#however; he did relapse. he shut himself off from the world again because that is the only way he knows how to cope with grief.

[devilatelier]

sesshomaru's arc in my sequel idea is... learning to overcome grief and opening up again. because rin's death would have certainly affected him. he opened up to allow a mortal into his life, raised her as a daughter and watched her live a full life.

she grew up and in turn allowed herself to forgive people and let them in too. it was wonderful.

but like all mortals, she couldn't escape death forever. so in time she did pass away from old age. and sesshomaru, who had never encountered grief in this way before, never fully recovered from that loss.

[whirlybirdwhat]

If you still do promts? How about Law getting a minor (big scare) relapse of His Amber lead problem?

I do!!!! Hope you enjoy <333

a mark of (not-quite) death

read on ao3!

Law wakes up aching.  

There is a throbbing in his back, a drum of pain running up his fingers, a blurriness in the back of his head that he can’t quite name, and a weakness that shakes in his limbs as he pushes himself upward.

He doesn’t want to open his eyes. The dull light of his sub – the soft humming of the machines – it’s all already too much. He wants to go back to sleep.

Instinct tells him doing so will be his death –

Wait.

Law’s eyes flash open as his entire body starts shaking.

He hasn’t… hasn’t felt this way since he was 13 and running with Cora. He –

God.

No.

(Litanies of prayers flash through his mind, the same the nuns like to whisper over the children as they laid dying in bed. The lights of the hospital, the screams of agony, the white creeping up up up – his father shaking as he attached IV lines to his sister, the blood pooling on the streets –

No-)

It can’t be. Law got rid of it. He was the survivor. The only survivor, because of his thrice damned fruit.

His eyes look down, to where his hands are clenching the bunk he collapsed in late last night (after feeling off all day god he was a fool-), to where –

White splotches against tanned skin, spreading and rising in irregular shapes.

A relapse.

A relapse of Amber Lead Disease.

Law wants to laugh.

(Laugh, in the kind of laugh those who are about to die have. Laugh, not in the way of the indomitable D, but in the kind of way a sailor laughs in the face of a raging storm that he will not survive. Laugh, in the way that fools cry.)

Who knew it was possible?

Tears well up in his eyes as laughter chokes out past the tightening in his chest. He couldn’t die. Not yet.

Not when Doflamingo still lived.

His chest is getting tighter as he raises a shaky white splotched hand to his face, feeling the wetness there. His skin is rough, raised, god it already spread to his face?

He is going to die.

(Everything hurts.)

The world is going blurry at the edges, darkness creeping in, every limb aching and – Oh.

A sliver of thought breaks through the memories of pain and death and terror.

He needs to breathe.

Law takes a shuddering breath, pressing against his chest as if that would make his lungs work past the blinding panic in his mind.

It helps.

He takes another.

It helps more.

Another, and another, and another, until he is lying back in his too small bunk and looking up at the flickering lights.

Fuck, he thinks.

Fuck.

His eyes slip shut past the instinct ingrained in him from his days with Cora, and finally, finally, he falls back to a restless sleep.

-

Untellable time has passed when he finally drags himself out of bed, legs shaking beneath his weight. Kikoku is a helpful walking stick, his jeans an unhelpful hindrance, and his feet barefoot against the deck.

Bending down had hurt too much to put them on.

He makes his way, slowly, to the kitchen where most of the off-duty crew is, their chatter rising above the hum of engines and the lurching power of the sea.

Bepo –

Bepo is there.

Thank fuck.

He stumbles in and makes a bee-line towards his first mate, ignoring the cries of his crew (idiots – who told them they could care so much about him?) as he finally arrives in front of Bepo, shaking.

Bepo stares. “Captain?” His voice is soft.

Worried.

(The way it is after nightmares shake Law awake and all he can hear is the laughter of a mad tyrant echoing in his mind.)

Law stares back and carefully, carefully, slumps into Bepo’s arms.

(By the shouts of his crew, it’s not so carefully. It’s more the last legs of a starving man giving out.)

“Captain!” Bepo says, less questioning and more panicked and worried this time.

Law just shoves his face into his jacket and mumbles “I’m fine Bepo.” Half the words don’t make it out but it’s fine.

He’s fine.

Law is… Law is fine.

Shachi echoes from his right. “You don’t look fine captain.”

“Yeah!” Penguin chimes in. “You look like death warmed over.”

(He’s not fine)

Law shudders, and shakes his head. “I feel it,” He mutters, uncharacteristically open, and then moves on as Bepo lowers them bother down to the bench. “It’ll… It’ll pass. Just need to operate, that’s all.”

He can’t see it with his face shoved into Bepo’s warmth but he just knows everyone is sharing glances over his head. Especially Shachi and Penguin and Bepo. They knew him… they knew him when he just got over Amber Lead, operating out of his skin with cries of pain and little control over his devil fruit….

And little choice to not do it.

It’s always like this out at sea – out on open waters with a black flag overhead, or the intention to be one. Life or death.

Life or death.

(For so long, Law has intended to die.)

He sighs, further, as they finally sit down, the ache in his legs easing as Bepo allows him to slump into his side. A hot mug is shoved into his hands and lifted to his lips, shakily.

Coffee.

Sweet, just how he secretly likes it. Ikkaku then, the only person who knows how to get it just right, helping him drink.

(His eyes feel so heavy.)

There’s murmuring around him. Law closes it out, to focus on how the jumpsuit is soft on his raised and rash-ridden skin.

Someone moves Kikoku away from him, and he doesn’t move an inch. The worried voices pick up again.

Soon, someone shakes him.

“Captain.”

He’s so tired.

“Captain.”

This is, essentially, the second worst thing that could possibly happen to him. The first being Doflamingo dies before Law can spit in his face and say Fuck You.

“Captain!”

He should have just operated in his room. Why didn’t he do that?

“Law!”

Oh.

He’s a captain now.

That’s him.

He pushes himself off Bepo, and blinks wearily at his crew.

“Yeah – Yes?” He tries to pour irritation into his voice, but honestly – they are a crew, no matter how often he holds them at arms lengths. They know he’s not as prickly as he seems. They have seen him half drowned, drunk out of his mind, and on fifteen to many cups of Shachi’s special coffee.

They can see him sick.

(He’s so tired.)

Penguin peers into his face, his hat tipped up so that he can meet Law’s eyes clearly with his own. “What operation?”

The words come out of him slurred and tired.

“Amber Lead,” He says, and doesn’t miss how Clione in the corner takes a step back. “It’s… not contagious…” He slumps further into Bepo. “That was all a government ruse.”

Most of them are from the North Blue. Most of them have heard the stories – of Flevance, and how it burned to the ground, how its people were exterminated, how its people were contagious and it was good for the world that their disease wasn’t spread.

Most of his crew, however, don’t know that he’s the last survivor.

A hand drifts over his cheek, tapping gently on the raised, white skin, and Law is drawn back into reality.

“’M from Flevance. Last survivor. My fruit… my fruit cured me. Had to operate.” He says, dimly remembering it. “Now its back. Gotta….” His mother would be ashamed of how his voice was drooping. Slurring. There was a patient he had to tend to. Wait. He was the patient. He was so tired and even the coffee wasn’t helping. “Operate again.”

Dimly, he remembers how he wasn’t allowed to see the adults who had Amber Lead. They were always worse off than the children once the disease reached its peak. The body, too old to defend itself. The mind, old enough to understand eminent death. To understand that you were leaving everyone behind, because of an unavoidable fate, because you were born of Flevance and its greed.

Now, Law is aching as he did when he was a child in the last stages of the disease, and he feels… distant and all too close to the fact all at once. He’s tired, but he has survived this before.

Before, he was alone.

Now, he has a crew.

(And a dream, as horrible and revenge driven as it is, to kill the one who took everything else from him.)

A crew that is slowly pulling him out of his despair and into open arms.

Bepo is muttering with Shachi and Penguin, something about how did it set in so fast? And Island conditions? And large concentrations of ore and ocean depths and battles? But all of it is fading distantly.

A hand taps his cheek and pulls the cup from his hands. He tries to follow it, but he is quickly trapped by a large, fluffy orange arm.

“Sleep, Captain.” That’s Clione, stepping closer now. “You can operate when you’re coherent.”

He wants to snap at them, snap at all of them, that he’s a man and doesn’t need to be babied, he’s done this before and he’ll do it again, and he’s a trained doctor –

(Who trained all of them-)

-so he can decide when he needs to sleep but –

Bepo’s arm is soft. Comforting. Familiar.

(He tried to find Cora’s coat after he was killed. He couldn’t. He missed the warmth of smoky black faux feathers. He had no comfort then, when he was digging into his skin with shaky powers and a stolen knife.)

Law falls to sleep, surrounded by crew, and hopes he’ll wake to see morning light.

-

There is none when he wakes. Instead, there is a heavy pressure on his right, crushing him, almost gently, against a large, soft, bodily shaped lump.

For a moment, with the shaking in his limbs, Law thinks he is in Flevance again, hiding amongst the bodies of his dead neighbors and friends to get a chance at life.

His heart races, before Bepo lets out a familiar snore and Shachi slaps at his cheeks.

Ah.

He’s not in Flevance.

He’s home.

(Usually, he would correct himself and say The Polar Tang. Not today. Today he is tired.)

He looks across the room.  They are still in the kitchen, the crew merely moving around him instead of moving him, the idiots. The lights are dimmed, and it seems to be only Bepo and Shachi in the room. A blanket is pulled around him, and his sword leaned against the wall.

He gives a sigh. Someone had even grabbed his hat for him.

(He wants his hat. His father had given it to him. He wants his hat.)

His eyes drift, still tired, but the aching in his limbs has abated for now. It’s time to move, before he’s lost again in pain and memories.

Law pushes at Bepo and Shachi, shoving both off of him in a spur of strength, before standing up.

“Captain!” Bepo cries happily, undeterred from his harsh wake up. On the ground, Shachi rubs his head but doesn’t complain. “You’re awake! Is your head better? Is your body better? Are you okay? Do you need water? Food? Wait maybe don’t’- “

The world spins as Law stands up, but he still manages to grit out a “Bepo!” that shuts the bear up quick. He feels bad for it, but at least the questions are stopped.

“Help me to the operating room.”

Shachi gives him a look even as Law refuses to wait for them to help him across the room to grab his sword. “Are you sure you’re ready to operate?”

Law gives him a look as he grips Kikoku, Bepo helping up his other arm. “If I don’t operate now, I won’t be able to later. If I don’t operate later, I’m going to fucking die.” The clarity in this threat and his voice seems to stir Shachi into opening the doors for them to go through, Law’s feet getting heavier with every step.

“Amber Lead, huh?” Shachi questions quietly.

Law lets out a breath. “Yeah.”

“That’s what you were recovering from when we first met, right? With the white splotches?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re back now.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought they were gone forever.”

Law sighs again. “Me too,” he says, and that’s the end of the conversation. It’s silent then, as they pad through the ship to the operating room. The rest of the crew must know by now, because they don’t question it when Law limps quietly throughout the sub. They only nod, and give him worried looks.

His crew is a crew of fools.

(He wouldn’t trade them for the world.)

The operating room is already open when Law arrives.

(He can barely stand. His legs ache. He bets if he rolled up his pants, his legs would be near entirely white, the disease setting in quick. He hates this. He hates this.)

“Captain!” Penguin cheers from the corner where he is cleaning Law’s favorite sets of scalpels and has a chair set up. “Everything’s ready for when you need it! Didn’t know what exactly you needed, so I got everything that seemed reasonable.”

A part of Law softens at that, though his face hurts to twitch into smile. “Thank you, Peng,” He says, quiet, and with Bepo’s help eases himself into a chair. He sighs and gestures for the tray scalpels Penguin rolls over.

He’s practiced this kind of removal before, on albeit unwilling patients. They were thankful after, but never quite liked it when Law opened them up.

They felt no pain, thanks to the Ope-Ope fruits natural anesthetics, but removing things buried into your skin by what appears to be magical scalpels is never fun.

(It was funny to Law. He was always sadistic like that.)

He picks up a scalpel, gestures for his crew to back away, and then says, very carefully, “Room.”

His crew stares, but then the pieces come together when his eyes lock on Bepo and he says “Shambles.”

In an instant, his head is switched with the air above Bepo’s palms.

Bepo screams, only a bit, but it gives Law the perspective he needs to make this surgery.

His body is trembling before him, Law already feeling the strain from using his devil fruit. Splotches run up his arms from where his sleeves are rolled up, the hoodie dipping just a bit to reveal the splotches on his neck as well. When Law glances into the mirror on the tray, he pauses, for just a moment.

The spots make him seem… hollow. As if he were only a frame of the person he wanted to be. They fill his cheeks and nose, distorting over his forehead, like a skeleton made of flesh and empty spaces.

He looks tired.

(He always looks tired.)

He looks like death.

(A part of him laughs at that. The Surgeon of Death, looking like death warmed over? Irony at its finest.)

He blinks his eyes closed and opens them quickly. If he doesn’t act soon, he’ll be death.

He watches his arms lift in front of him, and mutters “Scan.”

His body lights up in shades of vibrant blue, making his spots glow where they are raised above the skin. Law looks closer, his fingers twirling in the air, till it is as if he can see the innermost parts of his body.

There.

The core of all his trouble, nestled right next to his lungs. A part of the Amber Lead he missed when he didn’t know that Scan was an ability he had with his fruit. A part that grew and grew and grew, and seemed to have been suddenly exacerbated by the climate of the Grand Line.

The only surprising part is that it took till now for it happen.

“Peng. Shach.” He says, straining, speaking odd when your mouth is in one area of the room and your voice box in another. “Get the infectious substance containers.”

Penguin looks alarmed. “Thought you said it wasn’t contagious?”

“Yes.” He responds. “It isn’t. But it is toxic, and this is the closest containment system we have. Get it.”

Penguin gives a snappy salute, and then he and Shachi are running out the door, leaving Bepo and Law’s disembodied head, and his body in the room.

Law sighs, neck leaning back so his head rests on Bepo’s chest. To Bepo’s merit, he only shifts his hold on Law.

A moment, and Bepo shifts his grip again so that one paw is patting Law’s head. IF his body were not so weak he would have strangled Bepo.

(It feels nice. He won’t let him know that.)

“Bepo.” He growls.

“Sorry!” Bepo yelps, but doesn’t stop dragging his fingers through Law’s hair, gentle and calm.

Law doesn’t scold him again, and instead fights the urge to sink into sleep by examining his body further.

His chest tightens when he realizes how much it had spread – all because Law didn’t bother to check up his body earlier. God.

He would have died if he didn’t have his fruit.

If Cora hadn’t…

The operating room door slamming open distracts him from his thoughts.

“We got it!” Shachi and Penguin cheer, rolling over two large glass and plastic and metal containers.

(Law new the destructions of diseases. He filched the best containment for his own ship.

Like hell he would let Flevance happen again.)

Law nods the best he can without a body, and across the room, his body raises its arms.

“Scan,” He says, one more time to be sure. When it all lights up again, he closes his eyes and breathes out.

One second.

Two.

He breathes in, and opens his eyes.

“Room,” He says, and the operating room becomes his. His eyes flash to the air inside the empty cases and –

“Shambles.”

The blue disappears from his eyes, from his body, from his face, the aches disappearing, in a snap from his skin, and into the containers already sealed shut. His fingers twitch, another muttered Shambles, and his head is securely on his body.

The world blurs in front of him.

Fuck.

He’s so tired.

So, so tired.

He lays back, melting against the chair, and doesn’t protest as Bepo lifts him up.

“You’re alright captain. You’re alright.”

As his hat is placed on his head, white splotches slowly fading from his hands in itchy waves, he honestly thinks he might be.

His eyes shut and to worried murmurs, he falls unconscious, operation over.

(His parents would be ashamed of how he didn’t check to make sure the patient was recovering right.

Wait.

He’s the patient.

Fuck.)

-

Law wakes without aching, without wanting to laugh, Bepo wrapped around him again and his favorite food on a tray beside him. When he looks in the mirror, only two splotches of white remain near his eyes, fading as he watches. Someone has washed his hair and scrubbed the other flakes of white on cheeks away with tender care, and a blanket is wrapped carefully around him. This time, Law doesn’t panic. This time, Law goes to goes back to sleep on purpose, smile gracing his features.

His crew is a crew of fools but fuck, if Law doesn’t love them. They keep him alive.

Law won’t die now.

Not yet.

And not from his past.

[91percentpynch]

if the world was ending - kevaaron au pt 6

we‘re slowly getting our happy ending i think? anyways shout out to the guys who sticked around ever since part one and encouraged me to publish the parts!! hope you enjoy this one as well! stay hydrated, eat something, feel hugged (or take a finger heart if you don‘t like physical contact) and know that i love you!! also this one‘s out of aaron‘s pov!!

the song of this part is if the world was ending by julia michaels and jp saxe

check this out for part 1-5

Aaron only planned to get to his dealer that night, just wanted the voices to stop, just wanted the feeling of numbness again

What he didn‘t want was landing in the hospital, but when did anything ever work out the way he wanted?

So when he was on the way to his dealer, tears clouding his vision, he didn‘t see the stop sign. He didn‘t notice the truck. And that was how a truck landed in the passenger side of his car, Aaron losing consciousness and somehow waking up in the ER of Chicago Hospital

„We called your emergency contact, they said they would come as soon as possible honey“, a nurse told him.

What they apparently did not know was that his emergency contact was Nicky, who left him for Germany.

Aaron wasn‘t mad. He got it. Nicky gave up so much for him and Andrew, never getting the love he deserved, he did his best.

Plus Nicky would probably call Andrew his way so he wasn‘t alone until he got the first possible flight to sit by his side for a few days before returning to his picture book perfect family.

Aaron wasn‘t mad. He really wasn‘t. He just missed his cousin. The only constant in his life, the only good part in his family.

Having a twin brother is pretty nice as well - in theory as well. Until said twin brother refuses to talk to you. Until said twin brother chooses his stupid boyfriend over you. Until you realize said twin brother doesn‘t care about you.

But Aaron couldn‘t blame him. He wasn‘t interesting enough for anyone to care about.

Aaron slipped in and out of consciousness

„I can‘t get morphime, I‘m an addict“, he said in one of his moments of consciousness. Not that he would particulary mind getting morphime, he wanted to get high after all, but Kevin‘s stupid little voice wouldn‘t let him go. „Why do you only call me when you‘re high Aaron?“, Kevin‘s face when he came to see him earlier, the day they decided to go to rehab together as friends and it ended up as them falling in love

„That‘s alright honey, we got you“, the nurse replied.

The next time Aaron woke up after that was in a white room, alone in an uncomfortable bed. Alone with his thoughts because Nicky wouldn‘t be here for at least another day. His brother was somewhere with Josten. The only person he really wanted to see refused to talk to him. Which is understandable to be fair.

Taylor, fuck he needed to tell her where he was.

Aaron was just about to look for his phone when someone kicked his door open, hurriedly crossing the room to be close to him.

Slowly Aaron raised his eyes, looking who it was. Kevin fucking Day was in his fucking room.

„You fucking idiot, what have you done?“, Kevin was close to tears, for whatever reason. Obviously not for Aaron, right?

„I don‘t need your fucking pity“, Aaron replied, shutting himself down, it was safer that way.

„Did you tell them you can‘t have morphine? Because you might relapse, i mean you already did but we don‘t want it to get worse. And this is not pity, this is Nicky yelling at me in Spanish cause you‘re in the hospital and he‘s in Germany and I‘m the closest to you and he does not want his son to be alone“, Day ever so unimpressed by Aaron‘s walls replied.

Nicky worrying about Aaron that much made the blonde feel warm inside, important, loved.

Nonetheless Aaron couldn‘t stop thinking about the person that didn‘t care to show up.

„Andrew didn‘t care to come, did he?“, Aaron‘s voice was barely audible as he hid his face in his pillow, in case those traitous tears made their way down his cheeks.

„Andrw does care about you, he‘s just shit at showing it, that fucking asshole“, Kevin replied in a soft voice, Irish accent slightly audible, the voice he used when he‘s about to be emotional or scared or mad or overall feeling strongly. „C‘mon what have you done Minyard?“

Was that worry in his voice? Could it be that he actually cared? No, no that couldn‘t be. Not when refused to talk to him.

„Car accident, not that its any of your fucking business“, Aaron replied, trying his hardest to sound as if he didn‘t care that Kevin was there with him, trying to push Kevin away, to protect his heart from another rejection.

„How are you?“, Kevin said, his Irish accent becoming a little stronger, voice thick with worry. Worry? Why would he worry about Aaron?

„Fucking great, I should let a truck drive into me more often. Very freeing. Very calming“, Aaron answered sarcastically, looking anywhere but Kevin‘s smaragd green eyes, maybe even the green of the lake they used to go in rehab, in the fluroscent light of the hospital.

„A truck. Drove into you?“, the Irish accent was now so strong Aaron could barely make out the words.

Aaron couldn‘t take it anymore, he turned around. Maybe Kevin would take the hint that he wasn‘t able to be close to him, not without being hurt, not without feeling empty. „Not that you would care“, he said, voice barely more than a breath against the pillow.

„Aaron first of all I can see you naked ass and not that I wouldn‘t mind the view and I‘ve seen it often enough but the nurses don‘t have to see that too. And secondly of course I care. I always did. Always will“

Something about Kevin mentioning Aaron‘s naked ass made the blonde boy blush as he turned back towards Kevin. Aaron didn‘t even notice that those strangers undressed him. That made him feel slightly uncomfortable.

„Why wouldn‘t you listen to me if you care so much? You‘re exactly like like Andrew, you guys only ever care when I‘m about to die or do something that doesn‘t sit right with you. Never about me as a person. The conecept about me maybe, but me? Me as a person? No one cares about that“, Aaron replied to the earlier statement, because he wanted to hurt Kevin, wanted the other boy to leave him just like the rest, just like he deserved. Aaron didn‘t need empty promises and lies - God know he had enough of those in his miserable life. Aaron didn‘t need pity or words of comfort or kindness. Aaron didn‘t need Kevin Day. Unless he did.

„You are Aaron Minyard. Born on the 4th of November, 8:31:45 am. You grew up in California in the house next to Nicky. Nicky and you were always close and you didn‘t have many friends because of your mom. Your mom might have abused her and I might hate her for that but you still love her and I get that because on some fucked up level I still care about Riko. You are allergic to cats, peanuts and house dust. You have a freckle right on your right hip, under your navel, from under your left eye over to the nose to the corner of your right eye. You like it when you are hold when you can‘t sleep but you hate showing affection in public. You were 13 when you started exy, because it gave you an escape, but you had to stop because the bruises from your mother‘s beating got to obvious. So you started getting into medicine. You borrowed every single book on medicine you could find and read it at night, always hidden from your mom. You had to have straight As or the beatings would be worse. Your mom did go out to have ice cream with you when it was especially bad. That‘s why you hate ice cream so much, especially vanillia because it was her favourite. Your secret hobby is skating. You feel free when you do it. You want to live at the coast, but not close to Cali, never back to Cali. You want Andrew to notice you and you hate how easily he let Neil in because obviously deserve it more and I get that. You tried drugs to escape, to see what was the appeal. Your uncle never helped you but he brainwashed you into believing he did. You grew up very religous and in an extraordinary homophobic household, you watched your cousin and only friend getting shipped away because he was different, not right, so you confinced yourself you were different. Heterosexual. When in reality you knew since you were 15 that you preferred guys. You liked girls as well. At least you thought but it‘s so much more complicated. Actually it isn‘t. You‘re asexual, you do however like the feeling of sex. You think the process is disgusting, but you still like the feeling. It has to be the right person though. It doesn‘t matter wether it‘s a boy or a girl or something else entierly, all that matters are the feelings the person makes you feel. It took you years to accept that you are not wrong, that you wouldn‘t have to go away like Nicky. You apologized to Nicky. You thought you had to be against their relationships, because that‘s what they made you believe. Old habits die hard. But you got over it and I am very proud of you. You sleep with a teddybear or with another person that cuddles you because the thought of being alone scares the living crap out of you. Your favourite flowers are sunflowers because yellow is a happy color. You hate sweets, you prefer salty snacks. You prefer coffee black, like your sould. You use sarcasm and humor as your coping mechanism. You stole my history books because you love history as well. You also love art but you don‘t think you are good enought to become an artist. You would love to work at Jean‘s studio but you are afraid to ask. You and Jean used to be friends but you cut him off and isolated yourself because your anxities and insecurities took over you again. Sometimes you have depressive episodes, in these you crave drugs more than normally. You want to stop it, you really do but somehow your brain tries to tell you you need it. You would love to have five dogs. An Irish Red Setter, an Irish Wolfhound, a poodle a big one though, a labrador and a golden retriever. You also want to adopt at least two kids. You don‘t want any child to go through what you had to go through or Andrew. So don‘t you dare tell me I never cared for you. Because I do. I listen when you tell me things. I remember every single time you came to me, black out drunk, crying and telling me you‘re worthless. Because every single time I wanted to tell you you aren‘t. You are a wonderful human being and I don‘t understand why I wasn‘t enough for you to stay but I will not let you tell me I never cared about you. Because that‘s some fucking bullshit“

Whatever Aaron expected to happen it certainly wasn‘t that. No one ever payed attention to him. No one ever listened to what he had to say. No one ever showed him that they cared about him. No one ever payed enough attention to him to see that he was worth their attention.

„You really did listen“, Aaron said, quietly, not able to put his feelings into words.

Aaron Minyared was never good with words. Causing pain with them? Yes. Sarcastic comments? Sure. But declearations of love? Or a simple thank you? Or really anything that would fit this situation? No, Aaron couldn‘t do that.

„Why wasn‘t I enough for you?“, the voice with tears, words hidden behind the strong Irish accent, was what made Aaron look up. Looking up into eyes the color of the lake they used to go to in their summer spend in the rehab clinic, tears falling down his beautiful cheeks, uncontrollable and messy.

„You? Not enough?“, Aaron whispered, eyes locked with the taller boy, „I was not enough. I was never enough. Not for my mother. Not for Katelyn. And certainly not for the Queen of Exy. I was never a good enough player, I was never a good enough student, I was never a good enough person. You deserve the best. Someone that loves Exy the way you do, someone as passionate and beautiful and strong as you. Not a burden. Not a no one like me. You deserve the sun, things that are bright and warm and beautiful. Not some broken, poor trailer trash. Not some drug addicted wannabe doctor. Some who can give you the love you need. Not someone struggeling to accept themselves. Not someon who can‘t even look at themselves accepting that they fell heads over heels in love with a man, struggeling to accept that, thinking someone will come and beat the shit out of them because it‘s the only thing you know. I don‘t understand the yearning, I don‘t understand the wanting, I don‘t understand the pain your absence causes me. Because I was never loved. Not properly. I mean sure I know Nicky loves me, but that‘s different. You deserves someone who‘s not too fucked up to be able to show love, not someone so fucked up they don‘t even understand the concept of love. You deserve somoene who can give you things. I can‘t offer you anything. Nothing. Nothing but a heart screaming your name. Nothing but a mind you reign. And I am so fucking sorry I ever left you without saying goodbye. I am so fucking sorry for being a coward. It was never because I stopped loving you. In the contrast. It was because there was not a single day where I thought I was good enough for you. There was not a single day the little voice in my head would shut up about how you are way to fucking good for me. You deserve so much more than I can offer you. So much more“, Aaron‘s voice broke at the last more.

„This was never your choice to make. I am a grown up fucked up man, I can decide who I can and will love very good on my own and I know you never wanted to hear it. But I chose you. I‘ve been falling in love with you ever since I met you. Started with a cute little crush. Ended up here“, Kevin said coming closer and closer to Aaron. „You talk about being so fucked up, well guess what? So am I. I am sick and tired of being seen as the Queen of Exy, of being reduced to Exy and my past alcohol problem. It‘s like I am nothing but the stick in my hand. I am nothing but the sport my mother invented. I am not even a human being anymore. At least that was what I was told. Until I met you. You and your stupid sarcatic remarks. The thougt of you seeing me was enough for me to keep trying to impress you somehow, make you see something worth keeping. But it was never enough. It would never be enough for someone to stay“

„Kevin Day. Born on the 22nd February 1986. Excuse me I don‘t know the exact time but about 7:15 pm. Your favourite color is red, not the Ravens red, the deep dark red of the Trojans because you associate it with Jeremy Knox and he was some kind of fucking sun in the nest. You had something with Jean in the nest. Riko that absolute fucking asshole somehow found out and tried to force you to do terrible things to Jean. But you couldn‘t do it. Not because you are weak like you like to think, no because you are kind and have heart of gold. I can‘t believe I just said that I want to vomit. Eww. Anyways you have massive self-esteem issues because you either think you‘re a walking failure or you have a god complex and there is no fucking in between and I love that about you. You have a constellation of freckles on your back and a little tattoo on your left hip. It‘s a little sun and a little moon on the right. Because you love the sun because it‘s bright and warm and you like that. The moon is far away, it‘s cold and lonely. The sun is your mother. You are the moon. Over your heart you have your mother‘s signature tatooted. Because she watches over you and unlike mine you actually can associate nice things with her. You want to move to Ireland once you retire. Because you want to be closer to your mom. You have your whole ass wedding planned already, because you love planning events like that. It‘s like your fucking secret superpower. You think cows are adorable and you want to pet one so badly. You are scared of chickens and swans and ducks. You are lactose intolerant and you have sport indicated asthma. You don‘t like when other people touch your arms and your back. You like forhead kisses. You like holding hands. You like showing affection, but not in public because you‘re scared what people think of you. You pretend to be arrogant and an asshole but it‘s all just walls around yourself to protect you. Secretly you just want someone to see right through it. Unlike me you do actually paint and you love photography. I know you rented a secret little atelier. Your favourite historical period is the 20th centuriy and you are oddly obsessed with eastern european and Irish history. You love horses. You love cows. You want to do horse riding once. You try so very hard to be more than just Exy. Hyperfixations are your coping mechanism. And spontaniously buying like 10 books. You love reading. You love tea. Your favourite genere is in fact not historical fiction but fantasy fiction based on history. You love rambling about random historical facts and I loved listening to it. You love soft kisses more than the hungry ones. You hate that people want you for your body, not your personality. You hate being sexualized. You hate being an object. You hate your title. But at the same time you love it. You just want to make your mother proud. And your dad. Right now you‘re wearing your mother‘s ring around your neck. Wymack found it somewhere and gave it to you. You haven‘t put it down ever since. You want to paint your nails because you think it looks pretty but you worry too much what people would think about you. You listen to classical music. You play the violin and the piano. You learned it at Palmetto somehow. You learned it because your mother used to play the fiddle, said it made her think of Ireland somehow, and when you were sad she played you some Irish lullabies on it. You love the Irish culture. You love Ireland. And your biggest dream is to get married on one of Ireland‘s cliffs. Because the ocean calms you down. Helps your anxiety. In summer your face is covered in freckles and not only your face. Oddly. You actually love swimming. Or sitting at the water. Looking at it. You collect books. You collect stones. You collect whatever you think is beautiful. You also like collecting shells. You hate to label yourself but you always preferred boys. There are days where you feel more feminie, days where you feel more masculine and days where you feel like neither. Today is a masculine day I see. Jeremy made you braclets when you

told him you were like him. You feel terrible about leaving Jean back but you also know that it was necessary. You are strong and beautiful and I know you canno see that and I know you don‘t want to hear that. You are more than your body. You are so much more. And the only reason I was stupid enough to leave you was because I thought I was not good enough. And an unhealthy amount of internalized homophobia. I just hear my mother‘s voice inside my head when I hold your hand or kiss you and I hate that. The moment I had to sleep without you the voices grew louder and it didn‘t even take a week before I had to find a dealer. I called you when I was high because the voides were silent. I called you when I was high because admitting that I missed you and that I need you was easier than. The two to four hours I slept were filled with you. In my dreams you were with me. You kissed me. You held me in these ridicously strong hands. You were with me and the world was okay. And when I woke up and you weren‘t here I just didn‘t want to get up. My grades got worse because I wasn‘t able to concentrate without you. Yes I am able to funciton without you, it was just nice to have something good in my life once. And yes I will be able to keep it up without you. A B or C here and there won‘t hurt too much. I will probably be able to become the neurologist I want to be. I will get through life. It will just not be the same. It will just be grey and black and white. With you I had colors“

„That was hard for you to say right?“, Kevin asked, tears still silently running down his cheeks.

Aaron nooded, watching as Kevin‘s face came closer and closer until he could feel his breath against his cheeks.

He was about to ask someone as a loud knock was on the door and the door was opened rather aggressivly, making Kevin get away quickly.

[redstainedsocks]

What’s in a name

Warnings: Torture, sensory deprivation, solitary confinement, electrocution/electroshock therapy, punishments, sadistic whumper, institutionalozed whump, memory loss, identity erasure, noncon drugging, drugs that cause memory loss, hallucinations, brutal treatment, brief beating and manhandling, box boy universe, dehumanization, denial of food

Set during Kit’s training period. I originally wrote this for escape!week and the prompt “relapse” but it didn’t seem right for the tone of that week, so I wrote something else for that and decided to post this on it’s own! Thanks especially to @castielamigos-whump-side-blog for being so enthusiastic about seeing more of Kit’s early time, gives me confidence that this is, hopefully, wanted :D. 

This one is particularly brutal, so heed the warnings, and if you don’t feel up to reading it I’m happy to give a quick rundown of the content to anyone who DMs me. But as it’s set in the past, nothing particularly plot relevant happens, so it can be skipped altogether.

This is the knock-off version of what WRU would do during training, if anyone is curious. The made up drugs for this universe that alter memory (among other things) still exist, and I’ve made use of them. Thanks and credit to the other writers in the box boy universe--especially @ashintheairlikesnow and @moose-teeth--for giving me lots of context for their procedures so I could learn the process and turn it into this non-WRU method. 

Tag List: @haro-whumps, @theycomeinthrees, @whumpthisway, @samanddeaninpanties, @teachunks, @draganies, @pepperonyscience, @whump-it, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @untilthepainstarts, @galaxywhump, @kiretto-laorentze, @lonesome--hunter @slaintetowhump @just-a-raccoon-with-wifi​

Word Count: 1.9k

He woke up one day and he just knew.

Maybe they’d let him sleep for too long. Maybe he hadn’t been on the right dose of the drugs. Maybe it had been too many days since his last round of the shocks and beatings that forced his mind to retreat into numb obedience.

Whatever the reason he knew, he remembered.

He used to have a name.

He didn't used to spend his days cowering in corners and obeying orders, looking up at the world from his knees, or on his back, or with eyes ringed with bruises. He didn’t used to be scared and exhausted all the time, just hoping to make it through the day without crying in front of a stranger.

He used to be a person.

And if he knew that, he could fight back. He knew the routines, the layouts, which guards were a softer touch. He just needed an opening, and he’d take it.

When the guard came down the row of cells and knocked their baton on the concrete wall dividing his cell from the next, called him pet and told him to get up—he refused. He curled tighter into the corner and balled his fists and ducked his head.

“I said up, trainee.”

“Not my name,” he growled out.

“What was that?”

“I said: that’s not my name, I have a name.”

“Do you now? Want to share with the class?”

He grit his teeth and glared. Just because he wanted to hold on to it and not tell this violently dangerous man, didn’t make it any less true.

The guard grinned.”That’s what I thought.” A radio crackled and the guard spoke into it. “Yeah, we’ve got a back-slider in row 4, yeah, being defiant again.”

A muffled voice spoke back.

“Will do, I’ll wait right here.”

He frowned, leant forward a little. No, this wasn’t right, when he disrespected them they’d come in and give him a beating, right there and then. And he’d decided he wasn’t going to cower, he was going to use it as an opportunity to get the upper hand. Shit, no, shit, he’d played his card too early.

Three more black-glad guards arrived, one man, and a woman. A trainer too, the mean one who had steel toed boots and a grey streak in his hair. They surveyed him and checked the chart hanging by his cell. He watched them all through the chain link as they talked about training methods, the pros and cons of every course of treatment while he got more nervous by the second.

“What is that you want, trainee?” The trainer asked eventually. “What were you hoping to achieve with this outburst? A little one on one time? Hoping to get more food, jonesing for the drugs we put in there? Come on, talk to me pet, what did that pea-sized brain think was going to happen here?”

“Nothing,” he snarled. “I don’t want anything from you, you can’t do this to me, to anyone! I want to… I want to go home, you have to let me leave.” He breathed hard through his nose and tried to quell the quiet voice that told him he didn’t remember where home was, that he had nowhere else to go. That was them talking; there had to be somewhere better than here.

“That doesn’t sound like something a good pet would say. And you’ve been such a good pet lately, you’re ruining your well behaved streak.”

“I’m not your pet, I’m not anybody's pet!”

The trainer smiled and it radiated such calculated hatred that it froze the blood in his veins. “Now we’re getting to the root of it.” The man gestured at him and turned to his colleagues. “He’s starting to think he gets to be a person.”

They all laughed, and he flinched. They sounded like hyenas, jackals, crows… all out for a piece of him, waiting to pick him apart and peck out his innards piece by piece by piece until there was nothing left but empty space.

“Right, okay. This has gone on long enough, throw him in the hole. We’ll see if that destroys these little illusions.”

His defiance wavered and he pitched forward onto his hands and knees as panic surged through him. The gate unlocked and they surrounded him, hands on his shoulders and in his hair, and batons swinging down on his back and legs. He fought, he fought with everything he had.

Like always, like every time before, it wasn’t enough.

“No! No, wait, please, please. Anything else, just, please, anything else.”

Maybe he was a person, but he wasn’t above begging. Not if it got him out of this.The hole was every trainee pet’s worst nightmare. He wouldn’t go there, he wouldn’t. He clawed at the walls, the metal doorframe, wrapped his fingers around the chain link at the front of his cell and clung until the wire fencing cut into his fingers. His blood made it slippery but he wouldn’t let go. One of them brought a baton down on his hands and he wailed. When they threatened to do it again, and break both his forearms, he finally let go.

****

The hole was nothing but a pitch black metal room. A storage container of some sort, or maybe just a large dumpster repurposed for the use. They would throw you in, slam the door shut, and then it was nothing but you and a black so deep you couldn’t see your own hands.

He slammed his body against the walls until his ears rang from the metallic clangs that reverberated around the room. He couldn’t do this again, the last time… he’d gone half mad.

He wouldn’t cry, the fear was too big to cry. It was larger than his tear ducts and it couldn’t get out that way. He couldn’t risk the loss of the moisture in any case. He had two bottles of water to last him for… however long they planned to leave him.

He paced for a while, one hand on the wall to keep himself steady in the dark. Four steps, five steps, four steps, two steps—cross the door—two more steps. Around and around.

The worst thing about the Hole was the conductive metal. It heated up so much during the day that by the afternoon it hurt to touch the walls and floor. It became so overheated that it felt like the air was sizzling, too thick to enter his lungs properly, pressing on his head until he felt like he’d burst. He laid on his back, tried to keep his bare legs and arms off the floor, so the barrier of his shirt and shorts was between him and the metal. The black swam around him in dizzying eddies as he sweltered and sweated.

Sebastian. Seb. Bas. Sebastian Rogers. That’s me, that’s me, that’s who I am. They’re punishing me just for remembering.

The dark and the heat made his angry behaviour seem even more pitiful. He could have just kept his name to himself, and done what they asked, and he wouldn’t be in this mess.

Relapse, they’d called it as they talked to each other. So he just had to get better again and then they’d let him out.

Getting better probably meant forgetting, letting it go. He wouldn’t let it go, he’d just tuck it safely away where no-one else could touch it. He’d just pretend, and they’d let him go back to his cell.

The day passed and he waited in trepidation for the night. For the temperature to drop until the walls felt like ice, instead of fire. In the few hours in between too hot and too cold he drank some water, and chose a corner to piss in, and then curled up and tried to conserve body heat.

There wouldn’t be much chance to sleep except in the dusk and early morning, when it was neither too hot, nor too cold. He tried, but it wouldn’t come, there was a buzzing below his skin that wouldn’t quit.

Probably something in the water.

He did cry then, a few dry-heaving sobs that turned to yelling, and more pounding on the door. The silence and stillness were deafening. He tap-tap-tapped on the floor just to hear something. Tapped the syllables of his name until it started to sound annoying and repetitive and he stopped.

He drummed out random beats and whimpered and groaned as he started to see white and colourful spots appear in the dark. They’d coalesce into other things before long, and he didn’t want to see; he pressed his hands over his eyes so that he wouldn’t.

Two cycles of day and night—blistering heat followed by icy cold— passed before they came for him, and he was delirious and grateful. Ready to lie and say he didn’t want a name at all, they could take it, he wouldn’t fight. He was willing to do whatever it took. But they didn't give him chance. They strapped him down in the treatment room and attached little nodes to his head and his body and forced round after round of shocks through his system. Pumped electricity into his brain and his nerves in concentrated shocks that made him disoriented and forgetful, stole his memory of where he was and why, for long minutes at a time.

After that he realised that they weren’t giving him a choice, they would take his unruly behaviour from him, not offer him the chance to give it up—they would make him good.

They dumped him back in the Hole, with fresh water, two packets of insubstantial food-paste, and the urine cleaned out. Still trembling from the aftershocks he crawled into a corner and clung to his meager rations. The water tasted funny, and he sipped it knowing it would mix with the shocks and do more strange things to his memories.

Mind warped and body aching, he curled up and tried to remember what had got him in so much trouble in the first place. Something about a name…a person with a name that he wasn't supposed to know.

It barely mattered whose it was, he wished he'd never thought of it all.

Sebastian wasn't worth this. Nothing was worth this.

Twice more he went through the same routine—two days—shocks—two days. Memories obliterated until he was empty headed and dizzy and so very, very sorry.

When they finally dragged him limp and mostly unresponsive from the darkness, he waved weakly to the hallucinations that he left behind.

He was better, he would be better. They asked and he grovelled for the chance to prove it. He’d messed up so badly, but he’d do better. His mouth wouldn’t form real words, just mumbles and groans from a parched throat and numb, swollen lips that he’d bitten to keep from screaming in the void of the Hole.

It didn’t seem to bother them that he was incoherent, that he tried was enough. He cried onto their boots, clinging with fingertips to the concrete so he wouldn’t slip away.

He left more than hallucinations in the dark. He left his defiance, his angry stubborn will. He left his identity, buried under hot stale air, where it would never be seen again. Left it to rot in the dark, where it never served him any good. Abandoned his old self, and knew he was better off for it.

He was a pet, would always be, had always been; he was nothing else, remembered nothing else. The darkness up ate his name so thoroughly, so completely, that he never even knew he’d offered it up to be devoured.

[my-fanfic-library]

Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [12]

Masterlist

~^*^~

You were frozen. Suspended by his grasp, chocking as the air left your lungs with no way of returning back to you. His nails had scraped the back of your neck. You wondered if you were bleeding.

“Shut it!” He bellowed.

Mustering up some strength, you kicked the door with your foot and the light was cut out. Dracula dropped you atop the dress. He slid back down the wall until he, too, was back on the ground. You could tell from the aura behind you that he was utterly furious.

Wait...

Was he... snarling...?

The nape of your neck where he had scratched you as he snatched you up... he had broken the skin. Droplets of blood were beading to the surface. The scent, the sight - they were consuming him. You pushed yourself up and threw your back against the wall. Your heart beat furiously against your chest. Fuck.

“Drac...” you spoke calmly, trying not to cry with the intense fear, “calm down, Drac...”

But he wasn’t Drac anymore. No, his eyes had bled to a crimson and his teeth had grown and sharpened in his mouth. He was looking at you both as if you were a meal, and yet also as though he was terrified himself.

“[First].” He breathed.

“It’s only a drop, Drac, you can control yourself.” Your voice wavered.

You had never seen him in his... prime (is that what it was even called? You didn’t know) before. The way his eyes ate you up all on their own: his mouth snarling and snapping at you, if he closed in he’d take a bite. You were shaking. When had tears started rolling down your cheeks?

“You smell so divine, [First]. Come closer, give me a taste of that sweet, sweet honey.” He cooed.

“No, Dracula.” You said firmly.

“Come on, [First]. Don’t deny me anymore, you sweet temptress. Give into me. Let me fill you with sweet dreams.”

“Dracula, please,” you begged, “get a grip of yourself!”

“Let. Me. IN!”

He lunged for you. You screamed, narrowly getting out of his way. He collided with the wall and the picture toppled down onto his head, the glass shattered and it clattered to the floor. You whispered as he turned his head to look at you. His lips curled as he bared his teeth. Was he always this animalistic? You had read accounts of him being oddly gentle when he devoured his victims. Why was he being so violent towards you?

You squeaked when he pushed himself away from the wall. And without thinking, you bounded up the stairs. He was right behind you. You could hear his footsteps. The rush of your blood filled your ears. The pounding of your heart hurt your chest. The sharp inhale and exhale of your breath stung your lungs.

Racing into the bedroom, you tried to slam the door, but he caught it. You cried out once more, tears streaming down your face. You didn’t want to die. Not like this.

Please, God, not like this.

You couldn’t hold him back and the door practically exploded open. You were flung back, toppling over your feet and landing on the floor with a thud. He prowled towards you. The back of your neck stung, but you pushed yourself up. You turned to rush to the window. He caught your waist. You struggled in his grasp. He threw you onto the bed face down. You felt him pin you down. You craned your head, to try and look at him. You were sobbing.

“Please,” you begged through your tears, “Drac, please don’t.” Your voice was hoarse.

He held you down. He was on top of you, legs straddling each of your thighs. He held your arms painfully behind your back and he bent down, just to get a whiff of your blood. It stung his nostrils in the most delicious way. Oh, how he had imagined it’s scent. It was so much more than he could have ever mustered up in his head. If it smelt this good, better than anyone else, how did it taste? How did you taste?

Beneath him, you whimpered but your utter submission to him only egged him on more. He vowed to himself that he would not sink his teeth in. Not you. Not now. Not like this when he was still upset with you. Not when you were upset with him.

You were shaking. He loved the way you trembled beneath him. The live flowing from you, the heat radiating from your body. Oh, how you gave it off - such radiance, such blossoming youth. He wanted to dive headfirst into it.

Keeping you pinned beneath him, he grinned. Those specs of red that had bloomed where he had accidentally been a little too rough with you. He hoped they wouldn’t scar you. But that red, the stench of life that filled his nostrils was intoxicating. He needed it. He needed it right now. He leaned forwards, and his tongue was a beautiful juxtaposition to the rest of him. It was hot. A low growl resonated from his chest and vibrates through your body. He gripped onto you tight. You were shaking beneath him as the taste of your blood exploded on his tongue. It was nothing like he had ever had before and it was only a couple of drops. Oh heavens above! How had he ever held himself back from this oasis? He couldn’t help but go again, flattening his tongue against your flesh, a little plasma mixing with the red, making it just a little sweeter. He hummed.

Below him, your tears had momentarily stopped. The feeling of his tongue, sending hot sparks up and down his spine was enough to render you motionless. It sent a fire down to the pit of your stomach and something swirled deep within.

For just a moment, you were okay with dying like this.

And then it was over. With all of the strength and will power he had, Dracula had pushed himself off of you and had turned to face away from you. You stilled. Then, the relief that washed off of you was so intense that you began to sob once more. You turned onto your back and sat up, looking at his back. He was panting.

When Dracula turned, his features had returned to normal except for the guilt-ridden terror that was evident. He had almost lost control with you. How the hell had he almost lost control?! He wanted to smash his head against a wall for being so weak. All of that, making you cry, for a few drops of your blood. They weren’t enough for him to see much into you. It was worth nothing except for the exquisite taste that lingered in his mouth.

He noticed the tears streaming down your face and slowly moved towards you. When you didn’t flinch, he sunk to his knees so that your head was merely a few inches above his own. He cupped your face with his hands. It was hot and your cheeks were flushed. He sighed.

“I am so sorry, darling...” he whispered.

Using the pads of his thumbs, he wiped away the tears. They continued to spill, however and he did truly feel a large pang of guilt. He hadn’t felt that for a long time...

However, despite the tears, you brought up one of your hands and layered it over his as you melted into his touch. It was much smaller, much warmer and had much more colour than his, but it seemed to fit perfectly. At the feeling, Dracula smiled softly and moved his hands down to your neck. He moved a little closer.

“Truly, I am so, so,” even closer, “very,” he placed a quick, chaste kiss to your cheek, “sorry.” He placed a kiss on your other cheek.

His eyes locked with yours, and you closed your eyes, which caused a few more tears to slip down your cheeks. Dracula begged for you to do anything but cry. He preferred any other look, the cocky sparkle in your eyes, the anger that he usually caused, the bright smiles. But not tears. Not when he had been the one to scare them out of you.

“Can you find it in your good, kind heart to forgive me?” He whispered.

“As long as you never scare me like that again...” your voice was broken and hoarse.

“You have my word.”

“Good... because it’s not like I have a choice... you’re the dangerous one here.” You laughed a little through the next couple of tears that came. Dracula’s mouth twitched.

“After the effect you’ve had on me recently, I’m starting to believe that you are the dangerous one, darling.” He smiled, and you giggled a little at his words, “sit back.”

As you shuffled back towards the head of the bed, he rose and made his way around the mattress. You shut your eyes and pressed your head against the headboard and sighed. The bed beside you shifted and Dracula wrapped an arm around you, bringing you into him. Your warmth radiated through him and he genuinely considered never letting you go. It was nice to be this close to somebody.

For a long while, you sat there in silence. Every now and then, you’d take a sharp, shaky breath and Dracula would look at you, waiting for you to burst into tears again. When you didn’t and showed no signs of relapsing into a crying-fit, he shifted his weight to look at you. Using his index finger, he tilted your head up to look at him. He inwardly sighed.

Your eyes were puffy and bloodshot, nose reddened and your lips swollen from the crying. How on earth had he let himself slip so far into blood-induced delirium was beyond him. Especially when it was you involved.

“Have you truly forgiven me?” He wondered.

“Yes...” you whispered.

“Would you like to prove it to me?” He inquired and you pulled away, turning more to look at him. Taking advantage of your confusion, he laced his fingers with yours.

“...how...?”

“Let me take you to a world of your wildest fantasies...”

You didn’t know what he meant and your mouth opened to say something. What could you say to that? There was a hundred and one things he could possibly say or do. Just what was he planning?

You took in a long, slow breath. You nodded.

His free hand came up to cup your face and his eyes scanned for your reaction. Your eyes had softened at the contact and he rubbed slow circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. Cocking his head only a little, he captured your lips with his own. You had maybe a second to relish in the feeling before you felt like you were falling and the world slipped away.

~^*^~

You inhaled sharply and when your eyes opened, you were standing in what appeared to be a wasteland of red. A thin sheen of water covered the ground and barren trees twisted up, bursting through the barrier and twisting off its branches at odd angles. It was hot. You turned a few times on your feet. It was just you. You shut your eyes once more.

“[First]...” the voice echoed and when you opened your eyes once more, there he was.

The love of your life, the person who had betrayed you. Smiling, like he had done in the past. He held his hand out for you. His eyes sparkled like they had done so many times before.

“Daniel...?” You whispered in confusion.

He simply continued to smile at you and you inwardly battled with yourself. Should you take his hand? Just as you reached out, a wind swept by your right and a head of tight raven curls that you knew so well. She moved past you, taking his hand instead and you felt your knees go weak like they had done that day when you had walked into the bedroom.

“Too late.” She shrugged and pulled him into a passionate and nothing less than steamy kiss. You turned away, breaths becoming rugged and tough to control. Their taunting whispers came from behind you, and you willed yourself not to look. When you couldn’t handle it anymore, and you did turn to look, a fog swirled around them, and they were whole as one right in front of you. Tears streamed down your face. You turned away once more.

Standing before you this side was your parents. They smiled at you. Their loving and warm smiles invited you in immediately. When you approached them, their faces twisted and contorted. They became angry and misshapen.

“You left us!” Your mother’s distorted voice snarled at you.

“I had to- I had to get away-“ you tried to explain, heart pounding. More tears streamed down your face.

“From your parents?” Your father cocked his head, however it cracked and bent at a 90° angle. You screamed.

You turned once more and found Jack. He was screaming at you to come to him. But he was so far away. So much farther away than the rest. You didn’t think twice. You began to sprint towards him, tears threading down your face as you disrupted the thin layer of water. The sounds of the moans of your ex-lover and ex-best friend and the twisted screams of betrayal from your parents grew as you neared Jack. When you were within feet of him, some invisible force knocked the wind out of him and he flew back. His body skidded. And just as it came to a stop, he was kicked sideways. Then pulled up and his head twisted 180°. You screamed once more.

The noise grew and grew and you collapsed to your knees. You clapped your hands over your ears, you squeezed your eyes shut.

Make it stop.

Make it stop.

Make it stop.

“[First].”

Everything cut off and you slowly let your hands drop. You opened your eyes and looked up, finding Dracula staring down at you. He helped you stand.

“Are you drinking my blood?” You inquired.

“No... the kiss of a vampire is a powerful thing. I did not expect such tragedy in your heart.” He admitted.

“Then... how is it possible for us to be here...?”

“I already drank your blood. That’s why.”

~^*^~

When your eyes fluttered open, you were back at home. Dracula scanned your face. Your eyes were glossed over. What the hell had just happened...?

“Are you alright?” He asked gently, “that was not the sweet dream I was hoping you’d have...”

“You underestimate... what I’ve been through...” you whispered.

“Come.”

He pulled you into him right into his chest. You breathed in his scent. You stayed like that for a moment or two. You had to admit that it was strange to be in someone’s embrace and to not hear their heartbeat.

After a moment passed, your eyes began to grow heavy and you shuffled your weight so that you could lie. Dracula followed suit, keeping you in his arms. He didn’t want to let you go. He knew that mortals needed comfort after traumatising events, and that sure as hell was traumatising - that he knew.

It only took another five or so minutes before you had fallen asleep in his arms.

When you awoke, it was late at night. Dracula had stayed with you, however he had chosen to leave you to sleep alone and was perched in your chair, tapping away on his phone. Your eyes burned. He didn’t notice that you had awoken, and so you simply rolled over and pretended to stay asleep.

You were still angry at him, after all, for milking Lucy of her life, bit by bit, instead of devouring her in one go.

Quite a while passed and you lay there, listening to his fingers tapping away. Every now and again he’d very quietly chuckle or exhale and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was messaging her. That hurt - just a little.

His feet all of a sudden carried him towards you and he stopped at the edge of the bed. His cool fingers slid across your face, pushing the stray lock that had fallen into your face a little while ago.

“I’ll see you in a few days, darling.” His voice was a low and hushed whisper.

Pressing a quick kiss to your temple, he then left. The light switched off and you rolled into your back. You sighed.

~^taglist^~

@vampiregirl1797 @avalanet @bunnyreese12 @nerdonpluto @teamceleries @grifffins @hitbythunder @winterseoul @mymagicsuitcase @angeli-fucking-cat @benedictethegoddess @bloodhon3yx @nifflersravenclaw @writteninthestars288 @labelladrama @frankcastlesgrunts @angelicdestieldemon @quakerlasss @aliisa-jones @wolverinexmenn @clairedragonessbaker @voidxngel @mitsukatsu @piratewhore @your-pixels-are-showing @tardisnesss @ladydovahkiin180 @catwomom @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes @th3rah @viper-queen @mephdcosplay @greghouse7 @faeprinces @kokoro-no-yami @trishaferdream @therealmoni @crazytxgradstudent @sansthelonelypunster @crowley-needs-a-hug @girlonfireice @wasntpriscilla @ivanna6026 @greeniemoon @blueinkblot @tefymorgan @misfitgirlwrites @lokiphan @newheart97 @middlespellman

[timeagainreviews]

The Chibnall Masterplan

Back in 2018 when the episode "The Ghost Monument," aired, we got our first mention of "The Timeless Child," as uttered by bog rolls floating above the Doctor’s head. My initial reaction to this was dread. In fact, I can even quote my reaction from the review I wrote- "I’ll be honest, I have zero interest in that storyline. It’s called Doctor Who, not Doctor Who was Once a Little Kid Known as the Timeless Child." I got all of that from a single line of seemingly throwaway dialogue. Two years later, it would appear that my first guess was the truth. It turns out that when the Master said "Everything you think you know is a lie," was a lie. Evidently, I knew all along.

If you follow this blog closely, you’ll know that my reaction to the Timeless Child storyline has softened over time. I went from not giving a damn, to being fairly excited. That is until last week’s episode sent me spiralling back into that initial sense of dread. Sadly, this is the energy I brought into tonight’s episode. As opposed to bracing for excitement, I was bracing for disappointment. This is unfortunate as I always try and temper my expectations. I, like the rest of you, would love to be surprised. Even if I am worried about the trajectory of an episode, I always try and keep an open mind. After all, Doctor Who is pretty great.

After last week’s episode, I expected this one to be jam-packed with exposition. Oddly though, this one suffered from its own heaping dose of fluff as well. Once again, the companions spend most of their time on the sidelines. Right away they kill off that Rose Tyler looking girl, so I guess she wasn’t important. Which is a lot of how the episode treats our human characters. We’re given a scene wherein Yaz and Graham have a heart to heart, leading us to believe one of them may be departing at the end of the episode. However, this expectation is subverted by instead having nothing happen. Like last week, Chibnall has opted toward writing hollow character development in place of plot. Because of this, the scenes with the companions felt more like distractions from the actual story.

We get more of this when Ryan, Ethan, and Ko Sharmus are fighting off Cybermen with the power of busywork. Ryan’s attitude toward weapons has shifted since "The Ghost Monument." His interaction with the Doctor has turned him into a bit of a pacifist. Much like Chibnall’s writing, Ko Sharmus muddies this philosophy for Ryan by convincing him to take up arms against the Cybermen. I expected this to play into Yaz and Graham’s conversation, which felt like a foreshadowing of death. Ryan might shoot one of them as they are dressed in their Cybermen disguises, leading him to regret breaking his pacifism. But none of that happens. While it would have been a bit cliched and overly dark to do such a thing, at least it would have been something.

The Master takes the Doctor into the portal to Gallifrey where they stand within the Time Lord citadel. The Master traps the Doctor in a device which may as well be named the Agency Stripper™, as that’s what it, and this episode does to her throughout most of its run. Using the Time Lord Matrix, he illustrates the story of the Time Lord’s origins. All the while in the real world, he invites Ashad, the Lone Cyberman to set up shop on Gallifrey.

The Master tells the Doctor the story about a Shobogan scientist named Tecteun. She was the first of her kind to achieve space flight, which is incredible when you consider the thousands of people that were necessary just to get humans to the moon. During her travels through space, she discovers an odd gateway containing a little girl. She takes this girl home and raises her as her own. During a freak accident, much like Brendan from last week, she falls off a cliff. Damn kids, always playing by rocky cliffsides. However, instead of dying, she regenerates.

Tecteun goes a bit mad scientist trying to unlock the secrets behind regeneration, leading her to do experiments on this timeless child. She even appears to force regenerations on her as well. Eventually, she unlocks the secret of regenerations and successfully uses it on herself. This establishes what would become Time Lord society. At this point, we’re now waiting for the Master to tell the Doctor exactly what we all know- that the Timeless Child is the Doctor. However, there was a moment when it almost seemed like the Master was going to say he was the Timeless Child, which honestly, I would have found far more compelling. It would have informed so much of the Master’s past actions, and his recent relapse in character development after Missy’s change of hearts.

Instead, I found myself rolling my eyes at this "big reveal." It really was that simple. The story I wrote in my head after a single line of dialogue is exactly what we got. We learn that the number of regenerations was placed upon future Time Lords, which is weird because Clara had to plead for the Time Lords to give the Eleventh Doctor more. I guess along with unlocking the secret to the Timeless Child’s regenerations, they were also able to limit their number. That or Chibnall didn’t even think about it.

When considering the wanton destruction of Gallifrey by the Master’s hand, you suspect whatever it was the Time Lords did to this child was heinous. And while, yes, forcing regenerations upon the kid is a bit cruel, they always looked serene (see: bored) while sitting there in Tecteun’s lab. I expected it to be something like Rassilon and Omega destroyed a child to harness her time travelling ability to create the first TARDIS. Turns out, that the thing that really pissed off the Master was knowing that he had a little bit of the Doctor inside of him. While the Master has always been a bit of a maniac, even this felt like a bit excessive.

Back on the Cybership, the humans have stowed themselves away in Cyberman armour. I rather liked this bit as it reminded me of the very first Dalek story where Ian hides away inside a Dalek carapace. While I feel like they could have done more with this, at least they were having a bit of fun. After saving Ryan, Ethan, and Ko Sharmus from the Cybermen, the humans make their way into the portal to Gallifrey. The Cybermen land above the Time Lord citadel where they hover above, ready to make Gallifrey their new home.

The Master does the Doctor dirty and leaves her inside the Matrix to fend for herself, while he goes off to broker a deal with Ashad. We find out that Ashad, with the guidance of the Cyberium coursing through his mind, has created a death particle capable of undoing all organic life in the universe. His big plan is to basically turn the Cybermen into robots, which much like the Master, I found boring. Thankfully the Master is always up to his dirty tricks as he kills Ashad and uses the Cyberium to create a race of Cyberman/Time Lords known as Cyber-Masters. I was a bit disappointed they weren’t called Cyber Lords. However, I suppose the Master naming them after himself is on-brand at least. After all, he did once make an entire planet’s population into himself.

The Doctor is now forced to deal with the new information she’s been given by the Master. She rejects it at first, but the imagery of Brendan in her mind keeps giving her cause to doubt. It’s then that she sees the Ruth Doctor who helps her through her identity crisis long enough to help her escape the Matrix. Her plan to escape is to basically run through every life in her mind until it shorts out and forces the Matrix to release her. This entire sequence is rather silly when you consider the Matrix holds the entire lives of countless other Time Lords. No matter how many lives she had before the First Doctor, it’s not more than the Matrix can handle. What’s even sillier is the way in which they shot it, which was basically by having Jodie Whittaker squeeze her eyes shut and wince while holding her head. I was reminded of hacking scenes in movies where they throw a montage of symbols over the scene to make up for the fact that we’re basically watching some guy on a computer.

The montage is what is really worth mentioning, as it touched upon quite a few things from the Doctor’s past. Some of these things have been mysteries from as far back as the Tom Baker era. I’m speaking of course about the Morbius Doctors. For those of you not in the know, the Morbius Doctors were a series of images projected from the Doctor’s mind during a battle of wits between the Fourth Doctor and an evil Time Lord named Morbius. I had always assumed they were Morbius’ previous regenerations, but many have speculated that they were versions of the Doctor from before William Hartnell. Well, it would appear that this age-old debate can now be put to rest- those were definitely images of the Doctor.

I’d be lying if the nerd in me doesn’t kind of love this. Like I said, I try and keep an open mind. It’s even easier when the concept of Doctors existing before the First Doctor has been around for rather a long time. Andrew Cartmel’s "masterplan," was to introduce the idea of "the Other," which would be a Time Lord on par with Rassilon and Omega that was eventually "cloned," in a  genetic loom into the First Doctor. However, the idea was paired back as it was decided the doing such a thing would reveal too much about the Doctor’s past, thus answering too much of the show’s central question- "Doctor Who?"

Was it too much? That’s really hard for me to say at this point. It’s a bit early to know for sure. It does certainly complicate things a bit. To paraphrase something Andrew Cartmel once said at a public appearance- these story elements are like barnacles on a ship. Each one of them attaches to the hull over time. They seem small at first, but they eventually begin to slow the ship down. Take the aforementioned regeneration limitation placed upon Time Lords back in 1976’s "The Deadly Assassin." While it worked for the story at the time, it gave Steven Moffat the unruly task of finding new ways for the Doctor to keep on regenerating. You’ll forgive the guy for not doing the Valeyard.

While the nerd in me does love that they touched upon some deep Doctor Who lore, part of me was also lamenting the introduction of so many new versions of the Doctor. I’ve got a special love for each incarnation of the Doctor. This is why I love the Eighth Doctor audios so much, as it gives us an even deeper understanding of his character, despite his limited screentime. Even the War Doctor was given the chance to develop. Where will the Ruth Doctor play into all of this? Why did she have a police box if she is pre-Hartnell? Is this “Division,” an actual division of the Timeless Child into multiple entities? Will we get to experience her Doctor in a deeper way that feels as fulfilling as the first Doctor of colour deserves? While I hold out some hope for her, what about the montage of children in Tecteun’s lab? Are we going to get comics and Big Finish audios starring some kid you saw for two seconds? (I kid, you know they will) On one hand, we see the first Asian Doctor, on the other hand, they don’t even get a speaking role. Even with so much being added to the Doctor’s history, I can’t help but feel slightly short-changed.

Speaking of short-changed, let’s talk about that ending. The Doctor’s plan actually works, releasing her from the Matrix’s hold, which oddly also releases her from the Agency Stripper™. Convenient! Her companions find her as she’s lying there unconscious. They managed to find her rather quickly considering the city is in ruins. Convenient! The Doctor finds Ashad’s death particle, which has been shrunk down by the Master’s tissue compression device. I’m not sure, but I think this is the reason the death particle is no longer a threat to the entire universe. It now only seems to pose a threat to the organic life on Gallifrey. Maybe this is because Gallifrey is still in its own pocket universe? Either way, it wasn’t very clear. The Doctor makes contact with the Master and pinpoints his location. Convenient! She calls him to the citadel like it was Friday Night Wrestling and they have their little showdown. I swear if they’d have started making out, I wouldn’t have batted an eye, those two.

After forcing her companions to stay behind on a TARDIS set for Earth, the Doctor heads back to have a final showdown with the Master. With the tiny Cyberman attached to an explosive device resembling a torch, the Doctor decides she must kill the Master and this new race of Cyber-Masters before they can kill all of humanity. Having the ability to regenerate, the only way to take these mechanoids down is with the death particle. This is a far cry from the Doctor we’ve seen in "Genesis of the Daleks," or even "Daleks Take Manhattan," where the Doctor would consider such things "genocide." However, the Doctor gets a total cop-out moment as Ko Sharmus shows up long enough to detonate the device himself. After very little prompting, the Doctor allows him to sacrifice himself as she flees.

This, for me at least, is a longstanding problem with Chris Chibnall’s morality. It’s the Thirteenth Doctor’s weird relationship with guns all over again. As if to prove Davros’ point from "Journey’s End," this Doctor feels all too comfortable with allowing others to do her dirty work. Imagine the scene from "The Day of the Doctor," when Clara is standing there looking of the Doctors about to collectively blow up Gallifrey. It’s as if when she said "I never pictured you doing it," instead of changing his mind, the Doctor would say "You know, you’re right. You do it!” There’s a kind of mean spirited morality lurking beneath Chibnall’s writing. Or as my friend Adro jokingly put it- "I would not want to be his S&M partner."

The Doctor sends her companions and the last humans in the galaxy back to the 21st century. Surely no bootstrap paradoxes will come from Yedlarmi or Ethan making future generations of their own ancestors. Time Lords have bigger things to worry about than time anomalies. Right? Oh right. Graham and Ravio still seem perfectly capable of continuing their relationship, so that’s at least something. I also highly doubt either of them are likely to sire any paradoxical offspring any time soon. Though they are still fully capable of raising the sheep that go on to start the Wooly Rebellion. After finding herself pleasantly surprised to be alive, the Doctor finds her way back to her own TARDIS. However, before she can scoop up her companions, she’s intercepted by an angry Judoon who arrests her and throws her into space jail. I imagine this has something to do with why the Ruth Doctor was a "Fugitive of the Judoon."

After all is said and done, it’s really hard to pin down exactly how I feel about this episode. I do applaud the bold move of expanding the Doctor’s canon to include previous regenerations. I’ve always said that Doctor Who does occasionally need a showrunner willing to put their neck on the line. For better or worse, John Nathan-Turner was great for doing exactly that. Sometimes it’s a good thing to shake things up, and really dust off the cobwebs. Though strangely, a lot of tonight’s episode was very non-committal. The Master could very well have been lying.  Gallifrey could also still very easily be restored by using the Matrix’s memory. I personally would appreciate that as I love both Romana and Leela. The idea of the two of them dead and eaten away by the death particle is rather distressing. While I liked watching Jodie get a bit snippy and knocking the Master to the ground, I feel like a she never got a moment to be the Doctor. Her “Aha!” moment was short-lived and not very clever. She spends most of the episode either locked up or feeling helpless.

Also, where the hell was Captain Jack? What the hell Chibnall? How are they going to just give us five minutes of John Barrowman? It seems weird to introduce him only to put it off until the next series. However, the most egregious of sins for "The Timeless Children," is how utterly predictable it all was. As I illustrated above, I was able to imagine the entire concept of the Timeless Child the very first time I heard it mentioned. I put no deep effort into it either. It seemed like the most obvious storyline. The same could be said about people’s Ruth theories. Some of which were even better. The only way in which the episode could have surprised me was by making the Master the Timeless Child. It was the one point where I really perked up and began to feel a real interest in the plot. But alas, no, they went the incredibly obvious route. This isn’t to say they won’t be able to do interesting things with this in the future. The issue I’m having is that if I am able to figure out the plot just by hearing a single line of dialogue, did I even need to watch it?

[igottoomuchwriting]

Why’d It Have to be Me? Chapter 2

First chapter here/Next Part

Dave and Klaus have been dating for eight months now. After their first date, Klaus had beamed at the fact that Dave had treated him the kindest that any boyfriend had. When he mentioned this to Dave, however, Dave was so upset that he had just hugged Klaus close for about two minutes, not wanting to let him go.

In the beginning of their relationship, Klaus visited Dave’s house once every week. He never wanted Dave to know that he had nowhere to stay, but he also wanted to see Dave as much as he could.

Sometimes Dave would want to stay at Klaus’s imaginary house that he made up at the bar, and Klaus would panic and come up with an excuse. He would say that his roommate had someone over, that his room was a mess and he didn’t want Dave to see that. Ben constantly gave him shit for it.

“You’re going to have to tell him one day,” he scolded. He and Klaus were sitting in an alleyway a good half mile away from Dave’s apartment. Klaus scoffed.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he commented, taking another pill.

“What he doesn’t know will hurt him!”

“What are you gonna do, tell him?” Klaus laughed. “Let me know when you do.”

Ben had never stopped pushing, but Klaus stopped listening. Soon, Klaus was staying at Dave’s more and more, until one night.

They were laying in bed late at night, Klaus laying on Dave’s chest with Dave’s arms wrapped around him. Except for their breathing, all was quiet.

“Move in with me,” Dave mumbled. It was quiet enough that if Klaus wanted to, he could pretend he didn’t hear it. Though, why would he do that?

Klaus lifted his head off of his chest to look Dave in the eye.

“What?” Dave immediately backtracked.

“Sorry, that was sudden. And so soon, we have only been dating for five months. I get if you say no, I completely understand, it’s not a big de—”

“Dave!” Klaus interrupted. Dave snapped his mouth closed, looking away from Klaus. Klaus sat up completely in bed, letting the sheets pool on his lap. He gently grabbed Dave’s face, forcing the man to turn his head towards Klaus.

“Dave,” he mumbled. Dave kept his eyes closed. Klaus gave his cheek a quick pat. “Hey, look at me.”

Slowly, Dave opened his eyes, and Klaus was hurt at the amount of fear in his eyes. He should never be afraid of Klaus, or anything that Klaus may say.

“Are you sure you want that?” he asked. “I mean, Peter may not appreciate it. I can’t exactly hold a job,” he laughed, though there was no humor in it. “Hell, I’m not clean all the way and I know you will wake up to my nightmares.” Klaus has been trying to stay clean for Dave. A month into their relationship, the ghosts had been getting stronger and harder to ignore, so Klaus had overdosed on some sort of drug. Diego had gotten the call to the hospital, and before Klaus could protest against it, Diego contacted Dave. Dave was heartbroken and Klaus was afraid he was finally going to end it there, but he didn’t. He held Klaus tight and promised that they would get through it. He made Klaus promise that he would try to get clean.

The longest he had been clean was a week, but Dave was never upset when he relapsed.

“I don’t care about your nightmares.” Dave now grabbed Klaus’s hands, switching the role of comfort. “I know you struggle with drug addiction and that you have a hard time staying asleep. But I also know that I want you here with me every morning, every night, during the day when I can help you when you want to relapse, and help you when you don’t want to help yourself.” He squeezed Klaus’s hands tightly and Klaus was sure he was going to explode.

“Peter won’t care, he understands. We’ll figure something out for you to help, but all I know is that I want you here.” Klaus stared at Dave, searching for any sign that he was lying. When he couldn’t find any, he let out a laugh. It was a wet laugh, one filled with disbelief, and he leaned forward to place a kiss on Dave’s mouth.

“Yes,” he cried. “I will move in with you.”

“You’re reacting like I just proposed to you,” Dave laughed, but held Klaus close anyway. Klaus squeezed his eyes shut and wrapped his arms around Dave’s body.

That was three months ago. Peter really hadn’t cared that Klaus was staying, had even offered to help Klaus find somewhere that would hire him, even if he was a druggie.

Despite being with Dave for eight months now, he still had not told him about his power. He has even gotten away with not mentioning his last name. Dave asked once, but Klaus had successfully distracted him. Dave had met Diego, but Diego also hates their family as much as Klaus does, so he promised to not tell Dave until Klaus does.

Ben and Diego do constantly tell Klaus that he needs to tell Dave, though.

“It’s not like you’re hiding a weird birthmark,” Diego scolded. “It’s your family.”

“I know you want to hide the fact that you can see the dead.” Klaus turned to Ben who was sitting on the couch beside where Diego sat. “But if he doesn’t want to stay for that, then he shouldn’t be in your life.”

“He’s the only good thing that I’ve got going,” Klaus mumbled. “I don’t want to lose him.”

Dave took a day off of work so that he would be able to help Klaus move things from Klaus’s apartment to Dave and Peter’s. In a spur of panic, Klaus bought some things and packed them in boxes that Diego had at his house so that he wouldn’t have to break the news to his boyfriend on moving day that he was homeless before this. Klaus knew he wouldn’t have been mad, but he would ask questions, ask how he got around, and that’s just something he would like to avoid.

---

It was moving day. Dave borrowed a truck from a coworker so that they could easily move Klaus’s stuff.

The first trip, Klaus rode in the truck with Dave. On the second trip, however, Dave said that he could get the rest of it himself. Klaus tried pushing, but Dave was set. So here Klaus was, listening to music and putting clothes away in the closet where Dave made room for him.

Right now he was listening to Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again because he heard a song from it once on Peter’s Pandora and he was hooked. Dave had caught him and Peter jamming to it one too many times, but neither man cared. Dave never cared either.

“Why can’t you listen to something else?” Ben groaned.

“Because Lily James is a fucking queen, Ben.”

“Can we please go see a movie?”

“No.” Klaus turned around to see Ben laying down on the bed, sprawled out to take up as much room as he could. He threw a pair of socks in his direction and Ben shot him a glare as it passed through him. “I have to be here when Dave gets back, and today is a day for us, not you.”

“How rude.”

“Klaus!” he heard Dave call from the living room.

“When did he get home?!” he hissed at Ben. Ben just shrugged his shoulders.

“Are you talking to someone?”

“No, of course not!” he called back. Ben started laughing at him and Klaus just threw another sock in his direction before Dave entered the bedroom.

“Why are you throwing socks?” Dave asked.

“Ah,” Klaus looked away from Dave, quickly trying to think of an excuse. “I was practicing my aim.”

“Trying to live up to Diego, I see?” That made Klaus laugh.

“Oh, I could never live up to Diego’s aim.”

“I’m sure that you could with a little bit of practice.” Dave walked over to Klaus and wrapped his arms around his waist, kissing the side of his neck. Klaus laughed.

“You have no idea.” Klaus quickly placed a kiss on Dave’s lips, but before he could pull away, Dave pulled him closer and held him there. Klaus hummed and wrapped his arms around Dave’s shoulders.

When they finally pulled away, Klaus was beaming.

“Someone’s clingy today.”

“Just happy that this is actually happening.” He started placing more kisses down Klaus’s neck.

“Alright, alright, that tickles.” Dave started blowing raspberries and Klaus let out a squeal as he tried pulling away. “Dave!”

“You love me,” he cooed before blowing more on his neck.

“Yes, but we need to continue moving my stuff in.” Finally it seemed like Klaus had convinced Dave to let him go. Just as he did, “Why Did it Have to be Me” turned on from Klaus’s phone. The couple turned to each other, both excited.

They have constantly jokes about this being their song. Once while they were drunk, Dave had even said that it should be their first dance song.

“When you were lonely, you needed a man,” Dave immediately started singing. Klaus’s smile was so wide and he was thriving. This was the first time he has been this happy without the help of drugs. “Someone to lean on, well I understand.”

Dave danced over to Klaus, grabbing his hips once he was close enough.

“That’s only natural, but why did it have to be me?” Klaus shook his head and pushed his arms off and walked away, but Dave was following close behind. “Nights can be empty and nights can be cold!” He grabbed a blanket off of their bed and wrapped it around himself. “So you were looking for someone to hold. That’s only natural, but why did it have to be me?”

Dave fake swooned, giving Klaus the biggest puppy eyes. Klaus looked around the room and was glad to see that Ben had left. He loves his brother, but this is something special.

“I was so lonesome,” Klaus sang, looking away with a smug look. “I was blue. I couldn’t help it, it had to be you.” He grabbed his boa from where it laid on the ground, turning around and wrapping it around Dave’s neck. “And I always thought you’d be the reason why!”

They sang the chorus together, dancing in the room by themselves, oblivious to the world. Dave had his hands on Klaus’s hips and Klaus wrapped the boa around Dave’s neck once more, pulling them close.

“What are you idiots doing?” they heard a voice ask. Their heads both whipped over to the door entrance where Peter was standing, holding a phone and laughing.

“Peter,” Dave warned. “Delete that.”

“How much did you record?” Klaus asked.

“When you wrapped the boa around and pulled him close.” Peter held up the phone to show the couple. Dave tried to give him a warning, but Klaus ran over and took his phone out of his hand.

“Oh, this is so cute!” he cheered. “Please send that to Dave!”

“Don’t send that to Dave,” Dave grumbled.

“Aw, but your boyfriend doesn’t have a phone he can see it on!” Peter teased. “And I’m sure the guys at work would love to see it.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he mumbled. Klaus looked between Dave and Peter. He knew that Dave was always worried about the guys at work seeing him and Dave together, and he always had a slight fear that he would lose his job over it.

“No, if he doesn’t want it, then it’s fine,” Klaus finally relented. Dave smiled a small thanks.

“Ugh!” Peter groaned. “You guys are so gross with your happiness!”

“You’ll find a boyfriend someday, Peter!” Klaus cooed. He placed a sloppy kiss on his cheek before shooting him out.

“We should probably get back to unpacking your stuff,” Dave said. Klaus nodded his head in agreement.

“Yeah.” He turned to Dave with a smirk on his face. “And then later, when Peter leaves, we could celebrate me moving in.”

Dave’s face burned red, but his smile matched Klaus’s.

“Sounds good to me.”

[haunting-kind-of-high]

Being Human AU headcanons

Smol explanation/summary thing: Okay so Being Human (the UK version) is an amazing show about vampires, werewolves and ghosts and everything related. I had a thought about a Sides au and what it would be like, and as I don't have time to make an entire fic just yet, I wanted to something with this anyways. So here we go. 

Warnings: Just a few mentions of blood, deaths, two tiny implications of nsfw, but there's just an implication and nothing more

Note: This turned out much longer than I had expected, but it's fun. I might make a part two of this actually

Roman is a vampire

He was born as royalty in England in the 1300s

Still acts like it sometimes

Like, when he gets very upset with someone, he will start using old language again or he will make references to things no one understands

He is usually pretty adapted to current society though

He is cold a lot, so he often wears a red jacket 

His move was to seduce people, to get them into bed and then he would bite

He did this with anyone, regardless of gender, cause the taste of blood just... differs

He is trying to stop drinking blood, though

He hasn't succeeded to stay off it for more than a few months

Through the ages, he has travelled a lot

He has seen most of Europe, big parts of Asia and he is now stuck in America for a bit

Fought in the First World War, because he felt like he needed to serve his country, even if he hadn't been to England in centuries

There, he came into contact with a vampire named Herrick

They sorta maintained contact during the war, but after that, Roman went to America and they didn't speak again

He never understood the feud between vampires and werewolves, but he just sort of goes with it

Logan is a werewolf 

He was turned when he was 21

He has always loved nature and he happened to be in the forest on the day of full moon

Unfortunately, a werewolf was there as well

Logan was hospitalised for a few days after the attack

The first full moon was horribly agonizing

It never stopped being horrible, but at least he got used to it

Just a few weeks after he was turned, Logan was cornered by hostile vampires

They were going to kick his ass, but then someone else showed up

He chased the vampired away and immediately checked on Logan

Logan had a few small scrapes and he was bleeding

The guy, who happened to be Roman, wanted to help him up, but some blood from a wound on Logan's arm dripped onto his hand, burning him

Logan had no idea what was going on. How does his blood burn people?

He was going to ask, but Roman shut him up.

“Not here. I'll explain inside.”

So he led Logan to his own house, where he explained the werewolf/vampire feud and how werewolf blood is like poison to vampires

Logan was so confused and trying to understand what was going on

He still didn't understand shit but that's fine

Roman and Logan stuck together, becoming best friends, despite the feud

Other vampires often commented on Roman's scent

But Roman often said he had a dog, because he was scared of endagering Logan if he told the truth

After a particular bad relapse of Roman, where he killed three people, he and Logan moved to Florida

They moved into a super cheap house

Turns out it was so cheap because someone died there

It was a guy named Patton

He died when he fell down the stairs and hit his head

He was 24 when it happened

It was a few months ago 

He tripped over something he left on the ground

He never really had a great familiy before that

HIs dad had left and his mom worked two jobs in an attempt to afford food for them

Eventually his mom married another dude, but he never really liked him

When Roman and Logan came in and saw Patton, he was confused they could see him

“Wait... you guys can see me?”

Logan was confused because of course they could see him

Roman however, was familiar with ghosts and he explained the whole business to Logan

Just when you think you know it all, there's another thing to learn

Roman told Patton about them and swore to help him figure out his Unfinished Business so he could pass to the afterlife

The three of them grew super close and after years, Patton still hadn't found his unfinished business, but that's fine cause he finally found a family

Logan finds a job as a college professor

Roman's dream is to be an actor, but it is risky with his not-showing-up-on-cameras and being in large crowds is a risk for him too

So he doesn't

He keeps trying to stay off blood, but it's super difficult

Logan and Patton support him though

He just stops having relationships altogether because all he can think about, is how their blood would taste like and it scares him so much

But then, he meets Virgil

Virgil works at Roman's favourite café

And damn this guy is cute

He doesn't want to date him because he's scared of himself, but damn he is cute and he wants to date him

So he just fucking asks him out anyways

And Virgil says yes

And Roman is just so fucking excited 

Their first date is a movie date

It's cliché, but Roman is scared to do anything more... out there

They both have a great time though

When Ro comes home, he gushes to his friends about how he didn't think of what Virgil's blood would taste like once, and he wasn't tempted at all and he's so happy about it

And Logan and Patton are of course just as excited

Roman and Virgil go on more dates together and they eventually make it official

It is tricky, though, Virgil starts to get suspicious

“Why won't you let me take pictures of you?” “Why can't you come in without being invited in?” etc.

But Roman makes up excuses every time

One time, when the two of them were hanging out at Roman's place, Patton kept teasing them

And Virgil couldn't see or hear Patton

But Roman could

And he nearly gave it away, but he managed to stop himself just in time

However

One day

Roman and Virgil were at Roman's place again

And things were getting... heated

And Roman just... he blacked out

He couldn't stop himself

And when he woke up from his little black out, he noticed blood everywhere

And he just turned to Virgil and saw what he did

He couldn't even think straight anymore and he ran out of his bedroom, to see Pat in his own old room

Patton noticed Roman's panic and the blood and he asked what was wrong

“I think I- I think I turned Virgil, or... or... I don't think there's enough to kill him but, I- I...”

And he just couldn't

“Wow, wow kiddo, calm down. What is going on?“

And he calms Roman down, so he can explain what happened

When he finds out, he reassures Roman, tells him it is going to be okay and he should go back to be there for Virgil when he woke up

So he did

It took him a while, but Virgil woke up

For a moment, Roman was scared he had killed Virge, but then he woke up and he was so relieved

Virgil was confused tho

Why did he feel so weird? Why did his head hurt? What happened?

Roman tried to explain

“Virge, I don't know how to say this but... I am a vampire and I... guess I... accidentally turned you into one too...”

“Accidentally? How the fuck-?”

“I didn't mean to! It was just... I don't know... reflex? I wasn't in control, it was... I didn't know what I was doing until it was too late. I'm sorry.”

He is so scared Virgil is going to break up with him, and for a moment, so is Virgil, but when everything is explained, it is still kind of okay

Virgil doesn't break up with Roman after all. He's going to need help and he loves Ro too much

“So... when were you born?”

“Around 1295.”

“Hm... interesting.”

He has no idea how to respond to this

He smells something vaguely dog he didn't smell before and he asks Roman about it

“Oh, yeah... that's werewolf.”

“There are werewolves?”

Again, Roman has to explain the whole deal

Then Virgil goes downstairs and he sees Patton and just has a fucking heartattack

Poor kiddo having to be faced with everything in one day

Patton immediately takes a liking to Virgil though and he takes care of him

Even though he is very shook still, Virgil is so curious and he asks Roman about every vampire stereotype he knows

“Can we eat garlic?”

“It doesn't kill us, but it can be a nuisance.”

“Do we really not have a reflection?”

“Look into the mirror and find out.”

It's pretty adorable

After a week or so, Virgil moves in with the others because he is scared of going on a vampire rampage when he is alone

He hasn't had any blood though, because Roman told him how dangerous it was 

But he is still craving it very very much

They don't live happily ever after but this is as much plot as I have got right now

[okimargarvez]

UNDER PRESSURE

Original title: Sotto pressione.

Prompt: post 13x15.

Warning : none. Genre: angst, romantic, family.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: oneshot 25 in Garvez collection.

Legend: 💏😘🔦.

Song mentioned: La tua vita non passerà, Tiziano Ferro.

MY OTHER GARVEZ STORIES

UNDER PRESSURE

 They talk, they talk, they talk, they say that I dream, but they lie, they lie...

The woman drives away the frustration while her eye burns them terribly. She throws the contact lens into the appropriate container and finally wears the old and beloved glasses again. Forced to be who she is not, for almost ten hours a day. Yes, it's true that she always had to put a good face on it, but not with them, not with her team.

No, she doesn't have to think about it. It was the initial mistake, that of wanting... everything... everything...

This is her life now. Probably it will be until she takes her last breath. She rinses her face with cold water, remove any layer of makeup. She looks in the mirror and doesn't recognize herself. Those short hair don't belong to her.

I resemble the world in many aspects and in its most evident faults...

She sits on the bed. She removes the shoes, only five centimeters high heel, black paint color. She throws them into one side of the room. She also removes the suit. Beige. It's the only nuance that is not good for her, it is unshakable, it has no personality. She is depriving her of her way of being, as if it were the wedding garment that Medea has given to her Jason's bride, to take revenge. Or the robe worn by Heracles, soaked with the ointment that the centaur Nessus gave to Deianira, succeeding in this way to kill one of the greatest demigods of ancient mythology... ok, she reads too much, in the evening. She has too much free time available.

I made too many things wrong, roads, I entered a few churches so rarely, tomorrow I will leave even if you don't want to...

She also removes the bra, while she laughs alone. Her laughter spreads across the room, bounces off the walls and comes back. The emptiness surrounds her and soon, will be able to incorporate her, make her disappear. She will become one of the many who work without passion, without knowing why she do it. She will repeat the same gestures indefinitely, until she becomes not even more aware. Soon there will not be much difference between her and whatever piece of furniture in her office.

Your life will not pass, it will not pass, it will not pass, I will not give up your life at every failure ...

She wears a pink nightgown, decorated with various images of unicorns. She closes her eyes and tries to feel that scent, something, anything that she remembers who it is. But she doesn't hear anything.

The vibration of the cell phone on the bedside table makes her jump. She grabs it by praying that there is no case. Once (and yet it has been two months since that day, it seems 2 or 20 years) she would have been happy to have to run to work. Because here she would find...

She reads the name in the sender. Cool Hand Luke.

Another giggle escapes from her, then she wonders why he texts her. Will he have a wrong number? Something will not happen to JJ or Matt or... She opens it holding her breath. I entrust your life to the wind, which changes the terms and derails them, takes people and dazzles them because often the world makes mistakes...

Hey, Garcia, how are you? I hope I'm not bothering you. I wanted to ask you if you want to get some tea. I should talk to you about something. She smiles, her lips bent gently upwards. Only he could be so careful to detail. Not a coffee, but a tea. Damn Newbie. She sighs and stares the screen until it turns off.

Hey, obviously she omits answering his first question, ok, is it something serious? When would you like to go? She deletes the last sentence. In this way it seems like a date, while it's simply about... it's definitely about work. She sees no other reason why he should contact her. Damn, they have not seen each other for two months. Two months. No one in the new workplace has ever looked at her like him, in this time frame. No one called her chica, nor even flirted just for fun with her. Nobody ever told her she did a great job. She deletes the entire message.

Has something bad happened? Don't make me worry, Alvez. She presses send before changing her mind again. As if she were on a precipice waiting for the right moment to throw herself. What a bad image.

No, not really. Are you free, then? Tomorrow night? The man' response arrives very quickly. As if he were in front of the screen, as if he were waiting... she is going too many mental journeys. This haven't stopped, at least some things don't change.

Yes, if I don't have a case. Same goes for you, I guess. I'll let you know at the time. This time at least one-minute passes before the screen lights up again.

Ok. From O'Keef at eight? Reading that name destabilizes her much more than everything else. It's a happy place, full of good memories, carefree evenings...

No, please, let's choose another place. Any one, but not that. I'm not ready. Now, that she doesn't see him every day, it's useless to keep showing herself cold and indifferent, not allowing him to glimpse not even a small part of her weakness.

Of course, Penelope, there is no problem. I know a nice place, very colorful and noisy. I'll send you the address tomorrow. Good night. He manages to snatch almost a moan from her. How the heck does he is so sweet and so smart to guess always? Why can he understand that what she needed was noise, confusion, something that didn't make her feel the weight of the loneliness she brought with her from that blessed day?

Thank you. Night.

 They talk, they talk, they talk, and they say that I dream, however, they lie, they lie...

The man opens the door of his apartment and enters. The sheepdog runs towards him, showing him how much she missed him. -Hello, girl, I know, I missed you too.- he kneels, crouching to sink the face in the thick fur of the animal and inhales her scent strongly. This gesture has always calmed him, ever since he came back from Iraq and he never stopped doing it, every time he found himself in crisis, he risked to relapse... for example after seeing Penelope in tears for Reid and having had two small talk with Shawn. Or after seeing Scratch falling without doing anything. And surely when he found out that a bastard had shot Garcia during a date. And from that day, when Linda Barnes had decided to destroy everything... well, it had become increasingly necessary.

I'll go back, when I want, because you know, who doesn't have a life... dreams...

The jet landed at six in Quantico. He has all the time in the world to get ready. She has already assured him that the coast is clear, nothing fish to fry. She tried to show the usual Garcia, but she didn't succeed very well. He understood that there is something different, that she is forced, yes, even by the way she wrote those texts. Not that before (as it sounds, even in his head, this adverb of time, as if it were about centuries ago) had exchanged who knows how many messages. But those few times she didn't miss an opportunity to prick him, just a little. To provoke him. And he certainly didn't pull back. Yesterday evening, instead...

Yesterday she has sounded shut off. She even showed herself to be weak, telling him she didn't want to go to O'Keef. It was obvious that she would not like it, he had to guess it. What a fool!

I mistook day and night by dreaming and I can't sleep ...

He pulls himself up and prepares Roxy's dinner quickly. Another gesture that calms him, because so habitual, so reassuring in its repeating smoothly. Here it can't happen that a Linda (Spencer was right, Linda was a problem) suddenly arrives and destroys everything in her path. Two years of hard work wiped away in a second, to be able to integrate himself, to trust others...

He goes to the bathroom and gets naked, getting rid of anxiety alongside sweaty clothes. First, he removes the boots, putting them on the side, then the shirt, the red one amaranth, the dark trousers, the underwear and the white socks. He opens the water and slips under the jet of hot water, the steam rises, enveloping his body. He grabs the shampoo bottle and puts some liquid in one hand, rubs his hair, long as when he had known her, he closes his eyes and tries not to tremble at the thought that, in less than an hour, he'll see her again.

Two months, sixty days without a misplaced joke, a zinger, eyes turned to the sky, unbecoming nicknames... even if the last time she had called him cool guy. Yeah, he had made progress. Finally, she realized that he wasn't the playboy she wanted so much... and Barnes had to intrude herself by sending everything to hell. Thank you very much. But perhaps something positive could sprout from this mess.

While passing the sponge on the back and chest he remembers the dialogue with JJ. She had told him that she hadn't talk to Penelope for a century. She was practically gone. The same was true of Tara and Emily; the girls had tried to invite her to one of their women' nights, but nothing, she hadn't even answered, if not the next day with I’m sorry, I was overworked. Overworked. Not a term she would use. Obsolete and weird, yes, but not in the sense in which she usually expressed herself. Not even Reid, who found the experience of teaching rather formative (more humanly than unprofessionally), or Rossi, engaged in the drafting of a novel where the supreme head of a team, a bureaucrat without the slightest training on the field, she went to a lot of trouble... but even Matt was no longer able to contact her.

He had been thinking about it for a while. All this mysterious situation had made him definitively worry. They were in the same damn building and they had never even crossed their streets. Not in the parking lot, not in the elevator, nothing. He knew in which unit she had been transferred. He had heard about it. And just he couldn't imagine her among those people, each interested exclusively in their careers, to add a plaque on the desk.

That's why he was surprised, yesterday, when she answered him. Why he and not the others? Maybe he just caught her at the right time, for once. He decided he wanted to believe this.

It's made of prohibitions and all of our things, life is always beautiful because life doesn't rest...

All the foam flows in to the drain. He closes the tap and goes out, grabs a towel and puts it around his waist. He threads a pair of terry slippers, walking towards the bedroom. He opens the wardrobe and pulls out a shirt. Blue. This time he doesn't need to ask for a second opinion, that of Roxy, of course. He knows (without knowing why) that this is the right choice. When he thinks he is dry enough, he puts on a tight white shirt. It's not too hot outside. But not even inside (inside him). Another pair of trousers, not jeans, without front pockets, clear, which stand out the muscles of his calves. And casual shoes but not completely elegant.

Back in the bathroom, he looks in the mirror. He passes a hand through his hair, already dry. He combs them quickly, glances at the clock nearby. He has still just five minutes. He puts on his wrist the bracelet that Phil gave him. Spray deodorant and even a scent, but delicate and almost imperceptible.

He grabs the jacket, then changes his mind to the last and opt for the denim jacket. Better.

He sighs, takes wallet, house keys, car keys and cell phone. The bare minimum.

I'm leaving home now. Are you already there? He is afraid of receiving in reply that she will not be there, that in the end some unforeseen will prevent her from reaching him, that he has only deluded himself... instead, quite the contrary.

No, but I'm almost there. It's not even from her, to be on time. There is definitely something wrong. He turns to Roxy. -Hey, girl, now I have to go. But if all goes well, I will not go back alone.- the dog almost seems to nod. -I bring Penelope back home, I promise.-

 He enters in the bar and looks around. He immediately meets the gaze of a blonde woman, as confused as he is. He approaches frowning. -Garcia?- now it is certain, it is her. The hair is short, very short, smooth, cut into an almost military bowl haircut that leaves uncovered a good part of her neck. She wears a strange, dark suit that makes her look like a lawyer. The make-up is light, no eyeliner, not even lipstick. And no colorful glasses; probably she wears contact lenses. He had never noticed before how big her eyes were.

-Luke.- she doesn't move, doesn't stand up to greet him, she just looks at him. It is however strange and significant that she decided to call him by name. He takes off his jacket, leans it on the chair and positions himself in front of her. -I'm sorry for the clothes, but I just got out of work. A colleague of mine left early and I also had to finish his part. I didn't have time to change. I hope you don't mind.- the really Garcia, two months ago, would have known how to make some good joke from a situation like that. The woman who is before him now, however, limited to expose her justification with a flat and aseptic tone. She, who cared so much to every detail, who personally chose every accessory to wear combined with the clothes...

-No, it's just that... You're... you're so... weird.- the truth escapes from him, he just can't hold it. His upheaval certainly doesn't go unnoticed. The woman finds herself giggling and shaking her head, as if he had made a joke.

-I'm with you from a second, and I already seem to be back home.- here, this looks even more like the original Garcia. But still, her eyes are definitely less bright and lively, less mischievous. -So... what did you want to talk to me, cool guy?- she had say it again. She used that nickname. Penelope bites her tongue, cursing herself. But the impact wasn't strong just for him. Luke is beautiful, as always. But there's something strange about him too. He didn't shave perfectly, he cut his own cheek, if she'll put her finger on his skin, she could follow all the way...

-Nothing, it's just that... you're disappeared.- he decides to go slowly, to not did further pressure to her. After all, she is the one who was thrown in the middle of the sharks without life preservers. She is alone, but she has to continue to do what she did before, without being herself. -We work in the same building but never see each other.- he is aware of what may seem, what truly is, but he doesn't want her to know and he's hurry to continue -I mean, also with JJ and Matt.- he can't prevent his cheeks from turning red. -It's not strange? I know that you don't even be in touch with others.- at the end he says everything, without filters. It seems as if he is blaming her, that he is accusing her of something. At least it is in this sense that she perceives it.

-Well, I've been very busy.- she justifies herself by crossing her arms over her chest. It is certainly the first time that not even a small part of her breast is exposed to sight. He gives himself to the maniac, but that thought doesn't leave him free anyway. The woman notices the insistence of his gaze, but the war is temporarily interrupted by a very attractive waitress who takes their orders. Luke ignores her almost completely.

-Do you like what you do? How are you?- he asks as soon as they are alone again. He was right, the place is very welcoming, there is a strange atmosphere, as if time were suspended; the tables are all wooden, the walls covered with posters that date back to the late 1980s, a persistent music fills every empty space. And then there is the cheerful voice of other people. As he speaks, he approaches her a little.

For a while, she seems not to have heard the two questions. -Oh, Newbie, I missed your interrogation!- she is happy that he didn't ask her why she clearly avoided talking to others. And once again she wonders why she has answered him affirmatively, why she is here. Should not. This goes against the pact that she was forced to sign. She lets the nickname slip on her tongue as if she couldn't avoid it in any way. She smiles almost maliciously. -Anyway... it's not that bad. It's not the first time that I collaborate with a different team.- she adds in a professional tone, not without some uncertainty that leads man to understand that she is lying, or at least omitting part of the truth.

-I missed being called in this way.- he says this purposefully. In another situation, if they were in their offices, miles away, one in a country and one in another, this could also seem like a joke, a flirtation to ease the accumulated tension in trying to save as many human lives as possible.

But she deliberately decides to ignore these implications. -What do you really want, Alvez?- the waitress returns and settles their drinks on the table. -You can't have called me just for a chat.- she decrees, raising an eyebrow. -Do you feel lonely? Lisa is not enough for you?- here, he seems to feel a tiny pinch of jealousy. Luke chuckles, because he doesn't see Dr. Douglas from that date when they have play at the foosball table a century ago. Yet, she didn't seem particularly worried when she broke their first date. Of course, she had begun to deliriously as usual... but this is not all that significant.

He sighs and leans a hand towards the mug of beer. Look at the yellow liquid, similar to the color of the hair of his ex-colleague. -It didn't work. But basically, it's better this way.- the pure truth, nothing more and nothing less. The tone of man is not displeased, it shows no shade of sadness, although this implies exactly what Garcia has asked him, only to provoke him: solitude.

-Oh, I'm sorry.- she's honest too, and he believes her easily. The lips, so clear in their natural color, bend slightly downwards and a wrinkle appears on her forehead. But he can't stop staring at those brown eyes. Yes, they are definitely big, huge. -How is Phil?- apparently the interrogation has turned over. Now she is the one who asks the questions. -And Roxy?- hearing the name of his dog he can't help but smile gently.

-Phil is fine, he's making some progress...- he says before taking a sip of his beer. Bitter. But perhaps it is he who perceives everything in that perspective, since the hag had cast her spell. -And Roxy...- he hesitates a moment, but then he remembers the promise made to his girl. -...why don't you come see her? I'm sure she'd like it...- using his dog has always been the best way to get positive attention from the blonde. A bit 'sneaky and even incorrect, but he cares little.

Garcia takes an eternity before opening her mouth again. He watches her drink her drink, turning the little colored umbrella, pulls it out to use it as a toothpick and sticks the lemon slice, then she brings it to the mouth and suck the liquid, without producing any vulgar or annoying noise. He remains as enchanted by these simple gestures. -No.- she finally says. -I don't think it's the case.- her lips are wet from a few drops of lemon.

Who knows what flavor they have, if they would have had a bitter taste too. -Is that all you had to tell me?- he is silent. She finishes drinking and puts the empty glass on the table. -Then, I have to go.- she stands up and turns to take the jacket. At that moment Luke notices two things at the same time: first the shoes, black and without heel, well, only a few centimeters, practically slippers for the computer technician's standards; and then he notices how much she looks smaller, in those clothes so unusual for her, she also lost weight. Stress, definitely.

In a second, he is standing next to her and his fingers wrapped like coils, like handcuffs, albeit gently, around the woman's wrist. -Hey, wait.- Garcia looks at him but without protesting. -The unit needs you, Penelope.- this is only the easy half of the matter. -I, I need you.- he finally exclaims, emphasizing the personal pronoun. She almost abandons herself on the chair. He too returns to settle in front of her. The mug is still half full. He feels like freed from a burden. BAU needed Penelope Garcia because no one had her abilities, her speed in identifying the right information. About this no one would have nothing to say.

-You?- her huge brown eyes, doe eyes (he must have read this in some novel, such kind of expression, but he had never happened to apply it in the real world) are opened, exactly as when this wild animal at night is on a dangerous road and the headlights of a car illuminate it before the possible impact. -Why?- Penelope falters, her head spinning and the whole room becomes blurred. Damn contact lenses, she hates them. If at least she was able to remove...

Luke decides that by now he did the first important step, he can't hide his hand after throwing the stone. So, he reaches out and grabs her hand, without even looking. His body automatically moves in the right direction, almost guided by a superior force. -This job is empty, without your jokes that have nothing to do with the case.- well, it was just this. Newbie lacked someone to joke with, someone who could smile despite everything, nothing more. This, she was for him: a fool who made a clown.

Penelope feels anger increasing and clenching her throat, tears sting her eyes and wet her eyelashes. She can't cry, not only because Luke is in front of her, but mostly because the damned lenses get dirty, if she does. -BAU also need Reid's intelligence, Rossi's experience, Emily's loyalty, Tara's insights. Not just my jokes.- she growls, listing the other members of the team. It's immediately obvious to the man that she misinterpreted his sentence. She felt diminished, while his goal is to make her understand how important she is, but not just for the team.

Luke shakes his head, annoyed. -It's not just that, you know what I meant...- he looks at her directly in the way he has always looked at her, his hand still on hers, even the partially intertwined fingers, although she tried to get rid of it, but he is too strong, or the woman's attempts have been weak. -However, you're right.- he doesn't made any effort to admit it. Garcia doesn't smile in a victorious gesture. -But I, I only need you.- again that underlining. -Before, I was a loner, I thought it was better this way, it was simpler, nobody worried about me, but now I love this group, we are a family, I love everyone, but I love you a little bit more.- he's never let himself go with her so much on such a subject. She had sensed something when she had met Phil. From behind the column she had heard him explain to his friend how hard it was to start a normal life again, after returning from Iraq and how much Roxy had helped him. Because he needed a reason for wanting to live. Before this, she had never really thought, that Luke could have such pains within himself. Her ingenuity and her security system prevented her from getting there. She couldn't really imagine him, in a context like war. She had wondered what kind of thoughts could ever crossing his head in such a period. And how much lonely he was felt. And now he is clearly saying it, he is writing black and white that, apart from Lisa's parenthesis, he has neither wanted no one for a long time. And that now he is ready to have it. And he wants her.

The clarity of this thought strikes her like an invisible fist in her stomach, stealing the air from her. She nods and grabs the man's glass, taking a sip, before Luke's uncertain gaze. She's not a beer-type, but she needed to swallow that lump in her throat. -Why are you telling me these things? Why exactly now?- one question after another, to silence the thousand voices in her head. Her voice sounds like that of a child. Finally, she manages to free her hand and carried it on her ribs, as in the period shortly after she had been shot. -The team is gone, Luke. It's over.- she almost hears a crack as she says it.

Your life will not pass, it will not pass, it will not pass... your life will be stronger, of what they sometimes told you... -No, look at me, Penelope, please.- when she executes that simple request she realizes that even the Luke's eyes are shiny. The last time she saw him like that, it was at Walker's funeral. -Do you remember what I told you when Reid was in trouble?- he asks in a caressing, delicate, low, and extremely deep voice. And sexy. Damn it, how can he be so exciting in such a dramatic moment? Such an intense gaze like his should be forbidden. -that we will get Reid through this, we will have managed it, and so it has been.- he answers by himself, then he observes the mug and end its contents in a single sip. He stands up, wears his jacket and is imitated by a completely distraught Penelope. When she's ok he takes her by the arm and heads for the bar to pay.

Only when they are out in the cool evening air, she seems able to talk again. -It was different, he was innocent, while we...- she silences, shakes her head and looks around, as if she were looking for someone or something. An escape route.

-What is it that you don't want to say?- Garcia doesn't answer. -There's something you didn't tell me, I see it.- he reads in her big eyes how much she hates the fact that he's a profiler. But work has nothing to do with it.

Finally, like a dormant volcano that has managed to convince everyone that it's non-dangerous, she suddenly erupts. -Ok, all right!- she shouts loudly. -If you really want to know... Barnes made me promise to close relations with all of you. Well, it's not that she really made me promise, let's say she has "warmly" recommended me...- for a moment she loses herself in trifling matters, like her usual did, before that day. -If I hadn't, she would have sent me to prison. And she would have forced all of you to leave...- she didn't want that he discover this part, but she didn't make it. She can't keep secrets or things of this kind only for herself. They also made fun of her for this. But she doesn't want to be a martyr. She absolutely doesn't want his compassion and even worse his pity.

-In prison?- finally he is the one seriously upset. She enjoys the triumph in silence. -What?- man can't conceive of such a possibility. Or the reasons why a person like Penelope can end up behind bars. For excess of sweetness? Behavior too uninhibited? Illegal distribution of tea? And then, late, the other consideration also hits him. She sacrificed herself for them. She couldn't talk to them, with any one of her old team, she was forced into exile. And this is not absolutely right.

Penelope emits a bitter laugh. -I'm a hacker, Luke.- she decides to be magnanimous and not wait that him arrives on his own to the right conclusion. He could very well do it, she knows how clever and perceptive he is, more than she wanted to admit. But for certain things, he seems almost as naive as she is. All the pieces find their place in the man head. -How do you believe I know certain tricks? Why do you think I ended up working for the BAU?- this was really a too loud bomb and she shot him straight in the face. Despite the jacket, the woman getting cold. She shudders only a little.

-Penelope, you can't carry this weight alone.- a third question enlightens his mind. Why had she decided to break that sort of contract and see him, why him, the one who had known her for less time, and not the others? A slight flame is re-ignited. But she is quick to turn it off.

-Never mind.- she shrugs like if it were nothing. She has always done so, grin and bear it. When Reid was arrested she and JJ carred about his mother's, she worried that she always had a hot meal, to cite just one example. - Now I have to go.- again that phrase, which breaks into his thoughts.

-No.- he stops her only with that monosyllable, without needing to grasp her physically or add more. -Are you dating anyone?- now that this threshold has passed, he can afford to be jealous of the idea that she, in these two months, has found someone else. And maybe right at work. Perhaps one who didn't limit himself to sraring her as if she was a miracle on this earth, but has found the courage to ask her a date, without fear of ending up incinerated like Anchise with Aphrodite.

-This argument has never been your business.- she defends herself as she can, but she no longer has any strength. She's about to give in, it's obvious now. Luke approaches her a step. She hears the slight rustling of his shoes, it's still early but few cars pass by the street. She has her eyes closed. She can't cry.

-Unfortunately you're right, could you answer however?- she feels his breath create like a cloud of steam that comes directly into her face. The heat is too much, the last straw. When she tries to lift her eyelids, she realizes that he is much closer than she believed. She never got the chance to observe his dark eyes at such a distance. She takes advantage of it to capture a thousand details, nuances. She is so close to that scratch on his cheek... just a caress, just one...

-No, I'm not dating anyone.- she responds without being able to look away from the male. She's like hypnotized, in a trance. -My life is work, Luke. It will always be like that.- she explains. But the words don't agree with the subdued tone. She sees the great hands of him rise and reach her cheeks and she knows in advance what he is about to do. She literally abandons herself, allowing him to grasp her lips with his own, to slightly bite the lower one, to the point of shaking her along the spine, to make her mouth open to intrude his tongue in and start a wild fight with hers.

Yet she is conscious of every action of her own, she doesn't lose the sense of reality. She feels her own arms moving, a hand resting on the man's back, on his shoulder blade and bringing him closer to her, as if she needs more heat. The other instead ends right on the cheek of the man, she feels the roughness of the shaved beard hairs and she identify the scratch, following the path.

When he detaches her lips from the female ones, exclusively for lack of oxygen, he still can't stay too far from her. He lays his forehead against hers. Since Garcia doesn't wear her usual stilts, the difference in height between them is even more noticeable. -If I managed to do this, all together we can save the team, don't you think?- he tries a joke, but he is extremely serious.

-Starting a clandestine relationship that goes against the regulation, is not v the best of the ideas you've had, Newbie.- and she seems to understand it, because she responds in the same way. As if Luke's lips had been able to restore her true essence, what she was beginning to forget. He wiped out all the beige with a single gesture.

-That means that you liked the others?- that grimace, that crooked smile, all leaning to the left, the white teeth partially visible. How much did she miss it, without realizing it? She also had the courage to wonder why he and not the others.

-You always twist my words against me!- but it's a protest for play, to see how far he can get, to pretend that the BAU is still together, that she shouldn't return in the cold, cold and impersonal apartment that they had gave to her. Where cats aren't allowed. It was the last time she saw Emily, when she gave Sergio gave back to her. Heck, how much she misses everyone.

-That's why you like me so much, don't you?- he satisfies her, answering her jokingly and as their noses touch, before a second kiss, Penelope realizes that even if they were to get married, this thing will not change between them. They will continue to prick each other even when he has to help himself with the stick and she will be almost completely blind and maybe even deaf as a post.

It was absolutely not a rational thought. They aren't even together, and she already imagines their eternity? The man realizes that one of the moans is too much like a sob. -Luke...- she is crying. Her whole body is shaken by unstoppable sobs.

Luke puts a hand on the woman's back and pushes her against his chest. She puts her head in but doesn't stop sobbing. -Sorry, I didn't want to make you cry, I'm so stupid.- he believes it's his fault. She enjoys those caresses on the hair, behind the ear (how the hell does he know it's one of her sensitive spots?) and on her back.

-It's not for you, it's ... this whole situation.- finally she manages to calm down enough to formulate some coherent and meaningful sentence. -I kept the pain inside for these two months, I didn't allow myself to cry even a tear, because then I would have admitted that it was really over. I missed all of you, so much, yes, you too.- they laugh together. A few drops also fall down from man's face, until the scratch, then on the neck, left naked by those too short hair.

Even when they shout to you, run, bastard, run, your life stays in here, I defend it, I defend it...

-You missed me too, Penelope. I can't imagine you in another team, all alone. Dressed like that... I guess they don't even allow you to make your own jokes.- she doesn't detach herself from that embrace that they both pursued at least from the trial for the detention of Reid, certainly since he had found her in tears in her office. She wraps her arms around Luke's mighty back.

-The paragon of professionalism.- words that seem to come from another timing. -Luke, you have no idea. She forced me to wear civilian clothes because... because I also have to take care of the support of the victims' relatives. I can't do everything, I can't do it.- he's about to open his mouth but she raises her head in his direction making him understand that she hasn't finished yet. -She also forced me to put these damned contact lenses, which my eyes deeply dislike. And... I live in a tiny apartment, in a complex, very close to the office, because at least in that way I can't be late.- another sob, though no more salty drops growing in her eyes. She sinks her face into Luke's jacket and inhales his scent. -I had to give up Sergio.- a phrase that corresponds to a long groan.

-Oh, baby, we'll get through this.- he takes her face in his hands and she gets up on the tips to reach his lips in a kiss less passionate than the first two, but decidedly more intense and full of responsibility. Both linger one suspended on the other's mouth. -You will not have to endure this situation for a long time. Do you believe me? - the mind rationally should suggest her to respond negatively.

Instead for the first time it agrees with the heart. -Yes.- he smiles, still holding her in his arms. They need both external and internal heat.

-What would you like to do now? Do you prefer to see others or...- there has never been a quicker and simpler answer to give. Of course, as they both said, it's not just him who needs her back in the BAU, but the whole team, who they consider as a family. This is absolutely true. But then there are only them and they can't see beyond their noses.

- Well, you don’t told me that Roxy misses me...?-

TAGS: @theshamelessmanatee @itsdawnashlie @talesoffairies @janiedreams88 @kiki-krakatoa @yessenia993 @teyamarra @c00lhandsluke  @gcchic @arses21434 @orangesickle @entireoranges @jarmin @kathy5654 @martinab26 @thisonekid @thenibblets @perfectly-penelope @ambrosiaswhispers @maziikeen92 @lovelukealvez @reidskitty13 @jenf42 @gracieeelizabeth27 @silviajajaja @smalliemichelle99 @charchampagne14 @ichooseno  @ megs2219 @rkt3357 @franklintrixie @thinitta @chewwy123 @skisun @maba84 @saisnarry @myhollyhanna23 @thenorthernlytes

[drink-the-midnight-oil]

Wounds Heal, Scars fade

Summary: Jughead Jones, loner extraordinaire, has possessed a superpower ever since his birth. The ability to heal people’s wounds. But only small ones. So what happens when the girl he’s had a crush on since forever is injured in a way past his known abilities? Will she die? Or will he find a way to expand his gift and save the love of his life?

The sound of an alarm going off woke Jughead up from a fitful sleep. He reached over and pressed the snooze button on his phone, effectively shutting off the alarm. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Jughead sat up and looked around. 

He was in his sleeping bag on the floor of Riverdale High's janitor's closet. Last night had been a disaster. After the Twilight Drive-In had been shut down, Jughead had gone to his father's trailer, hoping to crash there for a night or two. Instead his alcoholic father had greeted him, an empty beer bottle in hand, by yelling at Jughead and blaming him for his mother and sister leaving. He had then proceeded to throw the glass bottle at Jughead, just narrowly missing him. However, the bottle crashed into the railing and shards of glass found their way into Jughead's hands. He had run straight to the high school, tears streaming down his face, and found sanctuary in the small supply closet. 

Now, as the hot water ran down his back in the locker room shower, he let out a breathy sigh. He had managed to pull out the glass pieces last night but the cuts on his hands still stung. Turning off the water, he wrapped a towel around himself and walked over to the sink. Looking down at his hands, he saw the small crisscrosses that marked them, like little red lines decorating his palms. Jughead closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

A slight tingling swept through his palms, almost as if someone was tickling them. It flowed through his entire body, warming him and calming him. His tense shoulders relaxed and he felt his aching bones be soothed. The tingling faded and Jughead opened his eyes. The red lines on his hands had disappeared. 

The school bell rang as Jughead hurried down the hallway to the Blue & Gold's office. He heard students talking excitedly about the upcoming winter formal. Personally, he thought school dances were dumb and overrated. It was just another way that society made kids feel left out and unwanted. He wasn't going, no matter what. 

Pushing open the door to the Blue and Gold, Jughead walked inside. A girl was already there, reading something. She was wearing a pastel sweater and her blonde hair was pulled up into a neat ponytail, a signature look for the one and only Betty Cooper. A straight A student, community volunteer, and cheerleader, Betty was Riverdale High's resident golden girl. But she was also Jughead's best and only friend. Not to mention, he'd been in love with her since the third grade. 

Betty looked up and saw him.

"Good morning, Jughead," she said, a distracted frown on her face. 

“Mornin’ Betty. What’s the matter?”

Betty held out the paper she’d been reading. Jughead took it and scanned through it. 

“It’s a police report, Jug. For all those attacks that have been happening for the past few weeks. All those late knife stabbings and muggings. I spoke to Kevin about it and he said that Sheriff Keller thinks the Ghoulies are behind it all.”

“It says here that they are targeting mostly journalists and reporters.” Jughead dropped his messenger bag onto a chair and perched on the edge of the desk.

“Yeah,” Betty started chewing on her lip like she always did when she was nervous. It was a very common habit, Jughead had noticed.

“We got a letter last night.”

“What?”

“My parents got a letter from the perpetrators saying that they needed to back off and stop investigating the Jingle Jangle case. Same goes for us. Otherwise there would be fatal consequences.”

“Did you report it?”

“Yes. My parents went to the police station this morning. My mom said we don’t have anything to be worried about because it’s probably just some kids trying to have some fun.”

“I don’t think that’s fun, Betty. This is dangerous. We shouldn’t be doing this if it’s going to be a threat to your well being. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Well that’s why I have you,” Betty said, a knowing look in her eyes. Jughead looked away, flushing. He knew that she wasn’t talking about him being the brave knight.

For as long as he could remember, Jughead had possessed the superhuman ability to heal. He could heal cuts and bruises and small wounds, nothing too big. It went against all the laws of nature but Jughead wasn’t complaining. With an absent mother and alcoholic father, abuse wasn’t uncommon at home.  His father would hit him from time to time, with nothing more than his hands though. Jughead would cry himself to sleep when he was younger, scared stiff. In the mornings he would wake up, finding that his eye hadn’t blackened, his ribs weren’t bruised and his lip wasn’t cut. He learned to heal at will and started running away to spend the night somewhere, anywhere but that trailer. The healing was quite useful. His main fear was that Social Services would take him away if people saw him covered in scars and bruises. And as much as he feared his father’s wrath, he still had hope that one day their family would be whole again.

Betty was the only one who knew about his ability other than himself. She was the only one he trusted. She was the light that kept his hope alive in his dark world. And there was another reason she knew...

“Only if you’re absolutely sure, Betty. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Betty smiled at him. “I think I can manage that.”

As Betty reached up to smooth her already perfect ponytail, Jughead noticed a mark on her palm. He frowned seeing it.

“Betty, what happened to your palm?” he asked. 

Betty’s face went pale and she dropped her hand to her side, balling it up. “Nothing,” she said, averting her gaze.

But Jughead knew it wasn’t nothing. “Let me see your palms, Betty.”

“No,” Betty said, looking down. Her voice started to shake. “Please just leave it alone Jughead.”

“I want to see what happened. Open your fists.”

Betty looked back at Jughead and he was shocked to see the tears in her eyes. Something was really wrong. Worry built up in his chest as he took her hand and gently pried open her fist. Shock coursed through him as he saw the fresh crescent shaped scars on her palms. He took her other hand and sure enough, there was a line of perfect half moons across it too.

“Why didn’t you say anything, Betty?”Jughead asked, concerned.

“I - I didn’t want you to be upset,” Betty said, her voice cracking.

“Betty, I would never be upset. Don’t ever think that. What happened?” Jughead stroked the scars gently with his thumb, still holding her hand.

“The letter, the investigation, and school on top of that. It’s just too much, Jug. I didn’t think I would relapse, b - but I’m just a weak girl,” Tears were falling freely now. “I - I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Betty,” Jughead pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. Her body was racked with sobs, and she clutched his shirt. “That’s not true. You know it. You’re not weak. You’re one of the strongest people I know. Don’t ever doubt yourself. We’ll make it okay. I promise. But I don’t want you to hide this kind of stuff, alright? It only makes things worse.”

Betty nodded into his chest. Jughead gently pulled away, clasping her small hands in his. “Look at me.”

Betty looked up at him through sooty lashes, the light reflecting off her watery green eyes. God, she’s beautiful, Jughead thought. Like an angel surrounded by a heavenly glow.

“Let’s fix up your palms.”

This was the reason she knew. He folded her hands between his and willed the magic to do its work. A surge of energy flowed through his hands and into hers. He saw her close her eyes and take a shaky breath, her tense shoulders slowly relaxing. He couldn’t count how many times they’d done this before. Her harming herself and him healing the reminders of those nightmares. It had grown less frequent over the past year after she had started taking the anti-depression medicine. But this sudden recurrence frightened him. 

A wave of sadness suddenly hit him and he knew it wasn’t his own. That was the one downside to his power. Whatever the person he was healing felt, he felt too. It was like he was taking away both their physical and emotional pain. And over the years, he had felt a lot of what Betty felt. The real raw emotion in her that he could feel was what made him love her so much. He didn’t have to worry about her pretending, not when he could sense her emotions like this.

A wave of something else hit him too. An unidentifiable feeling. It was..... happy. Pure. Loving. But not quite. As if she was trying to hold back something which she didn’t want to hold back. Almost like if she - 

Betty opened her eyes and pulled her hands away. It was clear that she had realized that he had felt it. She muttered a thanks to Jughead and fixed her ponytail. A few deep breaths and perfect Betty Cooper was back.

“We have work to do,” she said simply, grabbing her notebook.

“Betty - ,” Jughead started, wanting to ask her what that had been about. But he saw the look in her eyes. She didn’t want to talk about it. And he didn’t want to push her. So he changed his course. 

“How would you like to go the the winter formal with me?”

This was a terrible idea, Jughead thinks to himself as he walks up to Betty’s door. Winter formals are for the weak-hearted and shallow minded, he’s known that since forever. So why did he make a stupid decision and ask her to the dance?

The sight of her delighted face pushes all the negative thoughts out of his mind. She had positively radiated ecstasy when he had asked her to go. The image of her beaming brings a smile onto his face. So maybe it would be worth it.

He rings the doorbell and is greeted by Alice Cooper, prim as usual. She smiles at him and tells him he looks wonderful and come in, Betty’s just finishing up. Jughead waits in the living room, hands nervously shoved into his pockets. He’s wearing one of his dad’s suits and the jacket’s a bit too big on him. He’s much leaner than FP and it doesn’t fit right in the shoulders. The grey beanie is still on his head, though. There’s some things he will not compromise. 

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs makes him stand up a little taller and adjust his jacket.

Betty enters the room and it’s as if all the air has suddenly been sucked out because Jughead can’t breathe. The Betty standing before him is one he doesn’t recognize. She’s wearing a white gown that clings to her body. It goes all the way down to her calves, the skirt made of satin. The sleeves fall off her shoulders and Jughead can see her prominent collar bone. Her hair is down and falls in loose waves on her shoulders. He always knew she was beautiful, but this? It’s as if someone’s playing a cruel joke on him, tempting him because they know she’ll never love him. She gives him a nervous smile.

“What?”

“I - Uh - Well -,” Jughead stutters. He’s tongue-tied. From somewhere in his conscience he finds the ability to speak. “Shall we leave?”

Betty looks a bit disappointed but she doesn’t say anything. 

“Yeah, let me just get my wrap.” 

Once she’s ready, they head out to where Jughead has parked his dad’s car. It took a lot of work for FP to agree to giving Jughead the car for the night. It’s not the prettiest ride but it’s much better than walking to the dance or asking Betty’s mom to drive them.

They ride in silence for some time, the only sound that of the wind rushing past. After a while, Jughead clears his throat.

“Betty, you look beautiful.”

Betty turns to him, surprised. “Thank you, Juggie. You clean up nicely, too.”

Jughead glances at her and shrugs. “It was the best I could do.”

They arrive at the school and Jughead opens the car door for Betty. They walk to the gymnasium where the dance is being held. Lights have been put up everywhere and a band is playing up front. People are dancing, dressed in an array of gowns and suits. Betty looks radiant in the dim light and Jughead knows that he has the best-looking date there.

“Would you like to dance?” Once again, Jughead has surprised himself. Betty seems to think so too, the way she’s looking at him.

“Since when do you dance?”

“Oh, my dear Betty. I have many special talents. Apart from the ones you already know about, of course.” Where is he getting this confidence from? It’s probably the nerves.

“Well then, yes. I would love to dance.”

So Jughead takes Betty’s hand and leads her to the dance floor. Luckily it’s a fast song. They dance for a while, Betty moving gracefully to the music while Jughead shuffles awkwardly. But she seems to be having a lot of fun and that makes Jughead happy.

The song ends and a slow one starts. Couples around them start pulling each other close, gently dancing. Jughead decides to take the opportunity. He holds out his hand to Betty and she takes it, a curious glint in her eye. He takes her hand and places it on his shoulder, clasping the other in his own. He rests his other hand at her hip and they dance. 

After some time, Betty wraps both her arms around his neck and that’s when the butterflies hit. He places his hands at her waist, tentatively. A love song is playing and Jughead can feel his palms starting to sweat. Her face is so close to his that he can count the tiny freckles across her nose. She’s staring at him in a way that she’s never looked at him before. 

“So... any letters recently?” Great job, Jones. You ruined the moment.

Betty looks away for a moment and then looks back.

“No, nothing recently. My parents haven’t stopped investigating and neither have we but there hasn’t been any sort of communication.”

“That’s good, I guess. Maybe you’re in the clear.”

“I hope so.”

They dance in a comfortable silence. Suddenly, Betty stops dancing.

“Jughead, when was the last report of a letter?”

“I think yours was the last one. Why?”

“That’s funny,” Betty mutters. “It’s been two weeks since I got one. And the letters always come in pretty regular intervals. It’s been too long.”

Betty takes her hands of of Jughead’s shoulders.

“I just had a thought. Come on.” She grabs his hand and pulls him through the crowd and into the hallway. 

“Betty - Betty, where are we going?” Jughead asks rushing to keep up with her.

“The Blue & Gold. What if letters haven’t been coming because the Ghoulies are up to something? I mean, it’s the perfect night.” 

They reach the B&G office and Betty pushes open the door.

“Everyone in town is going to be here, at the formal. Even the Sheriff. It would be a classic night to pull off a drug exchange. And from our last few investigations, I think I know where it’s going to happen.”

“Betty Cooper does it again,” Jughead says, impressed.

“We need copies of the last few letters. I think all the other ones are here. But the copy of mine at home. Can you please find the other letters? I’ll go and get mine.”

Betty grabs Jughead’s keys runs out of the office and into the parking lot. Jughead is shifting stacks of papers, looking for the letters when he hears the sound of a muffled scream from outside. He rushes to the window and watches as two masked figures run away from his car and a girl in a white dress crumples to the ground. Betty.

Time seems to stop as Jughead runs out to her, nothing else mattering at that moment. His blood runs cold when he approaches her and sees her lying on the ground, barely breathing.

The first thing his mind registers is the blood. There’s so much blood. It’s spreading on the front of her white dress from what appears to be a stab wound. He crouches down next to her, his heart beating fast. His hands are trembling as he looks at her pale form on the ground. Her hair is spread around her head, like a halo and her white dress, with the red flower of death blooming on it, it’s tragically beautiful. He’s vaguely aware of him yelling her name, trying to revive her. His jacket is off and pressed to her wound, trying to stop the flow of blood. They shouldn’t have continued their investigation. He brought this on her. She received a death threat and he didn’t stop her from pursuing the case.

Betty gasps and her eyelids flutter open. Her breathing is staggered. She sees Jughead’s horrified face looming over hers. His eyes are filled with tears. This isn’t the type of wound he can heal. It’s too serious. But he presses his hands to her stomach and tries. Nothing. It’s hopeless. He’s going to watch Betty die right in front of him. He can’t even call an ambulance because his phone is inside. And nobody seems to have heard him shouting.

“Betty, Betty, please don’t leave me. Just keep breathing.” He’s trying to reassure himself more than her. She’s losing too much blood. 

“It’s too serious of a wound, Betty. I can’t heal it.” Jughead is unabashedly crying now.

“J - Jughead, you have to go. Ch - Chase down those guys and f - find out where-” She coughs, once. “You have t - to. Leave me and go.”

“NO! I’m not leaving you. I - I’ll call an ambulance. Just hold on, Betty please.” Jughead feels his heart in his throat.

“Jughead.” Betty’s looking at him sadly now. The metallic odor of blood is everywhere and it’s making Jughead’s head swim. But he is not going to leave her. 

Try HARDER, his conscience says. But his efforts are in vain.

She raises a bloodstained hand to his cheek and brings his face down so that their noses are just millimeters away. Her eyes are still bright green but they look so tired. She’s fighting hard, he can see it. Her eyes fill with tears and she gives him a weak smile. And then she kisses him. 

It’s like fireworks have exploded in Jughead’s chest. Her lips are soft on his, tasting of vanilla. And then he’s kissing her back, hard. She is NOT going to die. From a very deep place inside of him, he summons the power.

Energy courses through him, stronger than ever and rushes through his hands into the wound. She pulls away and gasps, her back arching, as the torn tissues restitch themselves. And Jughead can feel the strong wave of emotion radiating from her as the energy gives back. But this time, he sees images.

They’re in third grade and Betty talks to the shy beanie-wearing kid for the first time. She likes his sense of humor. They’re in Archie’s tree house and make a pact to be best friends forever. She knows she will always keep that promise. Fifth grade graduation and she’s so proud when Jughead gets an award for his writing. Seventh grade dance and Betty wants to go with Archie. But he takes Cheryl instead. Betty’s crying and it’s Jughead who comforts her. They go to Pop’s and Betty is happier than she’s been in a while. High school starts and Archie becomes a jock. He barely has time for them anymore. She has too many AP classes and assignments, not to mention volunteering and extra-curriculars. That’s when the self-harming starts. Nobody notices but Jughead who sees her stressed face no matter how hard she tries to hide it. He holds her as she cries. He doesn’t run away when she shows him her scars. For the first time, he heals her them. Archie doesn’t like her back. It hurts. But Betty’s secretly relieved. She only liked the idea of them as a power couple. She spends all of her free time with Jughead. They work at the Blue & Gold. Betty is mesmerized by his way of spinning boring stories into suspenseful articles. He accompanies her to on every investigation, no matter how crazy it may be. He supports her. She starts seeing Jughead as more than her childhood best friend. He’s not a scrawny, scowling boy anymore. He’s a good-looking, talented writer now. She realizes how much happier she is with him. Archie could never make her feel like that. She starts noticing the way he stares at her, entranced. It stirs something in her. He sees her for what she is. Not a perfect, ideal student and daughter. But a real person who hurts just as much as everyone else. And she falls in love with him.

Jughead pulls away his hands, breathing hard. What did he just witness? The flurry of pictures, the feeling, the reality. Could it all be true?

Betty’s eyes are closed and she’s breathing lightly. Jughead sees that the wound has been healed. How did he do that? There are too many questions to be answered. He leans over her face.

“Betty?” A gentle whisper.

Her eyes fly open and she sees him there, anxious.

“Jughead? Wha-”

“Oh my god, you’re alright.” Jughead’s arms are around her and he’s buried his face in her neck. “I though you were going to die.”

“Hey, I’m not dead. It’s okay,” Betty strokes his hair, his beanie having fallen off when he ran to her. “But how did you do that?”

Jughead let’s go of her and helps her sit up. “I don’t know. I wasn’t able to heal you and then you kissed me and that did it. I’m so sorry, Betty. I shouldn’t have let you continue investigating after that threat. It’s my fault. I don’t know what I would have done if you died.”

Betty places a hand on his arm. “It’s NOT your fault, Jughead. It was my own choice. And besides, I’m not dead, am I? We’re okay.”

She gives him a small smile. “So the kiss did it, huh?”

Jughead’s face turns red. “Yeah, I guess so. W - Why did you do it? Kiss me?”

Betty looks into the distance. “Well I didn’t want to die without having done that at least once.”

“Kissed a boy?”

Betty looks back at him and chuckles. “No. Kissed you.”

Jughead’s heart is threatening to jump out of his rib cage now. “Betty.... when I was healing you, I saw some things. Memories. Of us when we were kids. What was all that?”

“You saw that? How embarrassing.” It’s Betty’s turn to blush. 

“What did it all mean? You not liking Archie. And -” Jughead hesitates. “And you being in love with me.”

Betty studies her hands. Her fingernails have dried blood under them. She takes a deep breath.

“Jughead, I’m not going to deny it. I do have feelings for you. All that you saw was real. How could it not be? You’re one of the best people I know, Jughead. And I get it if you don’t feel the sa -”

But Jughead interrupts.

“Betty Cooper, I have been in love with you since that day in third grade when you told Chuck Clayton to leave me alone. I have loved you every day, every hour, and every minute since then. I love you for showing me the brighter part of life, for making me smile when no one else does. I love you for giving me the courage to share my thoughts without worrying about other people’s opinion. You are my family, Betty. More so than my blood relations. I love the way you bite your lip when you’re nervous, I love the way you’re eyebrows scrunch up when you’re concentrating hard, I love how you sneak food at bake sales because your mom won’t let you have too many calories. You are kind, and strong, and beautiful. By God, you’re beautiful. Even a writer like me could never find enough words to tell you how good of a person you are. And without you, I don’t know how I would have gotten through the years. You make me whole, Betty Cooper. You bring out the best of me. And with all that I am, I love you.”

Jughead finishes and his head is spinning. What the hell was that? He’s going to have scared her away for good now. That was too much, too early. He looks a her face, scared.

Betty looks astonished. But a smile slowly spreads across her face. She takes his face in her small hands and looks him straight in the eye.

“And I love you.”

This time it’s him who leans in and their lips meet. He’s flying and crashing and burning all at the same time. His hands cradle her face, and her fingers find their way into his hair. She pulls him close, kissing him hard. Her lips are oh, so soft against his, nothing like he’s ever imagined. He flicks his tongue against her lips and she lets out a moan, gripping his hair tighter.

The sound of police sirens cause them to break apart, but Jughead doesn’t take his eyes off of her.

“I fully intend to finish this later.” 

They stand up, hand in hand and walk towards the noise. Betty’s wearing Jughead’s jacket to cover the blood stains and both that and the shirt Jughead’s wearing are dark enough so the blood stains don’t show too clearly. They reach the front of the building and see Sheriff Keller, still in a suit, talking to a policeman as two others push the hooded figures from earlier into a cop car.

“Looks like they got them after all. There’s going to be a lot of questions, you know.” Jughead squeezes Betty’s hand. She leans into him.

“We’ll deal with that when the time comes. Right now I want a burger from Pop’s.”

“Betty,” Jughead says, turning to her. “You almost just died and we’re covered in blood.”

“I want Pop’s,” Betty replies, simply. She’s looking at him with her big doe eyes and he can’t say no. He shakes his head, laughing.

“Come on, let’s go.”

They walk to Jughead’s car, fully aware that they will have to report their encounter with the masked people and there will be an investigation following it all. There are too many things to worry about so Jughead pushes it all out his mind. He’s with Betty and she didn’t die. He healed her somehow. How he did it will remain a mystery but what matters is that she’s alive. As they head to Pop’s, Jughead realizes that right now, he couldn’t be happier.

This is LONG overdue. And I mean LOOOOONG. I had exams to deal with so I couldn’t write but now I have finally finished it. This one is based off of @frostbite883 ‘s prompt. I really hope you guys like it and have fun reading it. I’ll have more fics coming out soon if all goes according to plan. Once again, sorry for the delay!

XOXO

Rhea

[sherlockxreader]

Solace (Sherlock x Reader)

Title: Solace Summary: You believe you are slowly losing your mind in your shared flat with Sherlock. So much so, that you only see one way out... Author: Maddy @laterthantherabbit Words: 2330 Characters/Relationships: Sherlock x fem!reader Warnings: Vivid descriptions of mental health issues and psychotic episodes. Suicidal thoughts, blood, self harm, mental instability

Request: Hay^^ Could you write a Sherlockxreader about them being in a relationship but the reader tries to commit suicide because of her schizophrenia? And how Sherlock tries to help her? - anonymous

Author's Notes: I’ve decided to change this slightly and make it that the reader doesn’t know they have schizophrenia and their symptoms become progressively worse until they become suicidal.

I was not wholly satisfied with my writing in this but I feel like I wrote this with the request in mind. I hope you guys like this as well and I am really sorry that it has taken me so long to get out another fic. My life is really draining me right now and I’m having a hard time getting myself t write. Thankyou all so much for putting up with my slack.

Also, I am not an expert nor have I experienced any of the symptoms I describe nor have I experienced mental issues such as this. I just wanted to make that clear and that if you are ever in need of someone to talk to, everyone here on this blog is willing to talk to you if you want, though if you are in need of professional aid, please seek out that help. Everyone and myself want you all to be the best and happiest you can be. Thank guys.

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Sherlock had noticed you had become increasingly quiet over the past few months. Your usual bubbly personality and bright smiles had become less so, even though there wasn’t any apparent cause for your melancholy. It worried him sick. He knew of the crippling effects of depression and anxiety, how his mind would eat away at him, how it coaxed him into multiple relapses before Mycroft got him into rehabilitation, before Lestrade gave him an opportunity to use his mind and before you came and showed him what it meant to live. Now he was watching the person he loved lock herself away in her body just as he had done.

It had been four months, and though your changes would have been missed by anyone else, Sherlock saw how you had stopped becoming excited at the mention of your favourites books and movies, how you had become less talkative, though before you could have outspoken Sherlock and all the Yard. You were a shell of the person you had been, and Sherlock had tried his hardest to bring you back out of your mental prison.

“Y/N?” You were sitting in John’s chair, scrolling through your phone without seeing your feed. You hummed in response, not even addressing Sherlock with a warm smile like you used too.

He sighed and picked himself up from his chair, making his way to the kitchen to make tea for the both of you. Bringing two steaming cups back into the living room, placing yours on the table beside you, he once again tried to get you to communicate. “Y/N, darling, is anything wrong?”

“Hm?” You looked up from your phone and glanced at Sherlock, shrugging your shoulders and picking up your tea, taking a sip and licking your lips.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I s’pose. Nothing’s wrong so everything is good, yes?” You took another sip and placed the cup back, giving Sherlock a small smile that was nothing in comparison to how you used to smile. Sherlock furrowed his brow and took a confused sip of his own tea as you picked up your phone again, but put it back down without looking at it again, your cryptic response rattling around inside his head.

“You’re sure there’s nothing to tell-”

“I’m fine Sherlock really.” You widened your smile and sipped at your tea until it was finished. Smacking your lips, you stood and patted Sherlock on the shoulder before going to the kitchen to wash your cup. Sherlock watched you from his seat, his heart beating fast when he heard you murmuring nonsense to yourself as the sink filled with water.

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You sighed and looked into the mirror, examining your face by sticking out your tongue and grinning to look at your teeth. You had been watching your face for a few minutes now and you could feel that something was off, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Shrugging to yourself, you prepared your toothbrush and smiled one last time at yourself before brushing your teeth, giggling a little when the foam began to dribble a little.

You heard the front door open then shut again, followed by Sherlock’s heavy set footsteps. You spat out the foam and called out, though you didn’t hear a reply. You poked your head out of the bathroom and looked down the hallway. “Sherlock?”

He grunted in reply and you smiled when you heard the television being turned on. You turned back to the mirror and watched yourself talk. “What’s on the telly Sherl? Better not be one of your crime doccos again.” You chuckled to yourself when you heard a muffled voice answer you. “Good. You know I love them as much as you but even I can’t watch one every weekend.” You went back to brushing your teeth when you heard the door again.

Spitting out the paste and drying your mouth, you went into the living room, expecting to see John entering the flat however it was just Sherlock wiping water from his face and beginning to take off his coat his coat, his hair was soaking. You furrowed your brow and stopped, watching him take off his outwear. You glanced out the open window and saw that the rain was beating heavily on the window panes, the view blurry from the water. You hadn’t realised it had been raining all day. You turned back to Sherlock, seeing him taking off his scarf now.

“What are you doing?” He jumped at your voice, having not heard you enter the room over the rain and turned to you, a small smile on his face as this had been the first time you had initiated conversation in a week.

“I’m taking off my scarf Y/N. I thought that would have been obvious.”

“But, you’ve been here for a while now. I thought John had just come in.” Sherlock looked around the room and his smile dropped a little.

“I’ve only just come back from the case I got today.” He hung up his coat and gave you a peck on the cheek, bringing his face back to hover across from yours. “John went to see his sister for the weekend, don’t you recall?”

“Oh yeah. But then who turned on the telly to crap telly just now?” You looked over to where the television sat, its screen black and the remote sitting on the table, unmoved since the morning. You looked back at Sherlock with your face scrunched a little in your confusion. “I swear it was just going. I heard it.” You looked up into his eyes, his face now neutral at hearing you speak. He swallowed and rubbed your arms.

“I’m sure it was nothing. I’m going to have a shower. You want Chinese for dinner?” His eyes seemed to be pleading with yours, so you smiled gently and nodded your head.

“Yeah, that sounds nice. I’ll order it.” You turned and left Sherlock’s embrace. When you left his sight, he deflated and scrubbed his hands over his face. He dropped his arms and looked towards the kitchen, where he could hear you speaking on the phone. Sighing, he went to the bathroom, his eyes shutting when he heard the click of the door. It must’ve just been the rain playing tricks on you.

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It wasn’t until after another three months when Sherlock fully realised the extent of your changed behaviour, and the fragility of your mind. You had become mute to the world, hardly smiling except when to be polite and barely talking to anyone.

What worried Sherlock the most however was the fact that you began talking to no-one. You would have conversations that made no sense to the air and you seemed to hear things that no-one else could, sometimes asking Sherlock if he heard the dog whine, or the man yell on the street.

He saw however that you didn’t always tell him of what you heard, and preferred to keep them to yourself. What he didn’t see was how this was breaking you from the inside. After the first few times you heard something and told Sherlock, you were met with confused looks and calm, slow words. You didn’t want to be comforted, you wanted to be believed.

You became shut off from the world, paranoid that people would stay and judge you for what you said or heard. The sounds became clearer after that first day and now they were indistinguishable from the world around you. You grew more and more frightened everyday, questioning every sound and every person’s intentions.

You could’ve sworn that the first time was an accident. You distinctly remember that you were cutting vegetables mindlessly when the blade slipped and cut a small gash in the flesh of your left thumb. You didn’t register the pain that emanated from the cut. The world only you could hear muted a little and the sounds faded until the blood beaded and clotted the cut. You shook your head as the sounds returned in full force, dropping the knife with a loud clatter that caused Sherlock to run in from the living room to see you with your hands on your temples, blood smeared on your face where the thumb had brushed.

He mended your cut and consoled you, hugging you softly and murmuring into your ear until you calmed and the sounds were briefly replaced by his voice. When your head had cleared you remembered the sweet silence that had came with the small cut and you became greedy, wanting that quiet again.

You knew it was a bit not good to want to hurt yourself but it was the only way the sounds went away for a bit. You only ever did it when no-one was in the flat. Then you would lock yourself in the bathroom and chase the silence. After each of your ‘sessions’ you cried until your eyes were raw and until the sounds reappeared. You made sure Sherlock never found out.

Though what was there that Sherlock couldn’t possibly deduce? It was shortly after you had begun when Sherlock saw the signs. You wore long sleeved shirts at all times, pulled at your sleeves to cover your hands and wrists, scratched at the healing scars. When he realised what you had been doing, his heart broke and he tried to talk to you, however you wouldn’t talk back. He stayed with you constantly, telling you he loved you and that he was here to help.

He and John scheduled regular appointments with psychologists and John’s therapist. You lied through your teeth and told them that it was helping, but how could they believe you weren’t okay if they couldn’t hear the things you heard. Sirens, wails and screams sometimes penetrated through the mundane sounds in your mind and there was the tipping point in your strength.

You couldn’t go on like this anymore. On one of the days where Sherlock was watching over you and the sounds were too unbearable, you locked yourself in the bathroom for one last time, Sherlock at the door pleading to let you in. You felt tears stream down your empty face as you searched through the cabinets, trying anything that would give you any bit of quiet. You could hear Sherlock’s quiet knocking and pleading turn into banging and emotional yelling. You heard the tears in his voice as the people only you heard grew louder along with him.

You searched for the razors, but of course Sherlock and John had taken them away. The medication was gone too, even the shower curtain. There was nothing there that could make the voices go away. You looked into the mirror and saw yourself. Your broken self. As you heard Sherlock begin to pick at the lock, your face morphed into rage as you screamed at your image. The mirror shattered as you punched at your face repeatedly, your knuckles becoming bloodied as pieces fell into the sink, blood dripping onto the white porcelain beside them until a large corner of the glass clattered loudly in the room.

You glared at the multiple faces in the broken mirror as you gripped the shard in your bloody hand, the edges stinging and voices dimming as you rose it to your forearm. As the door swung open, you brought the shard down hard onto your smooth skin, a long gash from wrist to elbow. You watched the blood seep quickly out of the cut and trickle onto the tiles below as the voices receded and the world became quiet. You succumbed to the weightless feeling and fell to your knees, hearing Sherlock yell for you and wrap his arms around your body as you slipped into unconsciousness.

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He stayed by your side for the days that they kept you in the hospital, the gentle monotonous beep of the heart monitor by your side a constant reminder of what you had tried to do to yourself. The cut wasn’t as deep as you had intended but paired with your already diminished health, the blood that you had lost during the time it took for the ambulance to arrive at Baker Street had sent you into shock and you had needed to be given bags of fluid and blood as soon as you had arrived at the hospital.

Sherlock stayed perched in the hard plastic chair by the side of your bed for two days before your eyes fluttered open to the blinding white light of the fluorescent hospital lights. You looked around your surroundings to meet Sherlock’s eyes, the dried tear stains on his cheeks and the redness in the white of his eyes evidence of his breakdown after the event. You tried to speak but the dryness in your throat prevented you from beginning. He had already prepared a glass of water for you to drink, which you sipped shakily before silence fell onto the room heavily. It was sometime before you could bring yourself to speak again. You fiddled with the blanket in your lap, not wanting to look into Sherlock’s eyes.

“Sherlock I -”

“Why?” Your lip quivered and tears blurred your vision as you told him of what you had been living through alone, of the voices that taunted you day and night which only left with pain. He sat silently and listened until you could no longer talk through the lump in your throat.

“I - I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t…” You head was buried in your hands when Sherlock moved from his chair to kneel by your side, cradling your shaking body within his arms.

“I wish you had told me earlier Y/N. I could’ve helped sooner. We all want to help, you didn’t have to hide this.” You cried into your palms as he stroked your back through the sobs. You may not be okay now, but with him by your side, you didn’t have to be alone anymore.

[goodbadanduglybooks]

Review: Perihelid

Book Review: Perihelid by S. Alex Martin

Overall Rating: 8/10 (4/5 stars) Plot: 8/10 Characters: 8.5/10 Writing: 8.5/10 Originality: 7/10

Genre: Science Fiction Published: 2017 Number of Pages: 330 | Paperback Edition

Summary: The Fleet is in Ruins.The Drake vanished in the chaos, and thousands are dead. A rescue crew could be weeks, even months away, and Arman Lance and the Ember’s other survivors must find a way to survive until it does – if help is coming at all.As efforts are made to determine the cause of the crash, Arman struggles against the relapse of thoughts weighing heavily on his mind, threatening to unravel the purpose he has tried to create for himself since joining the Embassy Program.In the aftermath, the survivors discover what could be the most important revelation in centuries: the crisis on Belvun may mark the beginning of an even more desperate disaster. It will force Arman to make a choice, one that will determine the course of humanity's future......at the cost of sacrificing his own. 

I received a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. 

**Possible spoilers for anyone who has not read the first two books in the series, but no spoilers for those who have not read Perihelid.**

Review: I’m just going to start off by saying that for some reason this year has been filled with books about people trapped or in quarantine for me! And I’m not complaining. Anyway, for those not familiar with S. Alex Martin’s first two books in his Recovery series, Embassy and Resonance, I believe that this is definitely the best book in the series thus far. It is still introspective and still includes some moments of slow pace, but I feel there is a really good balance of suspense, action for those who not only enjoy but expect it in science fiction, and emotional moments. Where I thought the last book was a little long, here my main complaint is how much more I wanted to see. However, Perihelid is certainly an engrossing read and is easy to move through. The stunning ending (I’m still not 100% sure what happened to be quite honest) will certainly leave readers wanting more. 

I feel like each plot in the Recovery series has been incredibly different. The first book, Embassy, is a classic opener where there is a decent amount of action and description, because there is so much to show and tell. Resonance goes in a different direction that I didn’t really understand when I read it at the time. It includes a lot of description and very little action. I feel like Perihelid finally ties everything together. There has been so much foreshadowing about the environment, politics, and Arman’s psychological state and character. Readers finally get to see how it all interacts in this final book in the Arman Lance-focused part of the story. Don’t be fooled--even though this book has the best pacing of any in this series so far, it is still not a classic action-filled science fiction novel. But it would feel ingenuous if it were. The introspective aspect of this series is what makes it so unique. Often science fiction novels focus too much on plot and leave characters behind; there is no danger of that in Martin’s work.

That being said, I loved the smaller plot twists--and the big one--of Perihelid. As I previously stated, my main complaint is that I wanted more. Starting from the beginning, I truly feel at this point in the series there needed to be a better recap of what happened in the previous books or some kind of a glossary in the back. Martin has created a world which I very much appreciate, but of which I don’t remember every detail having read Resonance quite some time ago (additionally I was at college and did not have the book with me with which to refer back). I wanted more about how regular people on the ship were handling being stuck into space. I think particularly when the big plot twist occurs some flashbacks could have been really interesting. But overall, I love what Martin does here with the plot. Arman Lance has not been the hero at the forefront of all this--he was an archivist. So readers get the best of both worlds: the view of the world from someone who has some information about political happenings, but from someone who is also a regular person affected by decisions of higher-ups. This definitely contributes to the effectiveness of the plot, and if I’m interpreting the ending correctly, gives a whole new meaning to the word “sacrifice” for each of the characters. The pacing of this novel is much better than previous works, and the conclusion is absolutely stunning in the best possible way.

Now as for the characters--once again, I wanted more! I really like the side characters in Perihelid. It was fun watching them enjoy life exploring in Resonance, but I feel like serious situations are perfect for authors to truly showcase character development. Martin definitely takes advantage of this. What I think Perihelid does best is illustrating the flaws of each character, which makes them more complex and interesting to read about. And though the reader in me really wanted more interaction with the side characters and to learn more about their inner thoughts, the reviewer in me also understands that shutting other people out is a flaw of Arman’s; it’s a classic first-person narrative problem. It is addressed later in the book, which I definitely appreciated. The situation in which the characters find themselves truly lead to raw emotions that I think Martin is very effective in exploring.

Regarding Arman--Perihelid is the only book in the series where I think I as a reader have been able to connect with Arman. I know that’s kind of a back-handed compliment, but all it shows is growth on the part of the series and Arman. I feel like because in previous books Arman isn’t really connected with his feelings himself, many of his internal demons and crises are simply implied, which can definitely be lost on the reader, especially with having to learn the dynamics of a created world. In Perihelid, readers get to know nearly every one of Arman’s thoughts, through both personal reflections and dialogue with other characters. The only complaint I have here is the handling of Glacia’s assumed death. I feel like Arman didn’t explore those feelings as much as I would have liked, especially given that it appears future books will not be from his point of view. Here is an example of where flashbacks would have been extremely emotional in the best possible way. I also appreciate how Arman grows throughout this novel but not in a completely linear way. The characterization here is very well-done and realistic. 

Martin’s writing has certainly improved with each book. His descriptive abilities are fantastic--I personally have a very hard time understanding science fiction novels, especially those in space, and I was able to picture everything very clearly in my head. There are still some problems with awkward dialogue, and emotional moments are not always as impactful as they could be, but the interactions in Perihelid feel the most realistic of his first three novels. 

Regarding originality, there definitely is a sort of stuck-in-space trope in science fiction YA and new adult literature (however I have to add as a personal note here that it is my absolute favorite trope. Give me a trapped or quarantined group of characters in shopping malls, department stores, space--it matters not to me, I love them all). However the previously discussed introspective nature of Martin’s novels makes it an interesting twist on this common narrative. Also the plot twist near the climax of the story raises the stakes for all the characters and makes Perihelid more unique. 

Overall: Perihelid by S. Alex Martin is by far the best of the first three books in his Recovery series. With a well-paced plot, introspective and three-dimensional characters, and a classic narrative being the driving force behind a unique addition to the science fiction drama, readers’ main complaint about this novel will be wanting more of everything.

Purchase here! 

[sad-af1121]

Strangers In The Mind: Part 4

Summary: A cure has been found for Bucky and as he is going under treatment, he starts having bizarre dreams about you. He doesn’t know why or how. Never in his life has he actually met you but, he is determined to find you. (soulmate AU) Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2460 Warnings: same old angst, fluff, mentions of assault A/N: Sorry for posting late. It’s been a hard week, but enjoy! *whispers* only 7 parts left. Feedback is welcomed! 💜

Part 3

One week later

Bucky and Steve continued to discuss the next steps, however when they went to ask for Tony and Bruce’s help, a mission came up and everyone became busy. Once again, Bucky had more doubts about the situation. Maybe if he didn’t find you, he wouldn’t have to worry about your safety or hurt you in any way possible.

He was prone to hurting someone.

Whether it be on purpose or not. He couldn’t stop.

The fear grew along with his anticipation. Bucky tried suppressing his thoughts and feelings that caused him to think poorly but it was more powerful than he thought. For a week, he struggled with the decision to let people in on this or ignore it and move on with his life. He didn’t want to create any problems but what Steve said to him lingered in his mind. His words were glued to the back of his head, making sure Bucky knew what would happen if he missed out on finding and getting to know you before the time is up.

He felt like he knew you like the back of this hand but all those things about you were from another time. He didn’t know how you’d be now and that frightened. With the stress eating him up, Bucky had been getting all his frustrations out in the gym. The only therapy he knew that would steer his mind in the right direction instead of giving him a panic attack or relapsing every time it got difficult to cope and keep inside.

Bucky was dressed in his workout clothes, a black tank top fitted loosely around his broad torso with gray sweats. His long, chestnut colored strands of hair were tied together into a small bun on the back of his head as sweat trickled down his forehead and neck.  The fluorescent lights bounced off his sweat glistened skin, highlighting and defining around his lean, big muscles. Two strands of hair framed his face as he continuously punched the black worn out punching bag that looked like it was about to see it’s last day.

Whenever Bucky was irritated or needed to get something out of from his system, he’d go to the gym and punch his way as a stress reliever. He had become very reserved, keeping to himself and making sure his conversations with anyone from the team or outsider was short. Steve was the only other exception since he knew more about Bucky than everyone else did.

The booming, harsh sounds of his fists colliding with the firm, leather bound bag gave him the kind of white noise that blocked everything and everyone who might have been in the same room as him. The loud sounds would recherché from the cement walls, creating a sort of barrier for Bucky. He would get lost, concentrating on his moves and staying in rhythm. Giving a few more hits to the bag, Bucky stopped abruptly, grabbing the swinging sack to a halt as he leaned against it. His breathing was hard, and fast as if he’d been doing this for days when only it’s been a few hours. He could feel this heartbeat pound against his chest as he tried to catch his breath.

Bucky got so lost in his workout that he zoned out, recalling a time in his dream world with you where you wanted to learn how to defend yourself. He thought it was absurd but you had a good reason behind it. Bucky let out a small chuckle, thinking back to what you had said.

~

“C’mon, Buck. Teach me.” You begged, pouting as you followed Bucky through the compound.

“I said no, Y/N. You won’t even tell me why.” He laughed out, rounding the corner and reaching the elevator. He pressed the button before turning to face you with his arms crossed over his chest, quirking an amusing eyebrow.

“I already told you!” you whined.

“But “because I wanna learn” isn’t a good enough reason. There has to be a real, actual reason behind it, doll.” He waited for your answer but you looked down and sighed.

“If I told you, you’d make fun of me…” you mumbled, which Bucky didn’t quite catch.

“What was that?” He took a step forward before jumping in place as the elevator’s ding startled the both of you. Your heart raced as your palms became sweaty, seeing the look he was giving you which meant he knew you were bullshitting.

Over the course of a year, you and Bucky had become close friends like two peas in a pod. After your first encounter, together, you two had become inseparable, meeting every Friday at the same bar you two met in. Your friendship grew dramatically, knowing every detail about the other becoming each other’s best friend. Of course, Steve was a close friend too and he didn’t mind that Bucky spent most of his time with you. He was just happy to see Bucky becomes himself again.

Never lost again.

However, Bucky yearned for more than just a friendship. He had fallen hard for you the moment his eyes laid on you like he was caught under some spell that couldn’t break him free… even if he tried, he didn’t want to.

Trying to ignore what Bucky asked, you quickly ran inside, hitting the close door button. But as fate would have it, Bucky caught the double steal door just in time before they closed. You mentally cursed at yourself, seeing there was no way out of this and stood there with your shoulders slouched. You thought making yourself small would stop Bucky from persisting to know.

But you were wrong.

“You either tell me or I’ll make you run another 5 miles tomorrow after hitting the gym.” He stated as he leaned his back against the cool steel elevator wall, smirking. You rolled your eyes and huffed out a sigh.

“Fine. It’s because I was watching Cops the other day and they were talking about how it’s important for women to learn how to protect and defend themselves at any cost. Especially since I live in the city, it would come in handy if I ever get jumped on the street by some thug or if a burglar came into my house late at night.” You explained as you kept your eyes on Bucky, figuring out his reaction to this.

He choked on his spit hearing what you said before chuckling. “Really, Cops?” Bucky narrowed his eyes and gnawed on his bottom lip in thought as he watched how your eyebrows furrow deeper with each second passing when he didn’t say a word. He found it cute almost.

“No… there’s another reason and you’re not telling me. Five miles tomorrow.’ The elevator dinged again, signaling your arrival to the first floor as Bucky stepped out, ignoring you as he walked out of the building. You groaned, giving up as you ran after him.

“Bucky!”

“Tell me!” He laughed out, turning when you caught up to him.

“Ugh, how do you even know.” You groaned as you placed your hands on your hips, sighing. “If I tell you, you have to keep this as a secret and not say or breathe a word to anyone, capeesh?”

“Yes, c’mon.”

“I saw a woman get jumped the other day.” You saw as Bucky’s face turn into concern before continuing. “I was walking home from my night shift when I heard a cry for help. When I reached the alleyway where the sounds were coming from, I saw a man with a knife and he held it in front of her. He ran and took the lady’s purse before doing anything else. I was about to call the cops but she told me to leave it. She looked so frightened and she just ran. I should have done something like defend her or protect her. I felt so worthless.” You looked down as your voice became small and you kicked your feet around, feeling somewhat embarrassed. He probably thinks I’m weak and pathetic.

“Y/N… “Bucky dragged on and pursed his lips, thinking about it. His heart sank hearing you call yourself worthless. It meant this was important to you. The very thought of someone hurting you made Bucky’s stomach turn, leaving a horrible taste in his mouth. Teaching you how to defend yourself would be a good thing, better safe and prepared than sorry.  

You finally looked up after a moment of silence and saw Bucky take a deep breath as he looked down at you with a small smile playing across his face.

“Fine. I’ll teach you how to defend yourself, but that means no more calling yourself worthless or any other name. Always stay positive and keep your mind clear.” He stated as your eyes lit up in excitement and you leaped into his arms, smiling wide.

“Got it! Thank you, Buckaroo!” You pulled away laughing as you saw the unamused look Bucky had.

“Stop calling me that.” He pouted as you squished his cheeks, giggling.

“No, I will not. That will forever be your name.” He shook you off him as he straightened up.

“You do realize that you’re gonna have to be more fit than you already are, right?” He smirked, knowing how much you hated working out.

“Fuck, I didn’t think this through.” You started panicking but your car pulled up.

“Off you go, doll. Training starts tomorrow 6 a.m. sharp and don’t be late or else.” Pushing you forward, he gave you no time to refute as you ducked inside the town car Tony assigned for you.

“But Bucky”

“Bye, Y/N” He sang, waving you goodbye as he shut the door and stepped back as you mentally cursed at yourself for being so stupid and forgetting the kind of hell Bucky puts the other teammates in when they train.

“This should be fun.” He laughed lightly, shaking his head before heading back inside the tower. Excitement and nervousness coursed through him as he made his way to his room, planning what he’d be teaching you. The smile on his face never vanished as the only thought he held onto was you.

~

“Barnes”

Bucky whipped his head around to see Nat standing there with a questionable raised brow. She was clad in her training gear as she hesitated to step forward, worried that Bucky might need some help.

“You alright?” She asked.

Bucky turned his attention back to the punching bag still held in his hands before he released it, watching it swung back and forth. He mentally cursed at himself for zoning out. For days now, it’s been happening more frequently. The team became worried, asking him if he was alright or if he needed Bruce. Afraid his mind was being taken over by someone else.

“Yeah, I-I’m good.” He swallowed thickly, straightening up and rolling his shoulders. He stretched out the tension and strain from his aching muscles as Nat stood there. She nodded lightly, eyeing Bucky curiously before stepping closer to him.

“How’ve you been? You don’t say much these days.” She cocks her head to the side, trying to get a better look at him. Her voice is soft and sincere as she lets a bit of her humanity pass through the cracks of her tough exterior. Bucky chuckles darkly, amused by the way she sounds before gritting his teeth.

“Why do you care? I’ve been in this tower for how long and now you show me some acknowledgment?” He spat, not facing her. His memories with her resurfaced as anger and pain flooded his mind.

“Bucky, I-”

“Save it.” He swiftly turned his body towards Nat. “I’m don’t want to open up. I don’t want your remorse. You of all people should know how it’s like to be haunted by your past and to finally see someone who made you think maybe it was a lie, a memory planted in my brain so that I’d be wired differently, but news flash Natalia. It was real and you stood there like you didn’t know me, the real me when I walked in this tower.” Dropping his arms to his side, he leaned down to grab his towel to drape it around his neck as it soaked up the sweat.

“Look, whatever is bothering you or seems to be on your mind 24/7 has nothing to do with me or the team. We’re trying to help you, to see that you’re human but you won’t let anyone in except for Steve? Bucky… you and I had a life together. A relationship-”

“Had. Keyword. And you’re right, I have a lot on my plate right now and expressing emotions and sharing what we’re thinking isn’t what I need. If you’re looking for forgiveness I don’t have any. What was in the past stays there. We’re nothing to each other, other than combat members on a team.” He stated coldly as he bent down to grab his duffel bag, draping it over his shoulder.

“I don’t want your pity. You can’t help me. Ever. Just… leave me alone.” He said the last part barely above a whisper. The frown on his face deepened as he walked away leaving Nat speechless with a lump in her throat. An ache in her soul. She has been trying to get through Bucky but he wouldn’t allow it. The pain was too much to bare knowing what past they shared.

The Red Room.

It wasn’t a life both wanted but forced into. Just like their relationship. Similar people lived similar lives. But that didn’t mean they were perfect with one another. Bucky got a taste of what it was like being with someone other than your soulmate. He didn’t like it. Felt out of place like he didn’t belong with her. Remembering his past with Nat made him realize how bad he yearned for you and only you.

You were unreplaceable.

Nat wanted closure but she kept disappearing, terrified by what she experienced and now coming to face them. But she busied herself, going on missions and ignoring Bucky. Bucky soon realized she didn’t want anything to do with him so he stopped trying. Shutting everyone out and only letting in Steve since he and Buck are alike in so many ways.

Broken and figuring out life.

As he laid in bed that night staring up at the ceiling, Bucky let out a shaky breath as he shut his eyes and whispered, I’m ready before dozing off. Eyelids weighed heavy as he sunk further into his dream state where he’d find peace.

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(tags are open; sorry i couldn’t tag 2 people)

[artificialzeezee]

My nightmares are usually about losing you. Bitney

TW: Past eating disorder.

Recovery was indescribable. It was a world of anguish and heartache, all the while being the most courageous act a person could partake in. The soul sucking self-hatred that came with every day, and the sanity slowing slipping from a person every time they heard the tick of a clock. Wrists caught between the razor sharp teeth of a ghost, throat rejecting the phantom pills from yonder years, and it all feels like a disorientated hallucination, the guilt that comes with a possible relapse feels like a gun to the chest. The blow could kill a person if they’re alone. 

It had been years for Shane since he was unrecognisable. He was an adult now, no longer envious of those slimmer than him, and no longer cataloging his calories. No more obsessive thoughts about his appearance, he was supposedly a better person to the outside world. Not many people even knew about the problems he’d faced as a young teen, so it felt easy to keep up the happy persona. When he was a little blue, no one acted skittish around him as if he may fall off the bandwagon - he was allowed to remain normal in his life long recovery.

Telling people about the dark days was horrible though. It was like pulling teeth or cracking a bone. When Shane told Roy, he felt like the world was melting, the weight pulling him down till he felt suffocated under his deadly secret. The words “I had an eating disorder” were as acidic as vomit itself. He was lucky however, that Roy’s harsh shell was all an act. That underneath the brutish stage persona was a real life person full of care and love. Roy was the perfect level of understanding that he listened to Shane without judgement, but didn’t push him for stories and answers he didn’t have the energy to tell.

Shane is able to have a relationship without the heavy past drowning him, and he doesn’t have to choke on the waters of someone’s never ending curiosity. With Roy, he was allowed to have a past that stayed in the past.

6 months into their relationship and Shane found himself having a particularly bad night. There’s not always a reason for a relapse, sometimes it’s just the body clock finally going off, trying to return to the usual pattern. Shane sits on the bathroom floor, staring at the scales and thinking about his breathing. It had been so long since a relapse he couldn’t even remember the amount of time, yet here he was, still recovering even after he assumed he was done. 

He’s learnt. He texts Roy for help, and less than an hour Roy walked into the bathroom and sat beside him on the bathroom floor. He doesn’t instantly hold him, he doesn’t even speak straight away. He just let Shane register that he’s not alone anymore, before spooking the scene with his bluntness. 

“Did you weigh yourself?”

Shane shook his head, and Roy believed him.

“You know you’re okay, right? Like…your weight is healthy, and you look good. There’s no need to panic.”

Roy doesn’t understand, but Shane got why; he wasn’t meant to, same way Shane didn’t always himself. He let his legs fall flat on the floor, his chest suddenly cold from no contact.

“I don’t know what I’m meant to say to help, but if I did you know I’d say it a million times.” Roy said, resting his hand on Shane’s knee. “I’ve learnt at my bitter old age that telling someone how you feel is the only way you can be truly happy when you go. I don’t have the magic words to help you not feel this way, but I can give you everything I have with only the hope you’ll smile. Because even though I can’t understand the absurdity of hurting yourself, I empathise that it’s your struggle, and I wish I could take it away from you.”

“It’s not absurd to me.” He scoffed, even though he knew deep down it was, and even deeper that Roy didn’t mean it to hurt. He turned away, eyes focused on the damn scales again.

Roy resisted sighing, and moved closer, pulling Shane’s head to rest on his shoulder as he held him. “I’m sorry. I just meant even though I don’t personally understand, I’m always here. You are my favourite cunt to ever grace this earth, I don’t know what I’d do without you!” He laughed, kissing him on the forehead. “Your nightmares are fighting your demons and not being the very best, like they always have been. Mine are so different than they ever were. My nightmares are usually about losing you.”

Shane tensed in Roy’s arms, his heart almost hammering so hard it would crack open his chest and bounce away. He knew Roy cared about him, but their relationship was so shut off and mutually quiet he wasn’t used to the honesty. It was refreshing, and made his eyes wander away from the haunting machine to Roy.

“That was fucking stupid, I’m sorry. I mean it, but I could have said it in a way that didn’t sound like a bullshit quote from The Notebook.” Roy laughed, kissing Shane again before pushing himself up off the ground and pulling Shane to his feet. He stroked his arms, eyes staring deep into the milky green as if he was trying to hypnotise him. Shane would have let him too. “I need you to know I care about you so much, and you’re not alone with this. If you want to talk about it or you just need me to pick you up off the bathroom floor, I’m here at the drop of a hat. Okay?”

It wasn’t going to cure him- nothing ever truly would, let alone the love of another person, but it did give him hope. It gave him butterflies that sent him skyrocketing through the clouds, and filled him with such bliss that he could imagine himself fully recovered on the best days of their relationship. Roy was a helping hand, and he was grateful to have him. He gave Roy a peck on the lips and nodded, counting his lucky stars that through his journey of recovery, he had someone like Roy to cheer him on.

They left out the bathroom and went downstairs to the living room to watch TV together. Shane lay his head in Roy’s lap, and they left the subject behind for another day. Right now, he needed a distraction, and Roy knew that. That’s why Shane loved him, because he knew not to run ahead trying to fix him, but just to stay beside him as he walked the race.

_________

SEND ME TWO CHARACTERS OR MORE AND A PROMPT AND I’LL WRITE YOU A SHORT FIC

[creativeashproductions]

Dearest // Jughead Smut

Summary: Jughead and Reader have been dating secretly for a while. They spend so much time together with both contributing to the Blue and Gold. Betty however has shifted her feelings from Archie to Jughead and that causes Reader to relapse but Jughead helps to show that he loved only the reader.

Characters: Jughead x Reader, Betty Cooper, Archie Andrews, Kevin Keller, and Veronica Lodge

Words: 3146

Disclaimer: I do not own Riverdale or the characters. Please read with caution, look at the warnings please.

Warnings: Swearing, self-doubt, self-harm, angst, fluff and SMUT

Author: Caitsy.

A/N: I struggled with the self harm in this so I’m pretty sure this is the last and only time I will write about self harm. I took a long time to write that scene and I’m sitting here nearly hyperventilating from the urge. If you do self-harm please get help. PLEASE!

Master List

Prompt List

ASK US A QUESTION LIST

Jughead Jones was an observant person when it came to Riverdale because he was an aspiring author and with his crime novel he was even more. Jughead and you were a couple that recently got together and the relationship was amazing to be honest. It was natural and easy with him from going from friends to more. You had maybe been together a month or so and keeping it low-key because it was new and special.

You shared everything but one minor detail was kept from him on your part since it was in the past and you didn’t want to hurt him. He meant the world to you but you didn’t want to bring up that you were recovering from a bad addiction. You no longer gave in as you began to do photography when Jughead joined the Blue and Gold; you joined at his request to do images.

Betty had been in the corner on the phone as Jughead got to his feet pressing a kiss to you cheek muttering about grabbing lunch for both of you. You smiled.

“Can you get me a water?” You asked him.

“Sure. I’ll be back in ten minutes, keep my spot warm.” Jughead said backing out of the room.

The silence was comfortable as you went through your photos to find one that fit that article Jughead was writing at the moment. You were humming as you smiled passing the recently success of a picture you had taken with Jughead. You were going to print a copy for him since he loved it so much.

“Y/N?” Betty asked coming to lean on your desk that was against Jughead’s.

“Yeah?” You questioned.

“Do you thi-”

“Y/N! I got your water, some friend and some edible chicken nuggets” Jughead said placing one tray in front of you and setting his down beside you, “Have you chosen an image?”

“Yeah!” You grinned turning your attention to your boyfriend, “I really think this one fits the tone you’re going for.”

He nodded while picking up his food and shoving it nearly whole into his mouth in typical Jug fashion. For a skinny guy he sure could pack food away quickly and you found it kind of hot to be honest. Well to be fair to found everything about Jughead hot.

“Hey Jughead?” Betty asked leaning against he desk with an apple in hand, “Can I get your help after school?”

“Uh…I’m free for about an hour. Y/N and I have pictures to get. Some didn’t come out the way we wanted.” Jughead said inconspicuously winking at you. He wanted to redo some pictures of the two of you together.

“That works for me.” Betty smiled, “I have to go talk to Ronnie but I’ll be back in a while.”

Jughead pushed himself closer to you so he could press another kiss to your cheek leaving a strange condiment on your cheek. You wrinkled your nose and pushed him off so you could wipe it off your cheek.

“Jughead! That’s disgusting!” You laughed as he cheekily smiled at you. You couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face as you watched him.

You could easily see yourself a decade from now possibly and hopefully married to him. You had always loved him and he felt the same about you and you wanted a long happy life with him. You both quickly ate before he began to finish the article while you quickly did the rest of your history homework.

The rest of the day was a breeze so when it came to Jughead helping Betty you quickly went to use the bathroom. There was no point in you leaving so Jughead had asked you to wait for him and you were more than okay with that. Jughead was still talking to a teacher while you had bumped into Betty in the bathroom.

“Are you okay?” You asked as Betty gulped applying a light pink lipgloss. She took in a deep breath as she turned to face you.

“I’m just nervous. Last time I revealed my feelings I was rejected and I really don’t want that to happen again.” Betty sighed, “I really like this guy and I don’t want to mess anything up.”

You were confused as to how this related to Jughead but you quickly hugged her by muttering encouraging words. She waited for you as you used the bathroom and washed your hands. You squeezed her shoulder as you both came into the room where Jughead was. You moved to gather your things when you heard Betty.

“Jughead can I talk to you?”

“Of course. What did you want to talk about?” Jughead asked.

Betty turned to you with a pleading look, still confused you walked out of the room but not too far so you could hear. You heard another shaky breath before your heart shattered at the words coming from Betty.

“I…I really like you. I know it’s weird since I was in love with your best friend but not anymore! Working with you on the paper has opened my eyes that I want to be more.” Betty admitted. The silence killed you and the itchiness developed on your wrists as the inability to breath came upon you.

You released a small sob before tearing off down the hall not bothering to pick up the notebook that had slapped on the ground. You couldn’t breath and didn’t even notice when you bumped into Archie but you kept on running. You had to get away, go to your place and sob.

You slammed your front door opened itching your wrist as you ran out the back door and into the hidden playhouse turned personal hangout. You slammed the door shut and scrambled to the lose floorboard where a treasure rested underneath. You pulled it up quickly not feeling the splinter in your hand.

You ripped your sweater off revealing the scars on both wrists that nobody had ever seen before. You held the blade against your wrist and cried. Betty knew about your feelings for Jughead and didn’t respect that she should back the fuck off. While sure she didn’t know you were dating him but that’s inexcusable to betray her.

The blade sank into your skin as you slowly dragged it too involved in the act to noticed the door was open. You sighed in relief only wincing when your tears fell onto the open wound. You flinched when the blade was smacked out of your hand and arms wrapped around you. That didn’t stop you from trying to shove the person away to grab another one.

“Y/N! Oh my god.” The voice exclaimed grabbing your sweater to push it against the wound. You looked up to see a panicking Jughead.

Your secret was out as Jughead’s gaze looked at both of your wrists where a kaleidoscope of scars were. All shapes, sizes and angles were painted on both wrists with some faded and some weren’t.

“W-why?” Jughead whispered through a mass of brimming tears, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You sobbed feeling utter shame at the relapse because you had worked so hard to keep away from the addiction. Jughead wrapped his arms around you causing you to look over his shoulder where Archie was standing.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, “I-I couldn’t stop myself.”

“How long?”

“I can’t remember how long I did it but I hadn’t done this for nine months.” You mumbled closing your eyes, “I just…Betty knew that I like you for so long and it’s a real bitch move. A Cheryl move to betray me like that. We’ve been dating a short per-”

“Sh…I love you. You know that more than anyone else and nothing is going to take me away from you.” Jughead said kissing the side of your neck.

“Really Betty?” You heard the annoyed voice of Kevin in the yard, “She literally told you that she loved him and you decided to go for it?”

“I didn’t know…I wasn’t thinking…” Betty trailed off, “I just he was smiling so much when I was around and he was joking more. He was different-”

“Betty he’s only like that with Y/N.” Archie said as he looked over at you. Jughead had shifted you the bed that was against the wall, “We should give them some space.”

“But-”

“Betty come on.” Veronica said pulling her behind her. Betty was once more heartbroken over a boy.

Jughead was crying for the first time in front of you and it was breaking your heart incredibly bad. You were both on the bed holding each other as you both calmed down by the presence of the other person. You felt his hand moving on your back as he hummed in your ear.

“I love you.” Jughead whispered, “I love everything about you and I’m going to get cliche.”

“You hated cliches.” You giggled smiling when his chest rumbled with laugher.

“I do but I can always make an exception for you. I love you and I want you to come to me when the pain gets too much.” Jughead said, “No matter what whether we’re in a fight or things have caused us to separate for while you can always come to me.”

“I love you.” You whispered back.

Jughead pulled back to press a kiss to you forehead before his lips grazed over your right temple down to your jaw. He trailed his lips to the other side of your jaw before pressing a lingering kiss to your left temple. He slowly moved back to press a deep lingering kiss on your mouth. When he did he lit a fire inside you and he knew it when your hand shoved its way under his beanie.

“I love all your imperfections, not flaws. You don’t have flaws in my eyes and I’m an artist.” Jug teased you trailing his one hand down to your hip so he could push you onto your back. He hovered over you, “If I had to choose one thing to do before I died…I would choose to be with you until I died.”

You sniffled as his genuine words hit home where you thought you were unworthy to be his girlfriend. His fingers pushed back hair from where it was on your shoulder so he could nip at your neck just where he found your sweet spot.

“Mhm.” You moaned as you were lifted so he could tug your shirt off. His hands caressed your body stroking at the scars before he pressed deep kisses to keep wrist keeping his eyes on yours.

“Can I show how much I love you. How much I desire you and want you to be beautiful.”

“Jug…I’m not Betty or Veronica.” You admitted.

“I know. In a crowd of Bettys and Veronicas I would find them, Archie would but my eyes would find the gorgeous photography on the sidelines creating masterpiece images of that crowd.” Jughead whispered, “I prefer my girl who laughs at the popular crowd. I love how when Reggie calls me Wednesday Addams you make this cute little giggle before telling me-”

“You’re not a Wednesday…you’re more like the Morticia to my Gomez.” You finished smiling up at him.

“That was the moment I knew I loved you.” Jughead whispered as you pulled his shirt over his head.

“I knew I loved you when you said we’d be the Addams family of Riverdale and needed a Wednesday Addams.” You giggled sighing as Jug’s hand released your bra clasp.

“Do you want to practice for when we’re living the dark life?” Jug said sucking on your collarbone.

“Hmm. May take a while to perfect but I’m game.” You giggled when Jughead slowly pushed your leggings down and off the small bed. You gasped when his finger ghosted across the hemline of your panties.

His fingers dipped in to brush against your skin before he moved himself down your body nipping at the skin. Only stopping to momentarily lavish your breasts as his hand held you down by the hip. You sucked in a breath when his mouth trailed down to bite your hip and licking it to sooth the beautiful pain. You squirmed when his teeth dragged your panties down your legs and that made you even more wet.

“That was fucking hot.” You breathed blinking at him.

“It’s about to get even more hot.” Jughead smirked as he buried his mouth in your heat.

You gasped as his tongue dipped into you before twirling around your clit but the perfect amount of pressure. You wiggled as his finger moved to rub your clit causing you to gasp in absolute euphoria. It was only when his mouth and finger changed spots and your clit was sucked for a second did white explode behind your eyelids.

“Jughead! Holy…” You screamed arching off the bed. You settled back down into the sheets as Jughead crawled back up to you.

“I love you when you smile. When you take a picture, when you take one of me thinking I don’t see it. I love when you sing off key for fun and how you put yourself into a position to make everyone happy. I love that you managed to coerce the mayor into letting you and I have one last night at the drive in.” Jughead whispered hovering over you, “I love the colour of your eyes and the nervous movement of pushing your hair behind your ear. I love how you’ll paint your nails only to pick it off by the end of the day.”

“Jug-” You began as his thumb brushed against your cheek.

“I love that you wear your heart on your sleeve around me and how you always have a comeback to my sarcasm. I love how you managed to slap some sense into Archie and how you helped him get his mind off Grundy by helping him with a song.” Jughead continued, “I love the blush you get when I catch you staring at me. I love how you refuse to interrupt my writing and I love how you’ve supported my dream and I love you endlessly, unconditionally and deeply without regret.”

You were crying at the end of the sentence and smiled when his nose brushed against your temple. His fingers removing the tears from your cheeks.

“I love your stretch marks, your freckles, and your scars. I swear I will throw my hat out willingly before I give up on you.”

You roughly pulled him into a bruising kiss to thank him for his words and love he bestowed upon you. You couldn't believe how much you loved this boy but he was your present and future.

You pushed him onto his back as you unzipped his jeans and dragged them down his legs bringing his boxers down with them. You bit your lip feeling a blush go up your entire body as you took in the form of your boyfriend from his sinful smile to the lean stomach and the gift he had been hiding in his jeans the entire time.

“No. I’m making you feeling gorgeous.” Jughead said pushing you back under him so he could pull you leg around his hip.

You sucked in a sharp breath when you felt his cock pressed against your stomach. He moaned deeply as he pulled back with panic in his eyes. You frowned before you caught on, so you reached back down into the floor where a stash was. Your brother always had condoms stocked in the playhouse, sheds and all the rooms in the house. He was weird like that.

“John keeps them everywhere. He’s a manwhore.” You chuckled as Jughead graciously took it in his hand and raised it to your lips so you could rip it.

“Are you sure about this?” Jughead whispered as he rolled the condom onto his length. You nodded, “I need you to say it.”

“Yes. There isn’t any other one I would want to do this with. I love and trust you.” You whispered feeling his fingers at your entrance coaxing another orgasm out of you, “Oh wow!”

While you were coming down from that one he slowly began to push inside you taking a few seconds each push to allow both of you to get used to the feeling. You were both breathing when he was sunk down into you to the hilt. Nodding your head to him he slowly pulled almost all the way out before pushing back in at a slow sensual pace.

You gasped when he hit that one spot with a harder thrust but never speeding up. Your hands were interlocked while the other used the bed as leverage. You leaned up nipping underside of his jaw where he loved the attention. His hips stuttered as you did so before he regained his force.

You gasped arching up as his one hand slid between your bodies to rub your clit in time with his thrusts. You clenched around him as you fell over the cliff with the mixture of thrusts, his fingers against your clit and his lips connected on your sweet spot.

“OH MY GOD! JUGHEAD!” You screamed slamming up into his body as he quivered falling over the edge of the intensity of your orgasm.

He collapse next to you breathing heavily as he looked over to your dazed self. You couldn’t see or hear anything for few beats until you heard him chuckle. He was cheekily smirking at you pushing his hand over your cheek bone to bring you into a slow kiss.

“I love you.”

“For the three orgasms I just gave you…I would hope so.” He teased, “I do see us together in the future.”

“I do too.”

“I um…have an option if you want.” Jughead said, “I know you’re embarrassed and ashamed of your scars since you’ve never showed your arms…we could design a tattoo and get them covered up. Only if you want.”

“I’d really like that.” You admitted rubbing your arms.

“We’ll do that when we’re out of that shit hole school.” Jughead smiled, “I want to set the record straight. I love you and only you. I have only liked you my entire life since I was in third grade. I’ve never noticed Betty in the way she believed because it’s hard to notice someone when your eyes are glued on someone else.”

Jughead only got up to remove the used condom and grabbing a cloth from a drawer to wipe both of you down. He gave you his shirt before tugging on his boxers along with handing your bra over. You both curled up not wanting to end this little world until you absolutely had to.

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[lovelivingmydreams]

My VLD season 9 episode 1: Grief

7 part 1 7 part 2 8 fix The leaves crunch underneath his sneakers in a steady rhythm, his breath enters and leaves his chest in sharp puffs. He pushes past trees and jumps over obstacles as we watch the forest flash by trough his eyes. Flashes of memories fill his mind. A cryopod opening and a warm weight filling his embrace, his heart stopping for a brief second, his breath completely escaping him a moment. He pushes harder. A Princes covered in space slush after a gigantic food fight, satisfied with her accomplishment. He shakes his head. He has to stay focused. A vision in pink. His heartache over losing his beloved lion soothed, knowing she’s in good hands. A tear escapes him, he wipes it away. His vision is blurry. Her smile, her eyes, holding her in his arms. Comforting her after she had her heart broken. No. He didn’t want to think about it. Eyes still blurry he jumps over a fallen tree. We see his foot catch on a branch, he falls and rolls of a slope as more memories flash. Introducing her to his family, telling her he loves her, cuddling together in their rooms, the first time she said she loved him back, stolen kisses in corridors... The last time he saw her face. He hit the end of the slope and rolled back into a standing position and shot himself forward again. It was no use, she was gone. All that was left of her were the marks on his cheeks and the entire freaking planet they’d camped out on for the past three weeks. Helping the new Alteans build themselves a home hadn’t been as much of a distraction as he’d hoped. Everywhere he looked he was reminded of her. They were even busy building a statue in her honor. Something he was pretty sure Allura would’ve thought entirely unnecessary. And yet, they were almost halfway done. Soon his late girlfriend’s face would stare down upon the place where they’d first touched down, where their lions were still standing. Motionless... Pointless. He breaks through the tree line and found himself looking up at said statue. He digs in his bag for his water bottle and takes a grateful swig. He sits down and looks up at the morning sky. New flashes, this times not memories but fantasies. Him taking Allura dancing, going out for dinner, having a drink in a café, see sappy movies, watching sunsets, proposing, marrying, having children and growing old together. All things that were for some alternate universe Lance and Allura. It was some kind of bittersweet comfort to know that they had a future in some realities. He’s just stuck in the one where he has to miss her every day. “Sir Lance!” The excited voice wakes Lance from his daydreams. “Oh, hey Shasha!” Lance greets the Altean girl who’d been the first to approach him. Over the past few weeks she took to following him around and asking him all kinds of questions about voltron and the universe. He tried to direct her to Pidge or Coran for proper insights in the workings of these things but she insisted on hearing it all from him. She’d also taken it upon herself to help the team in any way she could. She held the paladins in high regard. That much was clear. It was probably not fair of him to think of her as a kid. She wasn’t that much younger than Pidge after all. Then again Pidge had seen a lot in the past year. They all had. None of them could still be called kids he supposed. “Mister Keith is looking for you!” Shasha called out as she closed the distance between them in a sprint. Lance smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The others had been trying their best to be there for him, which was exactly why he’d needed to get away for an hour or so this morning. Pidge was a disaster in trying to comfort people. He didn’t think he could take another feel better meal from Hunk. He was not going to allow Shiro to relapse in his grieving processes because he was trying to cheer him up. Especially now that he seemed to be getting somewhere with that Curtis guy. He couldn’t face Coran, not yet. He felt like he’d failed him in failing to protect Allura. And Keith... Well, that mullet wasn’t so bad he supposed. He’d actually been good about being there without being pushy. Still Lance prefers to deal with this on his own. His team however seems determined to keep an eye on him. Lance gets up. “Let’s get back to the atlas,” he sighs as he follows her to the massive ship that has been their home away from home for a the past four months.

Near the base of the statue stands Coran with a few of the older new Alteans. “Come on! We should hurry!” calls a young girls voice, prompting him to look up and find Lance being dragged towards the ship by Shasha. For a moment they lock eyes. Before Coran can muster a smile and wave, Lance looks down, seemingly shrinking down, causing Coran’s heart to break. “Anny luck with the red paladin?” One of his new friends asks concerned. Coran sighs. “No, he shuts down whenever anyone tries to talk to him about Allura. And when it comes to me… Well he can’t even stand to be in the same room as me. I blame myself. When he approached me about dating Allura I gave him a hard time. When she got hurt in the astral plane I held it against him.” His eyes start tearing up. “I knew that he’d fought against that decision the hardest. And I knew that there was no denying Allura once she wants something.” He slams a fist on the table in frustration before whipping at his eyes. An Altean woman named Leyla puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “When my husband was brought to the colonies, my son Simon was like that. He shut himself of from the world. At the time I of course didn’t know that he was very right to mourn like that. But I let him. Even though I was convinced that my husband was living happily on the other colony, in many ways it was like he was dead. We had after all no guarantee that we would be reunited with him. So I let him grief. But after a month of silence, my sister was tired of seeing us both suffer. She sat him down and told him that I was miserable and that neither of us could handle losing him too. Do you know what happened?” Coran shakes his head, whipping away the last few tears. “He broke down crying and I hugged him. Soon we found that we both wanted to reach out but didn’t know how. Someone has to pull Lance over the line. Maybe not you. But someone has to do it.” Coran thinks about this and nods. He’ll talk to the others about this as soon as he’s done here.

We find Hunk and Pidge in the kitchen where Pidge is watching Hunk put some sort of icing on cupcakes. “So… what is this again?” Pidge asks. “Well the cupcakes are just regular earth recipe. But the icing has Junaberry juice in it. It’s amazing. The things I’ve managed to use this juice in. I get why the old Alteans had an entire festival for it.” Pidge picks up a finished muffin and takes a bite. “Hey!” Hunk complains. Pidges face lights up. “That tastes really good!” she exclaims. “Thanks but you didn’t have to steal it,” Hunk grumbles as he finishes of the last cupcake. “Allura would’ve liked them to,” Pidge muses sadly. Hunk sighs. “I really hope so,” he whispers. The two paladins leave the silence hanging between them as they take a moment to mourn their friend.

On the bridge Shiro stands at the window staring of at nothing in particular. He’s alone. There’s no emergency, no one needs to man the many monitors or steer the ship. Everyone is preparing the Atlas for the long trip home or taking some time to explore the new planet. “Mind if I join you?” Shiro looks back at his unexpected company. It’s Curtis. “I won’t stop you. It’s a free universe,” he tells him. A small smile appears as he realizes the truth in that statement. It is a free universe. All their work has finally paid off. Then the smile disappears as he once again remembers how high the price for that freedom was. Curtis stands next to him and shares in his silence for a few moments. “Are you alright?” he asked. Shiro smiled sadly. “We won… The Galra are defeated, Honerva is stopped, the Alteans are home, even the homeplanet of the Galra has reapeared… And still I feel like we lost.” Curtis thought for a bit about that. “We did… I guess no one wins in a war… If you could go back and make this someone else’s mission would you?” Shiro took a moment to think about that. What if he’d listened to Adam and stayed. Married him. Been a stable guidance for Keith. Who would’ve gone to Kerberos in his stead? Would they have taken Matt’s place as fighter? Would they have managed to defeat their opponent? Would they have made it to earth? Would they have managed to escape quarantine and found the blue lion in addition to the pilots needed to form Voltron? Or would the Galra have taken over a completely unprepared and defenseless earth? Maybe then he still would’ve ended up in the rebellion. Fighting the Galra with a group stubborn Garrison students. Freeing the blue lion from the Galra and starting the same adventure maybe a few months later. “No…I don’t know if I was the best person to lead Voltron, or the Atlas, but if Slav is to be believed, we’ve escaped far worse scenario’s.” Curtis lays a hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “Then stop fretting about what you can’t change. Mourn those we’ve lost, but…” Curtis turns Shiro to fully face him, his eyes softening. “Don’t lose sight of the future.” Shiro smiled grateful for the peptalk. “Thanks Curtis,” he sighs. “So,” Curtis continued. “Are we still on for dinner tonight.” The blush on his cheeks is now more obvious. Shiro chuckles softly and nods, also blushing slightly. “Wouldn’t miss it for the galaxy.” “Liar,” Curtis chastises playfully.

In one of the cabins Veronica is sat on her bed in front of a computer screen. “Things are looking good here! The Alteans are settling in nicely. We might get to return home soon!” she tells her parents over the video call. Now that things were peaceful they’d managed to make a connection with Earth’s new satellites, which were made to accommodate deep space communication. “That’s wonderful dear! How long until you’re back?” her mother asks, excited at the prospect of having all her children back home with her. “Well... Since we can’t use the teledove it might take a while. We’re stocking supplies for a few months. I’ll check with Sam later.” The subject of the teledove saddens everyone.  The reason why the journey will take so long hangs in the air every time it’s brought up. “How’s your brother?” her father asks carefully. “We haven’t heard from him since...” Veronica looks down, biting her lip. “He’s been... Distant. Every time I get close to trying to talk about it with him he runs of with some excuse. I don’t know what to do. I know he needs my help, but I don’t want to push him. I’ve been hoping one of the other paladins or Shiro can get through to him. They knew Allura better than I did. But maybe I should make him talk to me? He can’t keep avoiding everyone like this.” She adjusts her glasses, an uncertain frown on her face. “Just be there for him dear,” her mother suggests in a soothing voice. “He’ll open up when he’s ready.” Veronica sighs, she hates the waiting. Lance was brushing off anyone who tried to comfort him, insisting he was fine. But he wasn’t. Lance did not avoid his friends when he was fine. Her mother was right though. Lance never responded well to being pushed emotionally. Just outside her door the black paladin, in full armor, listens in on the conversation. His face shows his frustration. No one seems to be having any luck getting Lance to open up about what happened. Every time someone tried he ran the other way. The whole team is worried about their red paladin’s emotional state. If even his sister was at a loss what to do, then they’re in big trouble indeed. Heck if he was avoiding talking with his family back home when given the chance, then there was something seriously wrong with him. Lance had always been the most vocal about his homesickness and now he wasn’t going to take the chance to talk to them? Keith turns away from the door and walks to the docking area, his mind made up. When Shasha finds him he’ll be waiting for them. And Keith is planning on dragging his right hand man to the training room where they’ll work this out his way. In a good old fashioned fight. No sooner has Keith opened the door or he can see Lance, his clothes slightly damp from the sweat he’d worked up during his run. Dirt all over his training clothes and even some on his face. Lance spots him and smiles, but not the way he used to. With that slight challenging gleam, or on occasion the fond lights twinkling in his eyes. Instead his eyes are stained with grief and regret. ‘He’d been crying.’ Keith realizes. “Hey Keith!” he greets him with a salute. Keith gives a firm nod. “Thank you Shasha, I’ll take him from here. Your parents are looking for you,” he tells Lance’s shadow. Shasha huffs, not happy with being sent away, but gives him a small bow and leaves. “So ‘mister’ Keith,” Lance jests, sounding almost like himself. “Shasha said you were looking for me?” Keith nods. He’d planned on a calm conversation at first, but drastic measures seem in order. “I wanted to have a go in the training room, but I didn’t feel like fighting a droid. So I wondered if you’d spar with me?” He was careful to phrase it as a favor. Lance looks surprised at the suggestion, but smiles a little excited. “Sure, if you want to get knocked on your ass so bad,” he teases with a wink. More relaxed than Keith had seen him since… since Clearday. He smiled at that. Perhaps messing around in the training room was exactly what the doctor ordered. “Keep dreaming,” he teases back with a playful punch to the Cuban’s shoulder. “Get changed, I’ll meet you there in ten. Don’t be late.” “Ai ai, captain.” Lance salutes him to underline his statement before disappearing in his room. Keith leaves to do a few warm ups before they start.

As Lance showers of the sweat of his run so he won’t have to go into his armor feeling sticky, he allows himself to feel a bit excited over sparing with Keith. They’d never done that really. It’d always been teambuilding exercises. To be fair it had been pretty pointless to fight each other when one fought with a gun and the other with a sword. But now he had a sword of his own to wield. As he started to put on his armor he spotted the mice. They’d started hanging around him ever since… he shook of the thought. “Hey there. Caught me at a bad time. I’m off to spar with Keith,” he told them. The mice squealed some. Sounding curious. “I don’t know why. Guess he just wants to blow off steam. I could use some of that too. With everything that happened…” Lance secured his chest armor and called forth his beyard looking at it, recalling the first time he’d produced the sword. Other than during training he’d only used it during his fight with king Altor. He grinned as he imagined Keith’s face when he was met with a broadsword. He hadn’t been there when Lance got it… When they were left with the fake Shiro… When Keith was of on his own, abandoning his team, finding his heritage or whatever. Lance’s face darkened, cold determination filling him as he marched to the training room. His beyard understanding it’s wielders intent and changing into a sword.

After a bit of stretching Keith picks up his Galra blade and works on his forms, practicing thrusts and blocks. Suddenly his thrust is met with a loud ‘klang’ and he finds Lance holding his beyard which has taken the form of a broadsword. When did that happen? “Like it? I first got it while you were off with the blade. Two days before Lotor became emperor.” They pulled back and started an epic swordfight. “You missed a lot when you were of on your own adventure!” Lance grunts as he blocks Keith’s attacks and charges in for his own. “I don’t think we ever sat down and got you caught up on it all. Did we?” Keith just rolls with it. If this will help Lance get things of his chest then so be it. “No,” Block, jump back. “I guess we all just got distracted with the whole” He charged forward. “craziness when I got back.” Lance laughs a humorless laugh as he blocks Keith’s attack.. “Isn’t that just the story of our lives though?” He mused before attacking Keith’s left side. “One crazy thing after another?” he continued as his sword once again was met with Keith’s. “That’s how it’s been since Shiro first fell from the sky,” He concludes as he jumps back. Keith nods right before he barely dodges another thrust from Lance. “How could you though?” Lance’s face darkens. Keith is shocked by the sudden turn in his tone of voice. “Why was it so easy to leave us? When we needed you? Do you have any idea how worried we were? Didn’t you care at all?” These accusations combined with Lance’s progressively more aggressive attacks, come as such a shock to Keith that he’s forced to play defense in both their fight and their conversation. “I did…” Slide under the blade.  “a lot.” Block. “That’s why I wanted to stay away.” Block and try to disarm. Fail to disarm. “It’s not a proper excuse I know.” Jump aside. “But it was a kneejerk reaction to leave when I felt like you all got too close to me.” Block and charge. “I knew it would hurt if any of you left me, so I left first. I forced Black to pick another Paladin, one he knew wasn’t to be trusted.” A frenzy of clanging swords. It’s hard to tell who’s blocking who at this point. “It took being stranded for two years with my mother to realize that leaving you guys was because of issues I wasn’t dealing with properly.” He crouches down and swings his leg to swipe Lance of his feet, literally. He gets back up, kicks away Lance’s beyard and holds the sword to his friends throat, indicating his victory. His chest heaving with exhaustion from the intense battle. “I never properly apologized for any of that. I don’t know why you even accepted me back as your leader, but you did. And now, I ask, properly, for your forgiveness. You didn’t deserve me bailing on you guys like that.” He reaches out a hand, which Lance takes to help himself sit upright. He doesn’t get off the floor though. Instead he hugs his knees and lets his head rest on top of them. Keith sits himself next to him. “You didn’t have to apologize. I’m not really mad about that anymore… I mean it sucked and everything. But I wasn’t mad. Not mad enough to hold a grudge. I guess I just… I wanted to be mad at something, someone. Fight something. And not just a spar, but a real fight!” Lance struggles to explain this aching need inside his chest to his mulletheaded friend. “I’m sorry I took it out on you,” he mumbles. “Lance, I get it. I felt this exact way when my dad died, and when Shiro disappeared. And believe it or not but I feel the same anger towards losing Allura. I know it’s a bit different for you because of the way you loved her. But we all loved her.” Lance starts shaking, trying to hold back the wave of emotion that threatened to break him. Keith, never the one to show physical affection decides to be brave and throws one arm around his red paladin. Squeezing his shoulder in comfort. “She… She saved my life once you know?” he mutters, silent tears rolling over his cheeks. “We were repairing some galra structure, back when we were all buddy, buddy with Lotor. Something went wrong and I saw this lightning heading towards her and, well you know me. I never had much sense of self preservation in life or death situations. I took her place. And I was out. For like five minutes. Nothing. And then there was this light and warmth, a tingling on my cheeks,” he touches the marks on the exact spot where he’d felt the sensation. “And I was back. If not for her, I would’ve been a goner for sure. I think that’s where my marks came from you know. When Allura transferred Shiro’s soul into the clonebody she gave it some of her lifeforce, turning his hair Altean white. With me she did the same, but the lifeforce she gave me didn’t show until… until recently. Does that sound weird?” Keith shakes his head. “That actually makes a lot of sence.” Then he looks away again. “You really died?” he whispers. He’d nearly lost his best friend and he wasn’t even in the same solar system at the time? “Almost kinda? I’m not sure where I was on the death scale. My guess is I was farther along than when the galra invaded the castle of lions. But not quiet all the way. My soul was still firmly attached to my body at least,” Lance jokes. Keith frowns. Lance might not be mad at him anymore, but he sure was. He should’ve been there for his team. He takes a deep breath. No use dwelling on it now. He was here now. “Hey! There you guys are!” It was Hunk and Pidge, with a tray of goodies, closely followed by Shiro and Coran. “I made muffins, anyone want to try?” Hunk offers the plate to his teammates. Lance chuckles. For real this time. “Are you trying to fatten me up?” he jests as he gets up and takes a muffin. Keith joins him and takes one too. The rest of the remains of team Voltron follow their lead and they all have a taste. “This frosting has Junaberry’s in it doesn’t it?” Coran whispers touched. “Yeah, I’ve been experimenting with all kinds of recipes,” Hunk explains. “They’re great,” Keith pipes in as he takes another bite. Lance looks at his muffin, lost in thought for a moment. “To Allura. For all the little moments we’ll have thanks to her,” he toasts as he holds up the colorful pastry. The others nod solemnly, Coran with a smile and a tear in his eye. “To Allura!”