures him. “And I hate when you spend money on me, so if it was expensive I’m going to kill you.”

“I’m not telling you how much I spent. Besides, with my working off and on for Fred all summer, along with the Drive-In, I have plenty of money saved up. Plus, I don’t have to worry about Jellybean financially anymore so it’s mine to do what I want with it.”

“All right, all right.”

“Well, I saw this and—honestly, I couldn’t stop thinking about it and how it was perfect, even though you hate the word,” he mumbles while handing her the little black box.

Betty sits up as she opens it. “Oh, my God, Jug,” she breathes, taking the ring out of the box. It’s silver and is made up of Celtic knots and comes together at the top with hands, a heart in the middle, and of course, a crown on top. “It’s beautiful, and yes, perfect.”

“It’s called a Claddagh,” he answers. “It’s Irish, it represents love, loyalty, and friendship. I thought it was perfect because even though you’re my girlfriend, you’re also my best friend, and you’re also so much more than both of those titles, you’re my soulmate. I’ve never known anyone so persistent, so stubborn, you’re always telling me how much I’m worth and how you’ll always be there for me. My parents never bothered to truly stick around, and even though I pushed you away time and time again before we marked you never budged. I know no matter what happens you’ll be there, by my side, and the same goes for you.”

Betty smiles and looks up at him. “And it has a crown on it,” she states.

“That helped,” he agrees, taking the ring from her and slips it up her left ring finger. “The story goes that when the heart is facing out it means your heart is free. But when it’s facing up, it means you’re taken, that you’re in love.”

Her eyes water as she stares at it. “It’s beautiful, I love it,” Betty whispers while wrapping her arms tight around his neck.

“Mm, I love you,” he says into her neck.

“I love you more,” she murmurs their mantra and tugs him back down to the mattress. “Do you want to take a nap then grab some Pop’s?”

“Mmm, if I didn’t already love you that would have done it,” he says with a light kiss to her forehead before closing his eyes.

“Jug,” Betty warns hours later without much heat to it. “Jughead.”

“Don’t threaten if you’re not willing to follow through,” he replies with a shrug that jostles her head.

“Juggie, it’s my birthday,” she reminds him softly in a timid voice that makes him crumble.

“Ugh, I like it better when you actually fight me, not when you have a legitimate excuse for me to give you what you want,” he sighs as he slides the plate of fries within her reach.

Betty smiles in victory before popping a small fry into her mouth. “Don’t worry, there’s always tomorrow,” she says cheerily, a stark contrast to her tone just a moment ago.

Jughead settles back against the booth and wraps his arm tighter around his girlfriend, shaking his head as she empties his never-ending fry plate. “I love that my appetite is rubbing off on you,” he comments. “That, or our actions earlier just left you positively famished.”

“Hm, Juggie, I love you, but you can read some books from our century, I promise you not all of them are like Twilight,” Betty responds with a hand over her mouth as she speaks because it’s still full of potato. “You’ll find that words like ‘famished’ are outdated.”

“So is chivalry, but you don’t seem to mind when I practice that.”

“That’s not outdated, it’s dead,” she corrects.

“Or is outdated? Progressive feminism is serious and we shouldn’t joke about it,” he says matter-of-factly and makes Betty giggle into his neck.

“Well, I got myself a chivalrous feminist, so who is the winner here?”

“Have you seen what you look like naked? I’m the winner in this relationship, always,” he responds without missing a beat. “Thanks, Pop,” he adds on as the old man drops off a new plate of fries and takes the old one.

“And I wouldn’t forget one of my favorite’s birthday,” the old man tells her as a waitress walks up with a tray holding two milkshakes, one for her and one for Jug, in their favorite flavors, of course.

“Pop, you didn’t have to!” Betty insists, but takes the milkshake happily, because no one ever turns down one of Pop’s milkshakes.

“I wouldn’t forgive myself if I forgot. Happy birthday, Betty,” he says and leaves them with a wink.

Betty takes a long sip from her vanilla milkshake and hums without realizing it. “There’s nothing like Pop’s milkshakes,” she sighs and slumps against Jughead’s side.

He nods in agreement, his on lips wrapped around the red and white straw.

“Mm, I don’t want to go home,” Betty whispers as she adjusts her head so Jughead’s chewing isn’t bothering her. “This has been the best birthday ever.”

“I don’t know, remember when your parents rented that bounce house thing? That was pretty awesome,” Jughead comments.

“You just liked that birthday because I insisted on wearing a crown and then made my mom buy you one, because if I was going to have a crown, then you needed one too,” she states.

“I remember Archie got jealous, so you made him one before the party and it was so bad,” her boyfriend says in a laugh.

“It was not bad! It was unique.”

“It was like the paper boat from It but on his head,” Jughead insists.

“Well, I felt bad. I didn’t want him to feel like he wasn’t my best friend too. He’s my best friend, but if I happened to pull a Princess Diaries somehow and become queen one day it’s you that would be king, not Archie, sorry.”

Jughead laughs before stopping abruptly. “Speaking of,” he says and Betty looks up to see their red-haired friend entering the diner with the football team. “You go say hi, I’m going to go to the bathroom,” he suggests and is gone before she can even answer.

Archie had spotted her almost immediately and is already at the booth when she stands up. “You’re back!” he exclaims before engulfing her in a hug.

“I am, since this afternoon,” she responds, but it’s muffled into his shoulder. “Wow, you grew too, and you’re… harder,” she says and playfully punches his pecs.

“Hey, all I did was load one pile of rocks into a wheelbarrow and then drop it off in another pile, and this is what happened,” he answers. “And, happy birthday. I have a present for you, but didn’t think I would be seeing you, so it’s at my house, sorry.”

“No worries, Arch, it’s not a big deal. I know where you live.”

He laughs at her lame joke. “I want to hear all about your internship, and I have so much to tell you too, but I gotta get back to the team.”

“You can sit with us for a bit, if the guys don’t mind. We’re aren’t staying much longer, my mom wants me home in time for cake or something,” Betty tells him.

He scratches the back of his neck and she sees red start to bloom on his skin. “Uh, nah, I don’t want to be rude. You guys have a good rest of your night, all right? I’m so glad you’re home, I missed you,” he says with another hug before jogging off to sit with the football team.

Just as he disappears, Jughead returns. “Hey, you ready to go? I don’t want to piss your mom off on your birthday.”

Betty turns with her eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”

“Well, I was about to pay, but—”

“Don’t play stupid with me, Jughead Jones. Why are you and Archie not talking?”

“Who says we aren’t talking?” he questions while dropping some ruffled green bills on the table. “Here, you should take my flannel, the temperature dropped a little bit,” he suggests and is already holding it up for her to put on.

“Okay, if my observation was uncalled for before, it’s definitely not now. What’s going on?” she demands.

“Nothing, can we go? Your mom has cake waiting.”

Betty puts her arms through the black and white flannel and lets Jughead drag her out of the diner. When they hit the street Betty tugs on his hand to pull them to a halt.

“Betts—”

“No, I can do this now that we’re not in public: Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Third, what is going on with you and Archibald Andrews?” she demands.

“Hey, you didn’t say his full name! How come I get the full name treatment?”

“Because, I have a lot more power over you, and he’s not here.”

“Betty, it’s nothing. Really, we just—it’s nothing, okay?”

“Is this about how the trip during the fourth of July got cancelled? I mean, I was pissed too, but our parents wouldn’t let you come alone, but he got sick, it’s not like it was his fault,” she insists.

“It’s your birthday, can we do this tomorrow?”

“No, it’s my birthday, so I say you tell me now. What’s going on, Forsythe—”

“Stop with the full name, will you? Jeez,” he mumbles with a shudder. “And it’s—it’s between Archie and I, and you have to respect that. It’s our issue, you’re my soulmate, his best friend, we don’t want you in the middle.”

“I am in the middle, I’m your soulmate, and he’s our best friend. So maybe I’ll be objective and can tell you both you’re stupid so you’ll get over it before school starts.”

“Or, you can let us handle it as big boys and the adults we’re growing up to be?” he suggests.

“You’re really not going to tell me?”

“Betty, it’s not a big deal. He’s been busy with work, I’ve been busy with work and my dad, we’ll resolve it on our own time, in our own way. Okay?”

“No, not okay, tell me what happened and I’ll have it resolved by tomorrow. School starts in a week, I don’t want this still going on and—”

“Betty, please, just—I love you, but stay out of it, please, okay?” he pleads.

Betty considers his tired face and sighs. “I hate this. We’re the three musketeers.”

“I promise I’ll do my best to keep things as normal as possible, okay? You have my word.”

She nods before getting up on her tiptoes to kiss him quickly. “You know in a couple days I’ll be driven mad by the unknown and start to annoy you again, right?” she asks as they begin walking again, her suitcase rolling along behind them.

“Yeah, but I’m free of that for now, so,” he stops and shrugs. “Do you think your mom made the cake or bought it? She’s a damn good cook, but you’re definitely the baker in the family.”

Betty lets his change of subject slide and drops whatever is going on between him and Archie.

For now.

It’s not until over an hour later when Jughead is out the front door (with a promise to climb through her window later) that Betty can ask about her sister.

Upon coming home and seeing no Polly, Betty opened her mouth to ask what happened, but Alice Cooper gave her an infamous head shake that meant ‘not now’ and Betty knew not to poke the bear right then, even if it was her birthday.

“Well, he’s gone, even if he is family and should have been privy to the following conversation, because I’m going to tell him anyways, so I’m asking. Where’s Polly? You disconnected her phone more than three weeks ago, I haven’t talked to her in a month. Did you give her the letters I sent? She hasn’t been active on the internet or—”

“What Polly does is no longer up to us,” Alice interrupts.

“We haven’t had control over what Polly does in a long time,” her dad adds on.

“Can we stop being so cryptic? Is she okay? Where is she? Is the most intense quiet game going on or—”

“Polly isn’t here,” her mom cuts in again.

“Okay, where is she? Did you send her to Grandma’s or—”

“We gave her a choice, Betty, and she made one,” Hal tells her.

Betty feels her fists close, but manages to resist the urge to dig her nails in. “Can you just tell me where she is? What’s going on?”

“What do you think happened, Elizabeth? That damn Blossom boy, he—he,” her mom stops and turns away because showing negative emotion like this is not the Cooper way, in private or not.

“What did he do to her?” Betty demands, stepping forward with a hand over her heart. If Jason Blossom hurt her—Betty would gladly rip the redhead’s heart out.

“He took her away from us,” her dad says softly as he wraps his arms around her mom and the action is something so small, so simple, but so gentle and unusual for her parents that Betty is taken aback. They don’t usually show any kind of PDA, minimal or not.

“She left us for the Blossom’s,” Alice tells her, now turning back, her moment apparently over.

“You said she made a choice. So what, you just—you told a seventeen year old girl to pick between her boyfriend and her strict parents and expected the outcome to go in your favor? She’s… she’s Polly. She’s stubborn and leads with her heart and you just let her go? She’s not even an adult, she’s not thinking clearly, I mean,” Betty stops and sits on a dining room chair to collect herself.

“Betty, it’s not that simple. There are other factors—”

“Yeah, me! I’m the key factor here, and you sent me away!”

“No, you made a choice—!”

“Like Polly did? A choice that felt like mine, but was really orchestrated by you? Like everything in this family always is?” Betty questioned.

“Watch what you’re saying Betty,” her dad insists, his voice low and firm, a tone he only uses when her mother is under fire. “We are your parents and so deserve respect.”

“But you can’t—” Betty stops and stands again. “You can’t raise us to be strong and independent like you, then be angry when we want to assert that independence. I learned so much this summer, Mom, so much and parts of it were overwhelming in the best way, but most of the time I just wanted to be here. I wanted to be home with Jughead, painting my nails crazy colors with Polly, drawing on Archie’s face when he falls asleep first, and trying to get a byline at the Register. But I was gone because I felt like I had to do this internship to please you, to have an opportunity you never did, to never let you down. I was gone and I wasn’t here to keep the peace, to keep Polly in this family—”

“Polly made herself a new family,” her mom confesses, her eyes full of tears. “Polly got pregnant and we told her,” she stops to attempt to collect herself. “We told her to be smart, to not let this ruin her life, but she chose the Blossom’s, Betty. She chose that horrid family over her own flesh and blood.”

“Polly’s pregnant?” Betty whispers more to herself than her parents. “And, you told her—what did you want her to do?”

“Betty,” Hal murmurs with a ‘tsk’ in his voice, like she asked a stupid question.

“I can’t believe this—Polly’s in love with Jason and she got pregnant, and you expected her to just want to, what? Give it up for adoption, have an abortion? It’s her body, her baby, that makes it her decision,” Betty states forcefully.

“You think Polly’s responsible enough to raise a baby? She wasn’t responsible enough to not get knocked up! And you are going on the pill!” Alice tells her with a finger point.

“So that was it, huh?” Betty asks with a shrug. “You told her to get an abortion or get out?”

“We approved of adoption as well,” her father informs her, like that makes it okay.

“You just,” Betty stops and almost wants to laugh at the audacity of her parents. “You don’t get it. Polly’s your daughter! She’s your child, you’re supposed to be there for her, take care of her, and you tossed her aside for not doing what you wanted?”

“It’s not that simple,” Hal insists.

“It is though,” Betty tells him. “She’s your daughter, my sister, and you gave her up. You disconnected her phone, probably took all her electronics, did you even let her pack a bag, or did you just throw her out on the porch?”

“That’s enough, get upstairs, now,” Alice orders. “I won’t have you acting like this isn’t hard for you father and me as well.”

“Was it? Or did Polly break the image of the perfect Cooper family and it was a necessary evil to save face?”

“I said upstairs,” Alice roars and Betty flinches at the ferocity.

She shakes her head before ascending the steps two at a time, her hands in fists. In the throes of executing a full-on teenage tantrum she slams the door behind her, and squeezes her eyes shut.

How could they just turn their backs on her like that? Polly’s their firstborn, their daughter, and they let her go? Disowned her just like that?

Having one door between them didn’t feel like enough and so Betty goes into the bathroom and slams that one for good measure. She slides down to the floor and tries to keep her composure, but it’s impossible. Tears stream down her face as she muffles the sobs into her knees.

Polly’s gone? Moved out? Into that horrible castle they call Thornhill? That is a place ghost stories are made of. There were multiple urban legends in Riverdale about Thornhill—kids went in and never came out, the family members buried there haunted the grounds, the statues and gargoyles were real people that the Blossom’s hated and cured into stone, the list goes on and on, and Polly was living there?

Polly used to hold a flashlight to her chin under a blanket and tell Betty stories that made her almost wet the bed.

They were supposed to have one more year.

One more year before Polly left home for college. One more year together doing makeovers and giggling about their boyfriends. One more year of eating junk food during their periods and crying over stupid Lifetime movies. One more year of having someone in each other’s corner, knowing no matter what their parents did or said, they had someone on their side.

Polly said she would be okay, that Betty shouldn’t be worrying about her, that it should be the other way around.

“I’m the big sister,” she had said after Betty climbed into her bed the day before she left for Boston. “I’m supposed to worry about you, tell you to be safe, to hold a key between your fingers when you walk alone at night and to be smart,” she told her and smiled at her in a way that always made Betty feel calm. “I’m going to be fine with Mom and Dad, Betty. You go and experience everything you can. This is chance for you to get out from under their thumb like I always wanted. Don’t you pass it up because of me, don’t you dare.”

Polly said they would talk every day, and for about a month they did. They spoke once a day and sometimes even Facetimed, even if just for a few minutes. Then Betty had a busy day and realized she’d texted Jughead all day, but hadn’t heard from her sister. She called and there was no answer. She called again and again still with no answer.

Then, the next morning her phone was disconnected. Her Facebook deactivated. Her Instagram and Twitter silent.

Betty asked her parents what was going on, but was stonewalled every time. She wrote letters, asked Jug and Archie to look for her, to pass along messages, but they never saw her. Her letters went unanswered. Another phone number never supplied. Her parents deflected every question, gave her vague no-nonsense answers, and it was enough that Betty gave up.

She was to be home in a month, they would figure it out then.

But now they couldn’t. Her parents kicked her out, told her to choose between them and her child, and she chose the baby growing inside her. It’s a choice Betty supports, but did Polly think she wouldn’t? Is that why she hasn’t reached out?

Betty doesn’t realize that her hands are bleeding until she opens her eyes and sees the smudges on her jeans.

Quickly, she pulls out her cell phone and with shaking hands she presses her boyfriend’s smooshed face in the ‘favorites’ section of her contacts. It was a picture Kevin took of him, her hands squishing his cheeks together. He hated the picture, but she adored it.

He answers after one ring. “That was fast.”

“Juggie, I need you,” she manages and swallows the knot in her throat and it makes her ache.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” he says instantly. “I’ll be there in a—fuck,” he stops and there’s a crash. “A minute, okay?”

“Can we stay on the phone?” Betty whispers, it comes out more of a squeak.

“I only went to the treehouse, I’m literally almost there, just hold on for me.”

“My window should be unlocked. I’m—I’m in the bathroom,” she tells him. Betty scoots away from the door and leans against the sink so he can get in.

“I’m about to climb up and I need two hands, but I’ll be with you in less than sixty seconds, okay?” he promises and Betty nods even though he can’t see her and lets her phone drop when the line goes dead.

It’s only a moment before the door bursts open and Jughead’s panting in front of her. “Shit, I’m out of shape,” he dramatically wheezes, probably for her benefit.

Betty attempts to laugh, but it comes out a sob and quickly the door is shut behind him and he’s on her knees in front of her.

“C’mere,” he murmurs as he drops to his butt and lifts her into his lap so her legs are crisscrossed behind his back. “I’m here, and I have you, alright?”

Betty melts into his chest and lets herself finally really cry. Her body is wracked with sobs and she can’t hold them in, but she doesn’t have to. She knows she can unravel with Jughead and he’ll take care of her, that’s something she never has to worry about.

How could they just let Polly go?

Jughead rocks her back and forth, one of his hands rubbing up and down her back, the other holding her hands between them, making sure they aren’t digging in anymore.

She’s completely limp in his lap, her hands included. He has that effect on her, to make her pain feel shared, more manageable, like it will never fully consume her because he won’t allow it.

“It’s Polly, isn’t it?”

Betty nods against his collarbone, her cries now lessened to sniffles.

Jughead gives her temple a series of kisses and uses both arms to hold her tight, apparently now sure she won’t hurt herself. “Is she okay? Polly?”

“She’s pregnant. They told her to get rid of it or get out,” she supplies. “She moved in with the Blossom’s.”

“Fuck, baby, I’m so sorry,” he murmurs against her skin. “That’s… not right.”

“I’m proud of her,” Betty admits while pulling away and wiping her face. “She did what was best for her and the baby. She did the right thing, the same thing I would have done in that position.”

“I know.”

“How could they just give her up like that? And why hasn’t she tried to contact me? Doesn’t she know I’m always on her side? She’s my sister—” Betty chokes out and wills herself to stop crying, to stop feeling so weak.

“Maybe she didn’t want to put you in the middle,” Jughead offers, his forehead resting on hers. “I never wanted Jellybean in the middle.”

“But I’ve always been in the middle, what makes this different?”

“I don’t—I don’t know,” he sighs. “But, I promise I’ll help you figure it out. We’ll ask around for her new number, try to get Cheryl to notice we exist, but honestly what help will she really be? She likes to play with people’s emotions rather than help. Hell! We can get straight to the point and sneak into Thornhill, I’m down for a little breaking and entering.”

Betty can’t help but chuckle as she attempts to clean herself up. Makeup is probably streaking down her face, and after crying so hard she has a headache, plus feels gross from traveling.

“You’d really storm Thornhill’s gates for me?” she asks, her voice light and eyes blinking.

“How many times do I have to tell you I’d do anything for you? Just like you’d do anything for me,” Jughead murmurs while bumping their noses together. Betty opens her mouth, but he cuts her off before she even begins. “Except tell you what’s going on with me and Archie. Boundaries, babe,” he adds on as an afterthought.

Betty shakes her head at him. “I wasn’t going to even mention that,” she insists. “I was going to ask if you would shower with me, since you said you’d do anything,” she informs him. “I feel gross and… I want to be close to you.”

“Baby, this is one of those things where if I ever say no something is wrong with me,” he tells her.

She smiles weakly, then just holds her arms up like a little kid. Jughead takes the hint and slips her shirt off.

They undress each other innocently and Betty gets the shower ready before stepping in and holding a hand out to Jughead for him to join her, that she’s sure this is what she wants to happen, because she knows he worries.

He closes the shower door behind him and Betty pulls him under the warm spray, their hair becoming matted to both their heads, and goosebumps breaking out over their skin.

“What do we do now?” Betty asks softly with her lips grazing over his heart, and she lightly kisses their golden crown splashed across his heart.

“What we always do,” he responds as he cups her jawline with his now large, strong hands. “Figure it out. Together.”

So many things had changed when Betty was gone. It made her wish she never went to Boston, never left when things at home were so fragile, apparently in more ways than one.

Polly was unreachable, for now. Thornhill was serious business, it even had security, and just showing up was last on the list of her ideas for how to get in contact with Polly. Her and Jug were likely to be strip searched or just thrown out on their asses, hopefully the latter in all honesty.

Betty wasn’t even sure the situation with Polly was fixable, but all she really wanted was her sister back, in some shape or form.

But the situation with Archie and Jug? That was tangible, that was something she could fix, because boys are stupid and Archie is so much more easily crackable than Jughead. However, it does take almost a week to get Archie to hang out with her because it’s like he knows she’s going to try and do something about it.

“I can’t believe our sophomore year starts tomorrow, can you believe it?” he asks as soon as they sit down and after they nodded to Pop for their usual’s.

“I can’t believe it took a week for you to finally hang out with me,” Betty counters and gets that signature Archie eye-roll and wide smile combo in return. “I was gone for two months and you treat me like some old, tossed aside… I don’t know, football or something.”

He reaches across the table and squeezes her hand. “I missed you, Betty, I did, you know I did,” he assures her. “Not in the same way as Jughead, and probably not as much, to be honest, but I did. I was busier than him though, so,” he stops and shrugs as he slouches in the booth. “Tell me all about it. I can’t believe you met Toni Morrison! You must have freaked.”

“I did, I really did, you would have laughed at me,” she agrees.

Of course, things changed with Archie too, because why wouldn’t they? Everything changed when she was gone and she wasn’t around to see any of it, or prevent any of it.

But Archie’s change is good, at least Betty thinks so. He has a great voice, which she is aware of since she has continued the joy of overhearing him belt out boyband songs when their windows are open. Plus, he’s putting his guitar lessons to good use, and it’s another thing to help keep him out of trouble and hopefully it means he won’t fall in love every other month like he usually does.

She waits until dessert to make her move, because it’s only polite to make small talk and catch up first.

“I can’t take it anymore, what’s going on with you and Jug?” she demands, and must have been louder than she thought because Archie jumps in surprise.

“Betty…”

“No, don’t you ‘Betty’ me, Archibald, it took me a week to get you to hang out with me because we can’t all hang out together—”

“Hey now, that’s not true. I’ve been busy with football practice, and I just told you I’m working on music. It takes a lot of dedication, especially since I’m getting into it late in the game,” he insists.

“No, no don’t do that. We’ve always been busy, Arch. I have a million extra-curriculars, you have sports and girls, and Jughead has me and his isolation stuff, but we always managed to get together. Even if it meant we were all just sitting in the same room quietly because we have stuff going on. I’m keeping us together throughout high school and beyond, okay? And I won’t have you and Jug ruin it over some stupid boy fight, I won’t!” she told him, getting more forceful as she went.

“Betty, it’s not on you to—”

“But it is!” she cuts him off and realizes she’s getting worked up and her nails are resting on her scabs ready to sink in.

No, she wasn’t going to do that. She was going to be vocal and use her words and learn to cope better like her and Jug talked about. Or, started talking about at least. It’s a process.

“Betty—”

“We’re best friends, Archie, not just the two of us, not just him and me and not just you and him. All three of us are best friends, the three musketeers, and I don’t want it ruined. You two are,” she stops and sighs. “You two are my family and I don’t… sometimes I feel like you guys are all I have and,” she looks down to stare at her angry yellow scabs. “I can’t lose you.”

“Betty, hey,” he murmurs and she looks up, not realizing tears welled up in her eyes. “Jughead and I aren’t going anywhere, I promise.”

She wipes her nose and nods. “I don’t want you to think I’m being selfish,” she admits.

“Betty, you are the least selfish person I know,” he assures her. “Don’t worry, just give us some time and we’ll figure it out. I’ll be better, I’ll make sure we spend more time together and nothing changes too much, alright? Our friendship is a priority; believe me when I say that.”

“I do,” she whispers and sniffles. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot,” she apologizes, and he gives her a look. “Okay, I did, but I didn’t mean to cry as I did.”

“No worries, one of my best friends being a girl has made me very in touch with my emotions,” he teases.

“Arch, sometimes I think you’re too in touch with emotions,” Betty responds and he laughs, but stops abruptly after the bell above Pop’s door rings. Archie seems like he’s enchanted, or under some spell.

Betty turns and sees a brunette around their age entering the diner. She’s wearing all black and even from far away Betty can tell the pearls around her neck are expensive.

“I’m here to pick up an order for Lodge,” she announces as Pop walks by her.

“Two burgers, be ready in one sec,” the old man assures her.

The girl looks over at the two of them and, of course, Archie is still mesmerized. “How are the onion rings here, if you don’t mind my asking?” she asks.

Archie’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

“They’re great,” Betty speaks up. “Everything here is amazing.”

The girl smiles. “Thanks, some onion rings too, please!” she calls over to Pop, who nods. “I’m Veronica Lodge,” she introduces herself.

Betty’s eyes fill with know. She should have known, or at least guessed. The school called her two days ago. “Oh, I’m Betty Cooper, I’ll be your peer mentor this year, I guess,” she tells her.

“I prefer the term ‘friend,’” Veronica insists with a kind smile.

“Friend, okay,” Betty agrees and they both look to Archie who is still staring. “This is Archie Andrews.”

“Archie… Andrews,” he echoes and licks his lips. He holds his hand out and Veronica takes it to shake, and that’s when Betty notices delicate white gloves on the raven-haired girl’s hands.

“Well, Betty Cooper and Archie Andrews, I guess I’ll be seeing you,” she says and is gone as fast as she came.

As Betty literally watches Archie drool at her silhouette, she can’t help but think that she better get used to change, because this year is going to bring a lot of it.

To be continued….

Notes: The timeline is going to slow for the time being because I have a good bit planned for them at these ages and it's when we see them on the show, so, yeah. Welcome to the fun, Veronica Lodge ;) ALRIGHT - don't be mad at me because technically it's the 13th (maybe the 12th for some of you depending on timezones) so it didn't take me a whole month to update because the last one was on the 14th so HA. JK - I went through a pretty bad depression spell where all I did was work, eat, and sleep and it was rough there for a minute. I was struggling, but I'm coming out of it and I'm trying to continue to do so. Thanks for hanging in there with me and sending asks on my tumblr about my progress or motivating me. You have no idea how much it helps just to know someone is thinking about my writing and telling me its worth pursuing. ALSO - my brother had a baby on the 10th! So I had two days of babylovin' meaning I wouldn't leave him alone. He's the CUTEST (kind of, I mean he's my third nephew and they're all cute so) and he was a BIG boy, 10lbs! Jandy got pics, ask her how cute he is because he's so CUTE. & - as always, shout out to @jandjsalmon for beta-ing and making the aesthetic and for dealing with me when I was a low mope and on a baby high - she's the best and deserves praise, applause, and possibly alcohol or whatever she enjoys immensely. Lemme know your thoughts!!

#riverdale #bughead #betty cooper #jughead jones #fanfiction #call me a safe bet

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tysonrunningfox · 7 years

Text

Relationship Challenged

I just...can’t wait, guys. The Arvelia arc is gonna happen and I’ll post it and maybe it’ll even be better when shit is going down (because it’s gonna go down)

But. The baby boy still does not know how to girl. And he should probably try soon.

Tumblr | AO3

“Why’d you let the dragon go?” Aurelia asks, leaning against Bang’s side and wiggling her stocking feet in front of the fire.

“What dragon?” I pick my head up off of Bang’s back to look at her.

“The scauldron, the one that destroyed the dock. Why did you let it go?” She turns towards me, tucking her feet under her and leaning a still cautious elbow along Bang’s back. “Maybe if my dad had seen it he would have finally believed us about the dragons.”

“It’s not that he doesn’t believe us,” I scoff, staring at my hands, “it’s that he thinks it doesn’t mean anything. It’s like he doesn’t notice that it’s a week after Snoggletog and that’s the first wild dragon I’ve seen.”

“But if you’d kept the dragon around, maybe we could figure out what’s wrong with them or—”

“Have you seen a full grown Scauldron?” I snap and I feel bad about it but not enough to slow down. “They’re not small. And if they’re panicking and don’t want to do what you want them to do, they spray boiling water at your face.”

“Yeah, but we train dragons all the time—”

“We?” It comes out too harsh and I sigh. “Sorry.”

“What’s got your too short pants in a bunch?” She looks at the inch of my ankle that’s exposed above my socks with that Aurelia brand judgement that makes me forget she’s harmless and I tug my pantlegs down.

“Nothing.”

“You’ve been a jerk ever since you got home—”

“The chief was late and made me deal with all this shit on my own—”

“Wait, are you actually upset that he was late or are you upset about why he was late?” She leans in slightly like she’s interested in something between the points I’m actually making and I shrug.

“Both—”

“You know?” She scoots closer, distracted enough that she doesn’t flinch when Bang’s scales ripple next to her. That or she’s getting used to Wingspark and it’s carrying over, but I’d rather her be so enchanted with what I’m saying than think about her and Arvid right now. My face is just feeling firm in all the right places again.

“I know what?”

“Wait, what?” She shakes her head, “why are you mad at why the chief was late? What is that why?”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I laugh, scooting away from her because this suddenly feels a little too much like an interrogation for my taste. “But he stopped to invite Fuse without talking to me first—”

“Oh my Gods, that’s still a problem?” She scoffs, “you haven’t talked to her yet?”

“No!” I throw my arms up and my head falls back against Bang, who groans with the impact, whiny ever since I made him work this morning. “Smitelout is taking forever with the baffle and at this point it’s been so long I don’t know how I can just…go talk to her empty handed.”

“So what did you do?”

“I just…flew off.” I shrug, face hot with embarrassment, because it sounds cowardly even though it’s not, not really. “I—I just want to actually make it right, I don’t want to give her any other reason to be mad at me.”

“Right. A reason aside from a stupid metal thing you forgot to forge. Because that’s why she’s mad but you won’t ask her and it’s been more than a week.”

“Is that sarcasm?”

“What do you think?” She rolls her eyes and drums her fingers against Bang’s side before seemingly realizing what she’s doing and very daintily curling her arm back into her chest. “You should just talk to Fuse. And you should also open your eyes, in general—”

“If I’m missing so much, why don’t you tell me what it is?”

“Because I don’t have proof.” She huffs, “and I don’t want Arvid’s head to get any bigger about it.”

“I…” I sigh and cradle my head in my hands, “I’m just going to safely say I don’t want to know what you’re talking about—”

“I—Mom’s happy, right?” She rocks back onto her heels and stands up slowly, like she’s not sure she wants to have the conversation and I wishes she’d be a little more decisive about it. Preferably before she tells me anything else about Arvid’s big head and I throw up. “Or happier than she was. Happier than I’ve known her.”

“She’s seemed happy since Snoggletog,” I shrug a shoulder and look back at the fire, ear trained on her room in case she’s listening in. “I think planning the feast was good for her, I—I don’t know.” Calling her happy hurts, it makes me compare what I’ve seen of her recently to how she used to be and I don’t want to draw that parallel. It makes this feel even more permanent than it already is.

“Yeah,” Aurelia sighs, “I’m going to go to bed. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sure. Goodnight.” I listen to her climb the stairs and I hear her door shut. She doesn’t open her window, like maybe she actually has plans to stay here tonight and that, at least, makes me feel temporarily like less of a loser.

00000

“Good morning,” Mom emerges from her bedroom long after I’ve already eaten everything in the house that was in a vaguely edible state for breakfast. She sees the empty pots and baskets on the counter and shakes her head. “I see you were hungry.”

“Yeah,” I shrug, “sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she laughs like she never used to when Arvid and I tore through all passable ingredients in the middle of the night. Maybe there is something to being rich in that special chiefly way, maybe that’s why she’s not contesting it. “Did Aurelia at least get some of it?”

“She asked for bread but lost her appetite when I started cleaning out last night’s pan with mine, to be honest.”

“So you are a late grower,” she scoffs, pulling the bag of flour out and getting started on another batch of bread. I think about offering to help but that feels weirder than it used to, like now I’m almost part of a chief and if he came down to me covered in flour that would go away. “I kind of wondered about that, honestly.”

“Because of the chief?” I try to sound angry but it doesn’t quite happen, because in my head he’s not just the guy who wasn’t there when a scauldron took a dock down, he’s also the guy who tried to teach his dad to train a Thunderdrum. His dad, who was my grandpa, whose statue I’ve seen every day that I lived without knowing Eret the Original.

“Because you never bit Arvid’s hand when he took food off your plate.” She’s diverting, and I don’t mind, I like that she’s faking something, that there’s some plain I can interact with her on that’s not driven by abject, painful truth.

“Not that you saw.”

She laughs. It doesn’t quite make me happy like it used to, because I’ve realized she might have been thinking of someone else making her laugh, and I try to act like I don’t notice.

“Any reason you’re up so early?”

“It’s not that early,” I look out the window at the sun creeping upwards, “it’s like mid-morning. The chief hasn’t even been down yet.”

“It’s early for you,” she points a clean spatula at me.

“Maybe I’m growing up,” I get the feeling that I should just leave, that being here isn’t being helpful and I hate it. I hate that helpful is the pivot that I’ve started to gauge myself around.

“Not that fast.”

“Maybe it’s my late growth spurt,” I stand up, the rare and foreign reality of being irritated with my mom overwhelming as I stretch, looking at the door like there’s anything more entertaining outside. My mom always said I’d someday regret not having any hobbies except running around with Arvid and I guess that day is finally here. “Should I go wake the chief up? There’s got to be something I should go do.”

“Eh, probably let him sleep.” Mom goes back to rooting through the cabinets, “did you literally eat all the food?”

“It’s not like there was all that much.” I cross my arms and lean back against the table, “I could go to the market, if you wanted. I don’t know what all to buy but—”

“Where’s your sister?”

“Out.” I shrug, I’m pretty sure she said something about meeting Arvid and I’m making that eternally hard choice to not think about it.

“She didn’t take Stoick anywhere?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see her leave, I was giving Bang breakfast.”

“Well he’s not hanging off of Bang so I’m assuming he’s not here.” She says it like a joke and I don’t know why she’s not more concerned. It’s seemed like that a lot lately, honestly, ever since Snoggletog she’s been…almost serene. It puts me on edge more than I could ever have imagined, honestly, because she’s always been the one on top of things, ready to appropriately freak out at a moments’ notice.

But now? Stoick is apparently mysteriously absent and she’s raising an eyebrow at me like she’s only mildly worried and it’s mostly about my dead expression.

“Should I go look for him?”

“If you feel strongly about it,” she walks over to where her axe is hanging on the wall, and I hadn’t even noticed it there. That makes less sense than anything else, the fact that she’s not sleeping with it under the edge of the bed where she always used to keep it. I remember Rolf stubbing his toe on the handle once and moping around for weeks that it could have cut his foot off, and now it’s just…twenty feet away from her, all night, like suddenly everything is safe in a way that she’s always told me Berk isn’t.

Maybe it’s because we’re basically in the center of the village now, instead of on the quiet dark edge where an attack would most likely start, but I don’t want to ask about it. I don’t want her telling me that things are safer and happier than ever when I don’t even have anyone to complain to.

“I mean, I kind of feel strongly about my little brother being missing—”

“Oh my gods, it’s like you woke up angling for a fight,” she rolls her eyes like she wasn’t born angling for a fight and hands me a bag filled with more silver than I used to see in a year, “go to the market while you’re out freaking out about nothing. Try and get at least everything you ate this morning.”

“You’re sending me to the market?” I weigh the silver in my hand and it reminds me of Fuse for some reason, probably because she’s the only other person to ever have overpaid me by this much.

If I go to the market, the chances of seeing Fuse are higher than I’d really like to think about and yeah, I could nag Smitelout about the baffle but that doesn’t feel like it’d be enough.

“I’m sure you can handle it.”

“Well, what are you going to do?” I look around, “the house is clean, all the trees outside are chopped down. What if I don’t know what to get or I get so much I can’t carry it—”

Fuse can’t kill me if my mom is there. Neither can Arvid.

“You have a giant helpful lizard who will carry whatever you buy,” she starts physically ushering me towards the door and I shrug her hand off my shoulder.

“What if we haven’t spent any time together lately—”

“That must be why I’m so well rested.” She opens the door and half shoves me out, “go, I’ll braid your hair and we can talk about boys when you come back.”

“We could do that now.” I try to step back inside and she shakes her head at me and closes the door in my face.

Stormfly squawks, pecking at my pocket like I didn’t feed her breakfast an hour ago and I scratch her chin.

“At least you still like me.” I pull my hand away before she can nip at my sleeve again. “I’m not getting any quality time with her either. I’m assuming she’ll be out in a bit.”

She chirps and I pat her beak, “you could come to the market with me—or that!” I call after her as she suddenly takes off, flying to land on the chief’s roof and curling her wings under her to sit like the giant chicken I feel like, nervous to go into the village like it’s a year ago and my parents will get pissed at me for it.

I start walking that way even though Bang tugs on my hand and tries to get me to fly. That feels more public though, because the skies are slowly starting to fill again. Most of the owned dragons are back from their Snoggletog adventures and a few wild dragons have trickled in over the horizon. It’s not enough and I know it’s not enough but I haven’t mentioned it and no one has mentioned it to me. I guess I’d tell Aurelia if she was ever around, but part of me wonders if she’d just start finding a way to prove that I’m wrong about it too.

I haven’t been right much lately. And maybe that’s normal, but it feels like it’s getting pointed out a lot more than normal.

The main square is full of more people than I want to deal with right now and I cut across to the forge as quickly as I can, half hoping to see Gobber because at least he’ll have time to yell at me or something, but it’s just Smitelout. She’s working on a war hammer and humming to herself and when I say her name she glares at me and at least that feels normal.

“Not quite ready to kick your ass, Twerp.”

“What?”

“When I finish your little gift for Thorston, or whatever,” she gestures under the counter where I’m assuming she’s storing it, “or not so little. That thing is fucking huge.”

“I’m aware.”

“What’d you do?” She snorts, “and you know, the size of the gift doesn’t make up for how big of an idiot you are.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I scoff, because Smitelout is the last person I’m ever going to admit a mistake to. Her ego would swell so big that the roof of the forge would pop off and the chief would probably make me fix it. “But are you going to be done anytime soon? It’s kind of important.”

“Yeah, and so is the rest of the shit I’ve got to do.”

“I’m just asking when you think it’ll be done.” I remember I’m not with the chief right now and I’m not doing anything he asked me to and that there’s really nothing stopping me from telling her exactly what I think of this situation. But I also don’t see how that would help anything and again, I’m campaigning for the heavy, irritating title of Eret the Helpful.

“I’ll let you know, alright?” She gestures around the forge, “I’ve got orders out the ass for new kid saddles for when wild dragons come back and the little shits can all choose their lifelong companion, or whatever.”

“Any idea when that’ll be?” I snort.

“I keep hearing any day now but—wait, why are you asking it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you know something I don’t.”

“I can’t imagine you’re used to any other tone—”

“That’s a real reasonable thing to say to the person making your girlfriend’s presents for you.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” I huff. I’m not sure she’s even my friend after I forgot about her and I keep wondering if I made the right choice flying away from her at the dock.

“I literally could not care less.” She raises her hand like she had an idea I care about, “oh wait, if I were dead. Being physically dead is the only way I could care less.” She shrugs, “and you don’t have to tell me your probably lame reason for talking about the dragons coming back in that ‘I’m the chief’s son so I’m so smart’ tone—”

“That’s not a thing.”

“Uh yeah it is,” she snorts, “ask any Jorgenson for the last like, three hundred years about the chief’s kids’ tone.”

“Not going to dig up your family crypt to get lamely insulted, but thanks for the offer.”

“I’m just saying though,” she sets down her hammer and looks at me almost pensively, or maybe she has gas and isn’t quite sure what to do about it. Either way, at least it’s quiet enough I can half believe she wants me to respond to whatever she’s about to say. “Usually there are a bunch more dragons back by now. Looking at Gobber’s books, you were swamped with saddles a week earlier last year.”

“Yeah, it was earlier.” I look around and the dragons I see are all wearing saddles or harnesses or following people around.

“That’s what I get expecting brilliance from a Hofferson,” she spits the name and it takes me a second to remember she’s talking to me. About me.

“Thought I was just the chief’s kid to you, wouldn’t that make me a Haddock?”

“You’re nothing to me,” she goes back to swinging that forge hammer and it sounds like a memory of a simpler time when I was inside and Gobber was telling me what to do. At least when I was doing what Gobber said, I always knew it was the easiest way through. “But once a Hofferson, always a Hofferson.”

“It’s been…well, it’s been like you’re a pain in the ass, or something.” I pat my hands on the counter once more then turn to leave, “and I’ll consider paying you more if you finish that soon.”

“I’ll take two punches for a late in project rush job.” She waves me away, “I’ll let you know when it’s done. Just leave me alone until then. Seriously. I mean it.”

“Cool, I’ll check in every day.” I laugh at her red angry face and wave one as I take a few backwards steps before turning and pausing again at the crowd.

I don’t see Fuse. I hate that I don’t see her, because that means this isn’t over. I don’t see Arvid either, which is good because the bakery happens to be on his side of the island and I don’t know if I can expect him to honor that or not. I didn’t start anything on Snoggletog, but that could easily be considered an exemption given the fact he was attached to my sister’s face and that would have made it hard to only hit one of them.

I buy bread. I have no idea how much enough is, I only know that I put more silver down on the counter than I think I’ve ever spent in my life. I guess I’ve traded labor in the forge worth more, but I don’t think I’ve ever just…set that much money down. I’m not quite sure I’d call it a perk of being the chief’s son, it makes things feel fake, tilted. Because I didn’t work for any of this and I hate how easy it would be to get used to not working for anything. I hate how the most of myself I’ve put into anything in a while is arguing with Smitelout.

On my way out of the bakery, Mrs. Jorgenson sees me and rushes over and I wonder, for a second, if Smitelout is really enough of a brat to tell her mom that I was bothering her or something, but she doesn’t say anything about Smitelout and instead dives into the middle of some issue I haven’t heard anything about.

“It’s weeks after Snoggletog and the roof is still leaking, it’s right over the cooking pit in the back of the hall and I can’t get anyone down to patch it, the chief said he’d send Gustav over but it hasn’t happened and today I started to notice the floor warping and we can’t make a fire in there without more snow melting—”

“Whoa,” I step back and shake my head, “I don’t know anything about this, Mrs. Jorgenson—”

“But surely you could do something—”

“I…actually don’t know if I can—”

“You could talk to Gustav for me,” she purses her lips like she’s tasting something sour, “he won’t hear it from me, says I don’t have the authority.”

“I don’t uh…I don’t see why he’d think I did.” I pause for a minute and she stares at me like I’m stupid, the resemblance to her daughter becoming apparent in a second. Smitelout might look like Snotlout with less of a beard but that derisive look is all her mother. “Because I walk around with the chief while he orders people around?” I laugh. She doesn’t.

“Could you give it a try? At least?” She’s polite in a way I’m not used to, asking instead of telling, and I sigh.

“Ok. Sure. I’ll go talk to him when I’m done shopping, my mom sent me—”

“There was supposed to be a feast tonight and I can’t get the fire going.” She edges in front of me like I’ll feel physically blocked enough to do what she wants.

“Fine. I’ll go now. I can’t promise anything but—”

“Thank you!” She’s way too excited for someone trying to patch a roof and I get that same feeling from it as I do from Aurelia when Mom gives her a task and she buckles down with that whole-hearted commitment. It’s the commitment of someone who doesn’t get tasked with many things and I have half a mind to offer Mrs. Jorgenson some of mine.

“Sure.” I take one of the pieces of bread out of the basket and start eating it like it’ll magically make me feel more capable.

I should go find the chief, probably, but that would just make this take longer. And I’d have to ask the chief for help, which isn’t my favorite activity even if I know he’d probably give it to me. He’s been happy too. Happy enough to make me feel defective for feeling miserable and weird and out of place in the first house I’ve ever lived in where everyone is related to me.

Gustav opens the door on my first knock and stares at me for a second like if he pretends he doesn’t recognize me I can’t ask him to do anything.

“Good morning, Mr. Larson,” I start and it sounds as fake as it always sounds to pretend I don’t know all of these people in the name of some messed up professionalism. Somehow, when the chief gives people formal titles, it’s always like a reminder that he’s chief and they’re not, but when I say it, I sound like a child. It makes me wish I hadn’t shaved, honestly, but by the time my bruises faded to yellow, the beard was long enough to be itchy.

“You fling some other thing into my roof?”

That was the day I promised to make Fuse the baffle. The reminder stings in a way it shouldn’t and I want to go throttle Smitelout for taking so long or better yet, kick her out of the forge and do it myself. Gobber said that he wouldn’t let me abandon projects, but I’m realizing he probably just said that to yell at me about forge stuff one last time.

“No, not today,” I laugh because the chief laughs when he’s trying to make someone do something they don’t want to do, “it is about a roof though. Mrs. Jorgenson was telling me about the leak at the great hall—”

“It’s not a priority.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Well,” I swallow, “I say it is a priority. The floor is starting to warp and that repair is a lot bigger pain in the ass.” I remember a second too late that I’m not supposed to swear while I’m trying to look official. “Shit. Or budget. Both. Whatever.”

“Mrs. Jorgenson tell you that?” He raises an eyebrow, “I don’t know why we gave her this feast, it’s all going to her head—”

“Yeah, well, at least she’s using hers.” It’s harsher than I want it to be but maybe my own ounce of half power is going to my head. Maybe my ego won’t fit in the forge anymore either and maybe it feels like the only thing I can lean on. It’s less of an ego and more of a crash landing pad that I’m intentionally keeping fully inflated. “Of course we don’t have the wood to patch the floor of the biggest building on the whole island while we’re expanding our storage.”

“We’re expanding our storage? I thought your mom shot that down.”

“She just shot down the giant ‘S’ part of it, which, you know, fair.”

He looks at me for a second before rolling his eyes and pushing past me on his way outside. He whistles and Fanghook drops down off of his roof, sniffing at Bang and growling a low, intimidating growl under his breath. Bang doesn’t care, which is one of the most admirable things about him, and I wish I felt like battles were choices the same way he does.

“Fine. I’ll go do it now. Tell Mrs. Jorgenson you had to give me more Hel than this though, honestly.” He grins as he gets onto Fanghook, “and tell your mom I’ll do whatever she says if the chief sends her next time.”

My fist clenches. That whole not swearing rule is ridiculous.

“The chief didn’t send me and I’ll tell my Mom to widen her perimeter of avoidance around you.”

“Funny,” Gustav shakes his head, “the kid is funny.”

I want to tell him I’m not a kid. And that I’m not funny, I mean it. None of that makes it out of my mouth before he takes off and at least flies in the right direction.

I’m just getting onto Bang to go home and tell the chief that he might want to go do his own job before people start expecting me to do all of it when Aurelia walks out from between the houses behind me, arms crossed and frowning. I know that look. It used to mean she was gearing herself up for a fight with the chief but lately it’s meant that she thinks I’m wrong and she wants to make sure that I know it.

“You can’t let Gustav talk to you that way,” she scoffs, “now he’s going to fight you on everything.”

“What do you know about Gustav?”

“I know he has to listen to you. Hel, he has to listen to me, I’m still the chief’s daughter even if it’s less legitimate than it used to be.”

“I think it’s plenty legitimate,” I look at her, red braid over her shoulder, sarcasm wielded like a knife. The singular embodiment of everything I had that never fit in with my family.

“Well, yeah, but you still can’t let people talk to you that way if you’re going to be chief. I know my dad doesn’t.”

“I thought you’d be glad for a slight change in regime.” I want to tell her about Smitelout and the dragons and I almost think she’d let me but she cocks her other hip and crosses her arms more tightly, like she’s resolving herself against talking to me.

I bet she talked to Fuse. I bet they’re both mad at me about whatever they wouldn’t tell me before Snoggletog.

“I’m just saying, if you’re going to act like the chief, you can’t let people talk to you like that.”

“I don’t think you’re qualified to give advice on being chief.”

“Fuse saw you, by the way.” She shrugs one shoulder like she’s sorry she has to say it, “in the market. And she saw you fly away from the docks.”

“Why are you telling me that?”

“You should talk to her.”

“The baffle is almost done,” I sigh, “I nagged Smitelout about it today—”

“It’s like you’re this stupid on purpose.” She shakes her head like I’m beyond help and maybe she’s right, maybe Eret The Helpful is a thing because I need it the most.

“I try.” I look at the basket of bread on Bang’s back, “Mom sent me to the market with what looks like all the money. Do you want anything?”

“Nothing you won’t eat before I get to it.” She shakes her head and at least there’s a shade of a smile there, like she doesn’t hate me entirely.

#eret iii #festerverse #the baby boy #he's growing up #cue son a man from tarzan on loop

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da5haexowin · 7 years

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The Color of Crying (#1) Oceans and Forests

Eliza stood in the middle of the Sephora store, staring down at the small container of concealer.

“Covers tears!” It boasted. The fine print clarified further: “(works best for light and warm colors.)”

Eliza sighed and angrily put the concealer back. “Of course.” She grumbled.

She was a 17 year old Irish girl, and she looked the part. Her hair was a massive tangle of red curls, that she regularly wrestled into a ponytail. Her eyes were the color green that poets praised as being “emerald and enchanting” and they burned with fire. Her skin was her second worst physical feature, in her opinion. She was as pale as they came. Stand Eliza in a blizzard, and you might lose her. Her worst feature, if you asked her, were her tears. They were dark blue, and impossible to hide.

She had tried everything. She used concealers, she used extra strength mud masks, she had even tried the prescription face wash the her dermatologist had given her. Nothing worked. No matter how hard she tried, the ugly blue stripes stained her face for weeks.

As a kid it hadn’t been that big a deal. Everyone had splotches of color on their faces, pretty much constantly. And there was always a mix of flat color from bumped knees and hurt feelings, but there were also steaks of metallic joy as well.

Then, of course, everyone got older. They started to notice that Eliza’s seemed to stand out more. They seemed to suck around longer too.

It didn’t help that Eliza would cry at the drop of a hat. Puppy too cute? Tears. Movie a little sad? Here comes the waterworks. Stubbed toe? Open the flood gates. Lost nail polish? Grab the tissues, baby.

As she stormed out of the store, she growled angrily and pushed a finger under her glasses. She couldn’t even wear contacts, because she ruined them too quickly.

She groaned as she heard a familiar crowing laughter. Daisy McAdams. She quickened her steps, hoping she could make it out of the store before the other girl could see her. However, the famed “luck of the Irish” had never been strong with Eliza.

“Oh look!” Eliza felt her blood freeze as Daisy called out to her, “it’s Squid Face! I’ll bet you were in here looking for a concealer, weren’t you?”

Daisy never had stains under her eyes. Eliza had always assumed it was because she was an emotionless robot sent to destroy humanity, but she couldn’t swear to that…yet.

“Well I figured maybe makeup remover may not be enough to get rid of your ugly face,so at least I’d try to cover it up.” Eliza spat, clutching her purse strap.

“Oh Squidward,” Daisy laughed, “it’s really too bad you’re both ugly and dumb. Issac might pay you some attention if you actually had a full thought rattling around upstairs.” She reached out and wrapped on Eliza’s forehead as though she were knocking on a door.

Eliza felt the tears spring up at the mention of Issac. Last week, Daisy had found out about Eliza’s crush, and she had been using it to relentlessly torment and blackmail Eliza ever since.

“Uh-oh,” the tall girl giggled, “better hurry up and pay, looks like you’ll need all that they have.”

“Hey.” Eliza jumped as the gravelly voice behind her spoke. She spun around to see Liam next to her, glaring at Daisy. “Leave her alone, McAdams.”

Daisy rolled her eyes. “Hey, don’t you have a dark alley you should be lurking in?”

Liam shrugged and grinned a little, “Not until your mom gets off work. Back off.”

Daisy sneered and stormed off, glaring at Eliza. “Lucky for you Prince Goth showed up.” She muttered.

Eliza wiped her eyes, and glared at the navy stripe on the back of her hand. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Liam shrugged, stuffing his hands into his sweatshirt pockets. “Yeah I did. You would have done the same for me.”

Eliza frowned a little. It wasn’t a lie, she probably would have. But she and Liam weren’t exactly close, either. They were both in the same math and English classes, and they sat in the back together, mostly to avoid other people.

Eliza fidgeted with her purse strap as Liam stared at his feet and scratched the back of his neck.

She remembered last week with a sudden flash. Liam had come in to math late, his hood pulled up, shading his face from view. He has stuffed a note into the teacher’s hand, then stormed back to his seat, where he’d put his head down and not moved. Eliza had put her handkerchief on his desk, and then went back to work, not wanting to invade his privacy or let him suffer.

“Anyway…” Liam said suddenly, as he pulled his hand out of his pocket, “I wanted to give this back to you. Thanks.” He held his hand out, offering her the handkerchief, “Sorry, I uhh, tried to clean out the mess, but Tide wasn’t tough enough.”

Eliza took it and smiled at the formerly white cloth. It had long ago been a mess of her own, impossible navy stains. But now it had a thick, forest green stain on one corner, and several smaller blooms scattered through out as well.

She smiled at Liam, who was still glaring at his shoes.

And the the first time, she noticed that hidden in the dark green forest that stained his cheeks, there was a single silver stream cutting through.

“Thanks.” Liam muttered again, before he turned around and left the store.

Eliza stood in place thea while, before wiping her own copper tear onto the patchwork of ocean and forest that she held in her hand.

(Artwork for this story will be done soon!)

#the color of crying #short stories #my writing #aus

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mittensmorgul · 7 years

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Situations in s6 in which Dean prayed to Cas for help (and the two times that Sam tricked Cas into helping... these episodes are marked with *) (oh, and also that handful of times that Cas’s war spilled all over Sam and Dean in ways they never asked for, and he STILL refused to tell them what the heckeroo was going on anyway...these episodes are marked with **):

6.03: Three police officers are dead in what appear to be small-scale recreations of the Plagues of Egypt. Because of the “biblical” nature of these deaths, it’s logical that they would want to talk to someone who, you know, witnessed the original Plagues of Egypt for advice.

It’s noted that Cas hadn’t spoken to either Dean or Sam in over a year despite Sam having prayed repeatedly to Cas after he “mysteriously” returned from the Cage. It’s also noted that the entire case involved another angel trading Heaven’s weapons to people in exchange for their souls. Enter Balthazar, old friend and ally of Castiel, and his cache of stolen “nukes.” Also enter Raphael, general antagonist who is anti-human and pro-apocalypse. Both Balthazar and Cas flap off to points unknown without giving Sam and Dean any further info about what the heck is going on.

6.06: Sam and Dean believe that they may have stumbled across another of those Heavenly Weapons, Gabriel’s Horn of Truth, and Dean prays to Cas to let him know. It turns out it’s NOT Gabriel’s Horn, and Cas flaps off after a short conversation with Dean. Dean is upset because he’d apparently been praying to Cas for days, and Cas only bothered to show up when he thought Dean had one of the Heaven Weapons. As far as we know, Cas and Dean haven’t seen one another since 6.03. All Cas tells Dean is that “I'm at war. Certain... regrettable things are now required of me.” This is not new information for Dean, and leaves Dean feeling just as frustrated over wanting to HELP Cas with his problems. Cas tells Dean he’ll “make inquiries” about what might be wrong with Sam, but tells Dean he has no information for him now.

6.07: After Dean gets confirmation that something is seriously wrong with Sam from Veritas in 6.06 after spending six episodes growing ever more suspicious that Sam “popped outta hell wrong,” including Sam letting Dean be turned into a vampire so they’d have an “in” to kill the entire nest and hopefully capture the Alpha, he calls in Cas, desperate to get a concrete diagnosis and make sure that what came back from the cage was really Sam. Cas diagnoses Sam’s complete lack of a soul, and goes with the Winchesters to Samuel’s compound to see if Samuel (who was resurrected around the same time Sam was) suffered from a similar problem. Cas confirms Samuel still has a soul, and then flaps off without any further explanation of what the heck’s going on.

It’s noted that this is the episode where we learn what Samuel is up to with the Alphas, and that he’s working for Crowley to discover the location of Purgatory. Crowley implies that he can return Sam’s soul, but only in exchange for the Winchesters’ help in capturing the Alphas. With no other hope of retrieving Sam’s soul, they’re kinda screwed into working for Crowley.

*6.10: When Meg captures the Winchesters and demands information on Crowley’s location, Sam makes a deal with her. They’ll help her take Crowley down, in exchange for her help getting some information out of Crowley first. Sam wants Crowley to tell him how to get his soul back, and tells Dean they’ll just kill Meg and her goon demons when they’re through... but Sam, still completely soulless, knows they’ll need some help.

This time it’s SAM (without Dean’s knowledge) who “tricks” Cas into showing up (making him think they’ve run across another of those stolen Heaven Weapons from 6.03). He essentially DEMANDS that Cas help him, because Cas “owes” him, Sam threatens to “hunt you down and kill you” if Cas refuses to help him now. Sam then proceeds to lie to Dean about how he convinced Cas to stay and help, framing it as a gesture of friendship... >.>

Sam overhears Cas FINALLY giving Dean some actual information about the state of Sam’s missing soul, that just happens to sound pretty horrifying... and Sam decides he might not even want his soul back. The fact that Cas believes Sam’s soul is a lost cause, and that Sam’s soul eternally suffering in the cage with Lucifer is an acceptable fate, is frankly disturbing in itself.

Cas ends up banished and Samuel tries to feed Sam and Dean to ghouls, but they both escape/survive, rescue Meg, and capture Crowley. Crowley confirms he can’t return Sam’s soul and seems to back up Cas’s fears about doing so. Cas shows back up (nice timing) with what he claims are Crowley’s bones, which he supposedly burns. Cas agrees to dismantle Crowley’s collection of caged monsters.

(From what we learn later, that Cas DIDN’T torch Crowley’s bones, and that Cas was the one responsible for abandoning Sam’s soul to that eternal torture in the first place even if it had been entirely accidental, AND that Cas was in cahoots with Crowley and his plans for Purgatory all along... his horrific guilt over EVERYTHING that happened in 6.10 combined with the fact that he STILL didn’t confess any of it to Sam or Dean... and Cas is STILL desperately trying to fix ALL of this... he’s got to be feeling even more isolated and burdened and helpless to make any of it work out. And to think all of this is the result of him missing that first sign more than a year ago, that something was ~very wrong~ with Sam when he first brought him back from hell... Cas just needed a win... and he kept doubling down on every losing hand all season long)

*6.12: After Dean restores Sam’s soul, Cas swings by to examine him. He tells Dean that he’s not sure if Sam will ever wake up, because of the damage to his soul, then leaves again. Later, Sam prays to Cas and tricks him into giving him answers.

**6.15: After Balthazar shows up and throws Sam and Dean into an alternate reality without warning and against their will, Dean tries praying to Cas for help but it doesn’t work in that universe. They manage to find their own way back, when Cas shows up to make a threat display to Raphael, then boops Sam and Dean back to Bobby’s. After being used as bait and telling them he’d have done the same thing if Balthazar hadn’t, Cas reminds them that he must win against Raphael, and Dean shouts back that they KNOW that, but that’s ALL they know. Dean is tired of being yanked around by a situation he literally knows nothing about, and again Cas refuses to tell them anything more before he flounces yet again.

**6.17: The entire episode takes place in an altered timeline in which the Titanic never sank, and Atropos was trying to clean up the resulting mess by killing all the descendants of the survivors who never should’ve been born. They discover Balthazar was behind it (him again). They never once pray to Cas for help on this one. Sam and Dean are literally frozen in time in the background with a huge air conditioner thing about to land on them and crush them, as Cas, Balthazar, and Atropos work out their issues. They talk about how Cas is trying to “make power” for himself by creating souls to “power his war machine.” In the end when Cas “allows them” to remember the alternate timeline they experienced, he flat-out lies to them about why it had happened at all (nothing about souls or war machines, blaming the deaths on Fate), and blaming the entire alternate timeline on Balthazar for hating that Celine Dion song. Then he disappears before they can ask any more questions. (he was acting really shifty there too...)

6.18: Dean prays to Cas because they’ve finally found a weapon that can destroy Eve (aka the creature they believe is the season’s Big Bad), but the only way to GET the weapon is to travel back to 1861 when what was apparently the last living Phoenix was killed by Samuel Colt with his nifty magic gun. Cas’s lieutenant Rachel shows up instead and delivers this infamous line:

RACHEL I think you call him when you need something. We're fighting a war. SAM We get that. RACHEL Clearly you don't, or you wouldn't call him every time you stub your toe, you petty, entitled little pie-- CASTIEL Rachel. That's enough.

Out of context it really makes very little sense. We know Cas has barely been in contact with Sam and Dean all season long. Every time he’s seen them he’s been rushed to get back to his war. Yet Rachel seems to think he’s been flitting off to help them out constantly... hmmmm. I WONDER WHERE HE’S BEEN FLITTING OFF TO CONSTANTLY?! (I mean... he’s got this entire secret plan going with Crowley that he’s keeping from EVERYDAMNONE so maybe...) Cas cuts her off and dismisses her before she can say anything else, but she’s suspicious enough about Cas’s dismissal there that she does a little digging...

Cas sends Sam and Dean to the past and gives them a 24 hour window until he fetches them home. Meanwhile, Rachel’s digging has uncovered a TERRIBLE TRUTH about what Cas has been up to. THIS INFORMATION IS STILL BEING KEPT FROM US, THE AUDIENCE, BUT POST 6.20 WE NEED TO UNDERSTAND THAT RACHEL UNCOVERED CAS’S ENTIRE PLAN. And to understand that he hadn’t just been lying to the Winchesters, but even to his closest lieutenants, about the entire Purgatory plan, Crowley, everything.

He’d presumably been telling Rachel that he’d been “helping the Winchesters” while he’d been off working on the Crack Purgatory With Crowley plan. THAT’S WHERE HER BASELESS ACCUSATION AGAINST SAM AND DEAN CAME FROM.

RACHEL Castiel, I've been hearing things. Things I don't want to believe. Just tell me if it's true. CASTIEL If what's true? RACHEL You know. Your dirty little secret. CASTIEL I have to defeat Raphael. RACHEL Not this way, Castiel. CASTIEL Rachel. RACHEL We put our faith in you, and...look what you're turning into. CASTIEL I don't have a choice. RACHEL Then neither do I. (Rachel stabs Castiel with her blade)

Cas is forced to kill her, and then hides at Bobby’s. He’s too weak to bring Sam and Dean back, but Bobby offers the power of his own soul to give Cas the energy to save them. Just when they think they’ve failed, the package shows up from Samuel Colt with the bottle of phoenix ash, and suddenly they’re hopeful again that they can defeat Eve.

6.19: Cas, get outta my ass... (BOY OH BOY HE SHOWED UP FAST! I mean, like he was standing right there all along and just had to un-invisible himself or something... like we see him do in the very next episode.. so maybe he WAS watching over the Winchesters some of the time he’d been telling Rachel he was, but they certainly didn’t know about it.) Now that they have a weapon that can kill Eve, they need to know where she actually is. Cas can’t sense her because she’s blocked him, but he brings the vampire Lenore from 2.03, because she CAN sense Eve. She gives up the information and then begs them to kill her (Cas obliges, to everyone’s horror). He then boops everyone to Eve’s location and immediately realizes that she’s also blocking his powers, so regardless he’s stuck there until Eve is dealt with.

(pause for the horrifying interlude where Sam and Dean are so “desperate for a win” they fall into Eve’s trap with her “perfect monster” that even hunters (and even ANGELS can’t detect... and Cas horrifyingly torturing a guy for info on Eve’s location... and Cas put into a situations where he’s defaulting to torturing people-- bearing in mind he brought Dean in to torture Alistair in 4.16, Cas has fallen a looooong way since then-- will become relevant again in 6.22 so keep this in mind)

Eve reveals that Crowley is still alive (instigating everyone’s suspicions about Cas again, and if that means Cas has been lying to them), and we get confirmation at the end of the episode that Cas and Crowley are working together (and have been all along).

(AN: Looking at the season-long arc as if it were a cop drama, Eve getting taken down with three episodes left to go proves she was a red herring. Sam and Dean, up to this point, believed she was the Big Bad. But the audience should certainly know better by now...)

**6.20: *cries forever* All the betrayal comes into the light. Even Dean can’t defend Cas after this. Cas shows up unasked for in Dean’s car, tells him he has no idea how Crowley is still alive and that he has no idea where Crowley is currently. Then boops directly to Crowley’s lab... >.>

We see that Cas has been hanging around the Winchesters, invisible, ignoring their prayers, “But I didn't go to them...Because I knew they would have questions I couldn't answer...Because I was afraid.“

But then he’s compelled to reveal himself, in order to save Bobby, Sam, and Dean... after which Dean again comes to his defense. “Wonders never cease. They trusted me again. But it was just another lie.”

*6.21: Sam summons Balthazar to question him about Cas’s involvement with Crowley after demons kidnapped Lisa and Ben to keep Dean from interfering in Crowley’s plans. Cas had demanded that Crowley not hurt Sam and Dean, so instead Crowley went after people Dean cared about. Balthazar confronts Cas, tries to talk him out of his plans, and then agrees to play “double agent” for Sam and Dean.

Sam then prays to Cas on Dean’s behalf, because Dean’s going off the rails torturing demons for info on Lisa and Ben’s whereabouts. Crowley told Dean to stand down and not interfere with his plans, and Lisa and Ben would be fine. Dean refused. Cas makes the same deal with Dean, stand down and not interfere, and he’d retrieve Lisa and Ben when they’ve completed their plan. Of course Dean refuses, because that’s the same offer Crowley had made him.

“Dean, I do everything that you ask. I always come when you call. And I am your friend.“ Well, Cas, one outta three ain’t exactly great in Dean’s book here... He has NO IDEA the extent you’ve suffered in the name of your “friendship” with him over the last year and a half or so... Cas tried to give Dean peace when all Dean had ever fought for was freedom. Cas has done all of this just to keep Dean safe, and Dean never asked for ANY of it. And with the situations that Cas’s choices have brought down on all of them, Dean’s got no peace anyway. Ask him any day, and Dean will ALWAYS choose freedom. Which means not being lied to, not being betrayed, not having his choices taken away from him in the name of some false sense of peace (helloooo “paradise” parallel).

Balthazar agrees to take Sam and Dean to where Lisa and Ben are being held, and the rescue mission goes sideways when Lisa is possessed by a demon. Cas suspects where the Winchesters learned their location and confronts Balthazar. Rachel uncovered his true plan in 6.18, and Cas killed her for it. Balthazar discovered his true plan here, and Cas killed him for it. But he was unwilling to kill Sam and Dean. He’d done all of this to protect Dean in the first place, but the deeper he dug, the more danger he’d inadvertently heaped on them.

He offers Dean the only sort of “peace” he has left, wiping Lisa and Ben’s memories of Dean. THIS IS POSSIBLY THE WORST THING EVER. OMG. This is the lengths Cas was willing to go to in order to give Dean that peace...

**6.22: And the piece de resistance. The crowning moment of Cas’s utter downfall. He broke Sam’s wall in a last-ditch effort to MAKE Dean stand down and let him crack Purgatory. He helped Crowley torture Eleanor Visyak for the information on the ritual to break into Purgatory. He then breaks his deal with Crowley. Crowley returns having made a deal with Raphael, but it’s too late. Cas has already done the ritual, gained the power of the Purgatory souls, and explodes Raphael. Crowley flees. Dean begs Cas to put the souls back now that he’s defeated Raphael, and Cas refuses (because he’s really really not entirely himself with not only all the monster souls inside him, but the Leviathan as well...).

BONUS: *7.01: Even DEATH tells Cas he’s a walking time bomb, and that he MUST return the souls. HE LITERALLY MOVES THE DAMN MOON TO MAKE IT POSSIBLE. Cas rapidly loses control under the influence of all that power and FINALLY comes when Sam, EVEN SUFFERING WITH HIS BROKEN WALL, prays to Cas, “Hey, Castiel. Um... Maybe this is pointless. Look... I don't know if any part of you even cares, but, um, I still think you're one of us, deep down. I mean, way, way, way off the reservation, but... Look, we still have till dawn to stop this. Let us help. Please.”

SAM was the one, after EVERYTHING, who begged Cas to let them help him, and he finally did admit he needed help. In those few minutes between returning the souls and the Leviathan taking over, Cas’s only concern was admitting his guilt, admitting to Dean that he’d been wrong, and repeatedly assuring Dean that he would find some way to redeem himself. And then it’s too late...

Now that we’ve covered all the stubbed toes and papercuts that Cas was summoned to fix for no reason in s6, lets take a brief look at the sorts of things Sam and Dean dealt with on their own, without summoning an angelic assist:

6.01: After a year at Lisa’s, desperately trying to research a way to save Sam from Hell and trying to live up to Sam’s dying wish for him, a group of djinn shows up and targets Dean. He learns that Sam’s been alive for a year and neither Sam nor Bobby bothered to tell him.

6.02: Sam calls Dean for help while he’s working a shapeshifter case and finds himself saddled with a baby... who turns out to be a baby shapeshifter. When Daddy Shapeshifter comes knocking looking for his baby, and none of the standard weapons work on the Alpha, things go very very sideways very very fast. Still, they don’t call for Cas.

6.04: The monsters are all out of whack, but Bobby’s trying to reclaim his soul from the “loan” he’d made to Crowley in order to get Death’s location in order to stop the Apocalypse. Dean is equally concerned about what the heck’s wrong with Sam, but they help Bobby find Crowley’s bones and hold them for ransom until Crowley releases Bobby’s soul. Funny they didn’t even need an angelic assist on any of that...

6.05: DEAN IS LITERALLY TURNED INTO A VAMPIRE. Kinda a little bit worse than a paper cut. Didn’t bother to phone Cas up for a quick healing.

6.08: Pressed into Crowley’s employ, thinking Crowley’s still got Sam’s soul, they discover the packs of skinwalkers that have infiltrated towns across the country and are growing in numbers. They kill this town’s pack, but the threat that there are more hidden everywhere looms large. Apparently that’s not something they think Cas needs to help with.

6.09: Dean is literally abducted by fairies and taken to a faerie realm. When he escapes, they set a Red Cap after him, while Sam has to find the banishing spell to send the faeries all back to their realm before they can kill Dean. Even soulless, Sam pulls it off without having to call Cas for help.

6.11: Dean bargains with Death, desperate to retrieve Sam’s soul and tired of being at Crowley’s mercy and getting no help from Cas or anyone else on how to help Sam. He learns a bit about Cosmic Consequences, and Death gives him a vaguely unhelpful warning about the dangerous road Cas is going down and hints that it’s about the Souls. Meanwhile, Sam is desperate to keep his soul from being returned, and gets advice from Balthazar that leads him to attempt to kill Bobby. None of this is apparently alarming enough for anyone to consider giving Cas a quick lil shoutout.

6.13: Against everyone’s advice, Sam starts “scratching the wall,” and uncovering memories of his soulless year. We learn some of the horrifying things he did (Sam’s horrified, Dean’s horrified, we see Samuel was horrified, the audience was horrified by giant spider people...), and still they don’t need Cas for this one.

6.14: ehhhh, a simple salt and burn... kinda-sorta... even when everything goes sideways, Dean nearly gets run down by his own ghost-possessed sex doll car, and the haunted item in question is a woman’s transplanted kidney that her sister’s still using, they don’t think to call Cas to maybe help deal with the haunted kidney situation. In this case, it may actually have saved said woman’s life, but whatever. They couldn’t have known until it was too late anyway.

6.16: The monster situation is coming to a head, leaving a trail of victims so obvious that MULTIPLE hunters independently converge on Eve’s location, almost as if they’ve all been lured there like the “victims” in a certain Agatha Christie novel... ANYWAY, they find themselves trapped in a situation where it’s impossible to know who’s possessed by the monster worm, when calling Cas could’ve solved all their problems with a quick lil boop-n-smite, but no. They deal with Eve’s special monster spawn on their own, losing Samuel, Gwen, and Rufus along the way. *cue horrific guilt*

For anyone who is still somehow confused about season six, this is why our tongue-in-cheek tag for the season is “we don’t talk about season six.” Not because we shouldn’t talk about it, but because nothing was beautiful and everything hurt.

Cas proved to be the season’s true Big Bad. But it wasn’t because he set out on some evil plot to ruin everything. It all started for one simple reason: Dean had lost almost everything to give the entire world freedom, and Cas wanted to give him peace as well. That conversation at the end of 5.22, “Which would you rather have, peace or freedom?” Cas realized in that moment that in winning for Free Will and stopping the apocalypse, Dean would never have peace, and in trying to save the one tiny bit of peace Dean did have, he nearly destroyed the world again anyway...

Yes, Cas’s plan “worked.” Raphael died. The second apocalypse was averted. BUT AT WHAT COST?! *cue the Leviathan and a fate at least as devastating as the apocalypse* So no, it really wasn’t a win. Cas hasn’t won. He hadn’t been right. He’d ignored every warning sign begging him to turn back, begging him to stop (and not just from Dean-- from Balthazar, Rachel, Atropos, and even Death). All because he’d fallen so deep and painted himself into that corner, all because he didn’t go to Dean way back when on that day he watched him raking leaves. And then he was too afraid and too ashamed of everything he’d done along the way to turn back, to ask for Dean’s help, to even tell Dean what was really going on and just how bad the situation was.

Who knows if they could’ve found another way. Maybe there really wasn’t another way. But at that point it was moot. Dean (and Sam) had given him endless opportunities to help him, or even just to listen to what he was going through and offer their support, and at every turn he chose to lie to them, to betray their trust to ignore them when they called on him, and to hide from them. All in the name of doing everything to protect them both, to keep them safe. Which (by the time he broke Sam’s wall) had been narrowed down to protecting Dean alone... all the while Dean never wanted Cas to sacrifice himself that way. Dean never wanted to be “protected” from Cas’s difficulties. He would’ve eagerly helped Cas, the same way Cas had always helped HIM.

Maybe we really need to start talking more about season six. Though I’m fine if we can all collectively ignore the spiders, the haunted kidney, and the weird dog episode. Aside from those, there’s a hell of a lot of important stuff that seems to have been conveniently forgotten or ignored that lays the groundwork for every bit of Cas’s personal growth that happens after his return in 7.17.

#we don't talk about season six #spn s6 #castiel winchester #oh DEAN #sam fucking winchester #crowley #the scheherazade of supernatural #because this is really and truly the beginning of that story #without all of this ^^ nothing that comes after really holds water #THIS IS WHAT MAKES IT ALL SOOOO WORTH IT #And why cas is STILL trying to get a win for dean and redeem himself to dean and why he spent a year in purgatory on the run #i was just gonna hold on to this post for a while but then i saw lizbob's long post from this morning and i thought this was relevant :P

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