#sidelong. Archy

[deskgirl]

Fandom: Our Flag Means Death Rating: General Main Characters: Wee John, Izzy Hands Setting: Post-season 2, "nobody dies/everybody lives" timeline

For the Izzy and Crew Event, a slice of life piece. I'm posting this here for now, but I'll upload to AO3 eventually.

Excerpt:

“What the fuck’s a leisure activity?” the man asked, growing more confused and frustrated.

“Stuff you like doing. Like having fancy drinks and blowing stuff up just for fun and telling people to fuck off when they’re wasting your time.” Wee John paused for emphasis, holding his drink aloft. “So fuck off.”

~

Sharing a Drink

~

A rum bottle flew across the crowded bar and shattered. Someone flung a chair in response. The gift of a thrown chair was clearly not appreciated as it was returned with equal force. A pistol went off, smoke pluming up from a third table totally uninvolved in the dispute but clearly annoyed by the disturbance. Rather than settling things, though, this only encouraged more thrown objects in more directions, a fair number of them sharp and pointy. This was generally ignored by everyone else in the bar as they were too busy getting drunk or cheating at cards.

Standard fare for a “den of iniquity,” as Stede liked to call these pirate-friendly dives. Or was it den of antiquity? Something like that. This particular den of inebriety had become the crew’s new favorite tavern until Jackie could get herself reestablished. In a lot of places, the beer was shit, but the bar here served decent stuff, barely watered down at all. The atmosphere was kind of bougie, but the prices weren’t bad and you hardly ever had to step over a dead body on your way to the outhouse. 

Wee John relaxed on a bench seat tucked against the wall, resting his back as he guarded the drinks the crew had left with him before scattering to the wind. John’s corner table provided a nice vantage point to watch the doors and his friends as they got up to their usual shenanigans. 

Frenchie and the Swede were doing something by the dice tables that would probably get them kicked out before the night was over, Jim was coaching a nervously laughing Oluwande through a game of darts against Archie and Zheng, and he thought he saw Lucius and Black Pete necking in the shadows by the coat rack. Zheng’s scary aunt had been here a minute ago, but John saw her slip out through the kitchen and knew better than to ask questions. 

“Whoa, look at you!” 

Wee John glanced sidelong at the man who’d staggered up to his table. He was about average as far as pirates went: a smattering of piercings, tasteful battle scar here and there, bit of gunpowder under the nails, short beard that needed a proper trim and oil, and a dusty leather jacket over what was probably the only shirt the man had to his name.

The unwanted visitor was also clearly deep in his cups, judging by his gaping expression and faint swaying. 

“Yer a big bastard,” the man continued. 

“That so?” Wee John asked as if it were news to him.

The other man paused, perplexed. “Yeah, mate.”

“You should see my brother. There’s a reason everyone calls me Wee John,” Wee John said, going back to sipping his drink. It was a fancy little thing in a narrow glass, orangey pink with a curl of grapefruit peel on top. He’d been feeling fancy when they all came in here riding high on their last raid, and nothing said fancy like a garnish. 

“I bet,” the other pirate laughed, dropping his hands to the table heavily. The crew’s drinks rattled and sloshed. “Let’s see what you can do, yeah? Arm wrestle, what’cha say?”

“No thanks. It’s my day off.”

“Your what?”

“My day off,” Wee John explained. “It’s like a mini vacation.”

“What’s a vacation?” 

“It’s a day when you don’t work. You’re supposed to do leisure activities.”

“What the fuck’s a leisure activity?” the man asked, growing more confused and frustrated.

“Stuff you like doing. Like having fancy drinks and blowing stuff up just for fun and telling people to fuck off when they’re wasting your time.” Wee John paused for emphasis, holding his drink aloft. “So fuck off.”

“You–!” The other man reared back, teeth bared, then lunged at Wee John. John distantly hoped that he’d come around the table instead of vaulting it. It’d be a real dick move if he knocked over everyone’s drinks. 

Suddenly the man went very still, his body hunched forward, arms out and shoulders stiff, all of his forward momentum halted by the feather-light touch of a blade at his throat. 

“I know you’re not fucking with my crew,” a familiar voice rasped from behind the drunk man. Izzy Hands stepped to the side and tilted his head so the unfortunate bastard could have a better look at who’d gotten the jump on him.

The drunk pirate’s eyes widened comically. “You’re…”

Izzy let the man flounder for a moment, clearly enjoying the recognition. “I am.” He eyed the other man up and down, taking his time, then sucked his teeth as if disappointed. God but he was a dramatic little shit. Wee John found it rather endearing now that it was being directed at someone else. 

“I didn’t know he was with you, Mr. Hands, I swear,” the man said. He still hadn’t moved and neither had Izzy’s knife. 

“That’s unfortunate,” Izzy said with a dash of fake sympathy. There was a long pause where John had the satisfaction of watching a fat drop of sweat roll down the man’s temple and into his beard. Then Izzy sniffed and slowly drew the blade away. “Luckily for you, I’m in an unusually good mood. Now, take my man Mr. Feeney’s advice and fuck off before I change my mind.” When the man continued to stand there, he made a shooing gesture with his knife.

As if an invisible cord had been cut, the man backpedaled wildly, bumped into someone behind him who spilled their beer and started swearing, then spun and ran off.

Izzy held himself tall for a moment longer before slowly deflating, leaning his hip against the table for support. Wee John recognized the signs of fatigue. The little man had pushed himself hard yesterday during the raid. Probably made himself sore the same as Wee John had with his back. 

“Hey,” Wee John called. When Izzy looked over, he patted the spot on the bench to his left.

Izzy hesitated before carefully shifting his weight and coming around the table. He startled when Wee John took hold of his elbow but didn’t protest the help as he eased himself down onto the bench. 

“Drink?” Wee John asked.

“You offering?” 

Wee John waved a hand at the table. “Crew’s offering.”

Izzy snorted softly as he perused the selection of abandoned drinks. After a bit of thought, he went for the half-tankard of ale. 

“Whose is this?” Izzy asked idly. He gave it a sniff before tipping it back to take a drink, not waiting for Wee John’s reply first.

“Archie’s,” Wee John said. “You know, I coulda handled that guy.”

“I know,” Izzy reassured as he wiped at the corners of his mouth with his thumb. “But like you said, it’s your day off. You’re not getting paid to work off the books so don’t bother.”

“That how you’re gonna play it?” Wee John gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You could just admit you like us, you stubborn little fucker.”

“I could also just jump in the bay.” 

Wee John chuckled. 

“Anyways, don’t act like I’ve done you any real favor.” Izzy gestured with his newly acquired tankard. 

When Wee John looked, he could see the drunk bastard who’d run off now sat at a table near the door and speaking heatedly to another man. He looked somewhat better kempt, with a long, red coat and dark hair tied at the nape of his neck. He was flanked by two bruisers who seemed intent on the conversation as well. 

“That’ll be his captain,” Wee John guessed. “They’re gonna jump us when we leave the bar.”

Izzy hummed in agreement.

“Should we tell the others? Leave out the back?”

Izzy eyed what was left in the tankard before throwing it back. He let out a satisfied sigh. “No need to ruin the crew’s fun. What’s a vacation without a bit of bloodshed?” 

“I don’t think you know what a vacation is.”

“Nope,” Izzy agreed. “Now pass me that drink with the lime wedge in it.”

[unicornletters]

on the horizon -- izzy x gn reader, spoilers, no mcd, loosely part 3 of a series

You’re sitting on the porch of your secondhand home with Izzy next to you, his hoof propped on the railing. It’s the first time he's been able to make it from bed to the front of the house, and he’s properly pleased with himself, whistling a little into the evening.

He’s whittling something again – the last week or so, you’ve seen him make a cat (to give to Frenchie when he sees him), another shark (this one for Stede), and a frightening-looking snake (for Archie). You can’t tell what this animal is yet, or imagine who it’s for. Jim, maybe, who reminds you of nothing more than a big cat, maybe a panther. You’re curious to see what they remind Izzy of.

“Sunsets here are lovely,” Izzy remarks, jutting his chin toward the horizon.

“They are,” you say, taking a pull of rum, a kitchen discovery you made early on.

“Not as lovely as they are at sea,” he says, “but pretty nice.”

“Mm,” you say, content to sit and respond with not-quite-words.

“Ship’s coming in,” he says, as mildly as he can. “Might be the Revenge.”

“Might be,” you say, peering at the ocean. You can’t see any sign of ships, but one of the two of you has spent his whole life at sea, more or less, and it’s not you. 

“Did you think to keep a glass for us?” Izzy asks, obviously expecting the answer to be no.

You did, actually, now that he mentions it, and you spring up to go get it from the bedroom, where it’s parked on a nightstand with all the other items that can fit on it.

“Here,” you say, “I did remember.”

“Well done,” Izzy says, looking at you consideringly as you hand over the glass. He looks out to sea, where you still can’t tell where a ship might be. “That’s the Revenge,” he says, “absoutely. I’ll eat my fucking bandolier if it’s not.”

A thrill of excitement rushes through you.

“But why are they back so early?” you ask.

“Me,” he says. “They obviously need me.” He glances sidelong at you. “Maybe you, too, pet, but mostly me.”

You want to roll your eyes, at least sort of, but you’re beyond happy that Izzy’s self-opinion is rising back to high levels. He’ll probably never again hit God, as far as you’re concerned, but you don’t think that’s a bad thing. He’s enough of a menace as it is.

“We’ll want all our things packed in the next hour or two,” Izzy says. “We’re going to need to go to them.”

“You’ve been healing from a gut shot for a single week,” you tell him.

He shrugs.

“Done more with less healing time,” he says. “Can you get our things packed? I hear I’ve got a gut wound.”

You roll your eyes, but you were never going to say anything but yes.

[cagenewman]

"See, this is the part where you're going to be mad…" he shot her a sidelong look, "I hired a photographer for the day so that they could double as the witness and take photos." But it wasn't as though he could have dragged Lucie along with him, that might have given up the whole idea of running off to get married secretly. As he was offered the margarita, he took it with a laugh, glancing down at Archie, and whispering, "don't follow in our footsteps, okay?" Holding babies and drinking margaritas probably went against some sort of code… but he couldn't worry about that now, taking a long sip of the drink and nodding. "Well, you already know how to hang out by the old chapel, isn't that where you almost gave birth? Just hang out there and see if you come across any couples looking to get married. And… maybe. Is it going to be booze?"

Dropping his gaze quickly to the little boy again, he set the margarita on the coffee table once taking another long gulp. "If you're gassy, you let me know so I can give you to your mom, okay? My days of diaper duty are over for now," he warned his nephew, before looking back up at Lou. "True. This one's not really a secret, though -- Colton's friend Shawn is staying with his for the school year, his folks are moving across the country and he didn't want to leave when his coach has been pushing for scouts to come check him out, he's hoping to get some good scholarships."

"Did you pull a random stranger off the street to be your witness? Or does the court just have those lying around?" She poured Cage a little of the margarita mix before offering it to him. (Thinking a minute later that at least Archie had passed the month mark before she'd given someone holding him alcohol.) "Maybe that can be my next gig? I'd be a great witness." She'd be a terrible one. She lifted an eyebrow at his question. She had after all given her brothers and sisters brownie mix and liquor for national sibling's day just a few months ago. "Are you questioning my gift-giving skills right now?"

Archie wiggled a little at the rocking, grunting in a way that Lou really hoped didn't mean he was about to let one rip. "You didn't tell me, actually. Though after tonight that's the least of your secrets."

[copperbadge]

Fountain Fundraiser: A Skybox For Saul

Anon (no handle listed) gave to the fountain fundraiser and requested: Nero Wolfe, Archie/Saul, taking in a baseball game

I always figured Archie would be the kind of guy who knows someone really well and yet occasionally still gets very stupid around them. :D 

Title: A Skybox for Saul

Rating: G

Wolfe likes to call what he did for the general manager of the Mets a “favor,” which is true in that he didn’t have to stir his bulk to catch a saboteur who’d caused the near deaths of two players. The fact that the team paid a small fortune for his help often slips his mind. 

In any case, along with the steep fee we earned, it meant that for any home game there was an open skybox at Citi Field with my name on it. I wasn’t sure how long this generosity would last, but I’d never taken advantage of it because, well, what’s the point of a Mets game if you aren’t either down behind the dugout or in the bleachers? Hot dogs don’t taste as good if you didn’t have to stand in line for ‘em. 

But a fella likes to show his fella a nice time, and despite the fact that Saul and I had been at ball games plenty of times before as colleagues and friends, a first date in a skybox at a playoff game seemed like a decent way to impress him. I don’t know, when you realize you’ve got a feeling for someone, sometimes higher reasoning goes right out the window. 

“This is nice,” Saul said, but we knew each other well enough already for him to know that I knew that he was being nice.

“Yeah, it’s all right,” I agreed, because if he was going to make an effort, so was I. We both had to lean forward to actually see whether the line drive went foul. 

“Mets are playing okay,” he said, leaning back again. 

“Could be better,” I grumbled. Saul shot me a sidelong grin. I gave him a grouchy look back. 

“You always think the Mets could play better,” he said. “Hey, you want some popcorn?” 

I looked at him. He looked at me.

“You want some popcorn before we sneak into the bleachers?” I asked. Saul was on his feet before I finished. 

“Let’s go,” he announced, and we hustled down to the bleachers, where we spent the next seven innings happily paying through the nose for giant pretzels and beers.

Anyway, I caught a home run and you can’t do that from a skybox, and most bums are too busy watching the game to care if you want to neck a little as you get sunburned waiting for the Mets to obliterate the Marlins. 

[alexzalben]

How can you even try to justify the lack of thought that was put into this storyline by sidelong Veronica? KJ and Camila working on different days has literally nothing to do with the way they write their episodes. Because if something had been done regarding Archie’s POV and Varchie, they would have been scheduled on the same day. Roberto saying this was a thoughtful episode was wrong. Not when you ignore such an important part of the drama you’ve created.

I have no knowledge about how this particular episode was structured and shot, but in fact how actors are scheduled for days has a ton to do with how episodes of television are shot, in general. You only get certain actors for certain days, and certain amount of days, and that will sometimes lead to changes of scenes, plotlines, locations, etc etc. You can definitely be upset about how the story turned out, or frustrated with the lack of closure, or anything else about the plot. But there are a lot of factors that go into these decisions, things change on the fly, and we, the viewers don’t always know what happened behind the scenes.

[screamingintosilence]

Darling, You're the One I Want

Songfic Writing Challenge Day 9

Paper Rings - Taylor Swift

A/n: we're back, babes! Oof, post vacation has me needing another vacation just to recover

--

She saw Jughead's wince out of the corner of her eye as she unwrapped a brilliant pair of white diamond earrings gifted to her by Veronica. It was so tiny that only someone who spent every day with him and knew him better than he knew himself would have caught it.

“Only the best for my B!” Veronica clapped happily from her perch on Archie's lap. Betty thanked her profusely, getting up to give her a hug, her smile genuine with gratitude to one of her favorite people, but still worrying about Jughead in the back of her mind.

Betty was surrounded by her friends in celebration of her 25th birthday and she felt truly blessed to have all these people in her life.

Toni was sitting with her legs lapped over Cheryl's, the newly engaged - as of last month - Veronica and Archie in their little bubble of joy, Fangs and Kevin curled up next to each other deciding that they are definitely “on” again, and Sweet Pea and Reggie sitting at the kitchen table, being very much Bros and having an arm wrestling contest...again.

And then there was Jughead Jones the third, the love of her life since they were only 15. He was her saving grace as much as she was his. He had recently signed a publishing deal on his book about Jason's murder and the out fall that it caused, a long fought battle that he'd finally won out.

She was so beyond proud of him. She knew all of their friends were, but she had seen him through every long night, every midnight cup of coffee, every frustrated rejection. She had seen the full ten years of this book in the making, and seeing him finally achieve everything he had wanted since he was a little kid writing stories in Archie's treehouse, she knew how much he'd deserved this.

As she opened the next gift Cheryl, a beautiful, white Michael Kors purse, she saw Jughead’s mouth tick as he forced a smile as he abruptly stood, quietly saying that he'd “be right back” and rushed out of the room.

After she hugged her cousin, telling her how much she loved it, and gave it to Veronica to ogle, she followed after her love to their bedroom.

She stood in the doorway, watching him pace back and forth in agitation, biting his thumb nail and running his hand through his hair. She bit her lip in worry.

“Juggie?” His eyes snapped up to her, widening and looking like a cornered animal. “Are you ok, sweetheart? You're worrying me.”

He visibly deflated, reaching out and pulling her towards him, wrapping his much larger frame around her smaller one. Shoving his nose into the strands of her hair, he breathed deeply, letting the smell of her calm and comfort him.

“Jug?” she asked again, her hand stroking up and down his back in assurance that she was there.

He let out a deep sigh, shifting his face so that his cheek rested on the crown of her head.

“Yeah, I'm ok Betts.” She stayed silent, his tone lingering at the end, letting her know that he had more to say. “It's just hard sometimes, ya know? Seeing all the nice things that Veronica and Cheryl can get for you, and you deserve it! Don't get me wrong, you deserve the world and then some, but knowing it's not me that can give it to you? At least, not yet, even with the signing bonus. It's just...it's just so hard and-and I know I'm not handling it with the most grace, but I-I don't know,” he broke off abruptly as if realizing he was rambling.

His arms were tight around her, as if scared she might disappear. She was the very best thing to ever happen to him, his absolute favorite person in the whole world.

“I guess I'm just scared that one day you'll actually wake up and realize that there is someone who can give you all those things, more than I'll ever be able to no matter how many books I publish, and you'll leave me behind.” Betty snorted. “I know, it's crazy, but-”

“Not only is it crazy, it's probably the dumbest thing I have ever heard you say, and I've heard you and Archie play video games.”

“I know, I know. But it's just… I want to marry you Betts. I want to give you this big rock so everyone within a mile can see that you're mine, because it's what you deserve. But it sucks because I want to marry you now and I don't have the ridiculous amount of money for something like that.” Betty pushed him back so he could meet her eyes.

She framed his face between her palms, gently stroking his cheekbones with her thumbs. “Forsythe Pendelton Jones the Third, you listen to me, and you listen good, ok?” He nodded.

“Cheryl and Veronica have a skewed sense of the world and spend money just to spend money, that's what happens when you're an heiress. They don't really have an appreciation for anything less. And yeah, the things they get me are nice and lovely and I like them a lot, but I know that the price of those things barely affects their bank accounts. Knowing how much you toil away and save to get me anything nice is just more to me, especially from you because you're my whole world, Jug.

“And I don't want or need a big rock, good Lord it would be obnoxious.” He laughed at how her nose crinkled at the thought. “Honestly, sweetheart, you could ask me to marry you with a Ring Pop or a paper ring, like the ones we used to make when we were 5, you remember?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “You always made the prettiest ones.”

She smiled, “My point being, you can ask me without spending a dime and I would say yes every time, Juggie. I love you and I want to marry you no matter what, ok?” Her green eyes stared into his blue intently.

His gaze held hers, discerning that she was telling him the truth, not that she would ever lie to him. Betty never did with him, their relationship was based 100% honesty. Letting out another sigh, this time of relief, he nodded before pulling her into a passionate kiss.

There was a knocking from the doorway that brought them back to attention that they still had an apartment full of friends and that know wasn't the time to get lost in each other.

“Hey lovebirds, everything ok in here?” Archie inquired, forehead creased in concern for his two best friends.

“Yup!” Betty chimed with a genuine, trademark, Betty Cooper megawatt smile, her hand squeezing Jughead's tightly in continuous reassurance.

“That's great,” he grinned back. “You just have Jug’s present left to open Betty.”

She felt Jug squeeze her hand back, a little too much for just a moment, before relaxing once more into a comforting grip.

She practically skipped out of the room, both boys following in her wake, chuckling at her enthusiasm.

Once back in the living room, Jughead scooped up his present from the coffee table where all the gifts had been gathered, handing it to her with a flourish.

She grinned up at him and wasted no time ripping through the wrapping paper. She got through the tape securing the flaps of the cardboard box together with minor difficulty, only to be met with an explosion of tinsel hiding whatever was in the box from her gaze.

“Really, Juggie?” She gave him a sidelong glace of faked annoyance as their friends laughed. He smirked in response, nodding at her to continue.

“This is going to be a bitch to clean up,” she quipped, throwing handfuls of the glittery strands onto the floor, searching for whatever it is he had hidden in the depths of cardboard.

Her hand wrapped around a small velvet box and she froze, the room going quiet as her eyes grew wide. She couldn't move her hand from still inside the cardboard box, her mind racing, realizing what it was.

“Betts?” Jughead's voice wobbled in slight concern. Her eyes snapped up, reaching his equally as wide eyes, taking in his stance in front of her - one knee on the ground, the other bent.

His hand reached into where hers still was frozen, taking the box from her grasp and pulling it out so all their friends could see. Her eyes never left his as she still was trying to figure out how to breathe.

“Elizabeth Cooper, baby, Betty, Betts. You're my everything. Everything good in my life is because of you, because you fought for me and made it that way. You make me the best possible version of myself, I couldn’t be me without you. I-”

Her brain and her breathing had finally caught up to where she needed them to be, comprehending just what was happening before she launched herself at him, cutting off the rest of his speech as she tackled him to the ground.

“Oof, Betts, I-”

“Yes! Yes yes yes yes yes, a million, billion, trillion times yes!” She pressed her lips his hurriedly, her tongue seeking entrance into his mouth, only vaguely registering all their friends cheering, wolf whistling, and squealing (which distinctly sounded like it came from Reggie).

“You didn't even let me finish!” Jughead laughed, pulling back from her.

“I don't care!” She was sure her face could power Manhattan from how brightly she was smiling. “You can finish it later, I'm just… Oh my god, I'm engaged! I love you so much,” she pressed her lips to his once more, trying to deepen it before he gently pushed her back.

He chuckled at her furrowed brow at his rejection. “Don't you want to see your ring, sweetheart?” He popped the lid of the velvet black box that had stayed securely in his grasp through the altercation, displaying a beautiful thin gold band, with a single brilliant white diamond. Simple, delicate, elegant - Betty in every way.

“I know it's no paper ring,” he ribbed.

“You know I usually hate the word, but it's perfect, Juggie. Even I couldn't make a paper ring this good,” she laughed as he slipped the cool metal onto her left ring finger.

She gazed at it lovingly, watching the facets catch the light, before pulling her fiance in for another kiss, loving just how right the weight felt on her hand.

[metatiki]

Cullrian Silliness

Inspired by this article about something silly, I wrote a Cullrian piece about it.

AO3 link (kudos and comments welcome!) 

-------------------------------

What Are Those?

The argument was silly, and they both knew it. But it had been a long day, and Halward had left another of those annoying voicemail messages, and the humidity had spiked to somewhere over 1000% which made the temperature hover somewhere around 'rage demon preferred'. Self-control had frayed for both of them, but it had been Dorian who had snapped first, that much he would grudgingly admit later.

Still, that didn't absolve Cullen from the heinous crime he committed in response the next morning.

It took Dorian a few moments to notice them after he sat down on the couch at a decorous distance suitable for the pre-apology stage following a fight. Once he did, however, he couldn't stop staring until finally he asked, "What. Are. Those."

Cullen glanced down. "My new socks. Do you like them?"

Dorian's face twisted into a grimace. He'd never seen anything quite so ugly, or...well, not to put a fine point on it, straight. "Those are quite likely the most hideous things I have ever seen."

"They're comfortable," Cullen said in an artlessly casual tone which made Dorian's eyes narrow.

"I see." With a frown, Dorian scowled at his new nemeses, trying to put into words why they offended him so very much. "You do recall that Leliana and Josephine are expecting us at their barbecue later?"

"Yup," Cullen said cheerfully. "I won't even have to wear shoes with these on."

"Surely you're not going to wear them there?" Dorian asked, shocked. "The entire neighborhood will be there!"

"Why not?" Cullen asked, giving Dorian a sly sidelong glance. "They're--"

"Comfortable," Dorian groaned. "Yes. You said."  With a delicate shudder, Dorian stood. "I'm going to walk Archie." Which was, in and of itself, a concession, since walking around with the slavering beast of a dog was not usually something he chose to do alone.

"I could do it," Cullen said, beginning to rise himself.

"No. No," Dorian repeated firmly, practically running to where Archie's leash hung from the wall. "No, you stay there, being...comfortable." Maker forbid Cullen went gallivanting about the neighborhood in those...things.

Archie, of course, proved quite amenable to the plan of early walkies. Very quickly, Dorian found himself struggling to keep the beast under suitable control, particularly when he was forced to endure the slobbering kisses of said beast with a not-at-all forced smile which he would vehemently deny should anyone actually ask about it. Thus, he was in quite a different mood when he returned home--still a bit put out, of course, as would anyone with a sense of fashion, but resigned to his fate.

After releasing Archie to flop onto his favorite sun-warmed bed by the main windows of the living room, Dorian frowned as a cursory search revealed no sign of his erstwhile sandal-footed partner. "Cullen?"

"In here," came the answer from the kitchen. "I'm just making the bacon crumbles for the baked beans."

Dorian quickly angled his way to the kitchen, coming to a rest on the opposite side of the island in the middle of the kitchen where Cullen stood working at the skillet of bacon, and gave a little sigh as he took in further details of Cullen's...outfit. "Really?" he asked in that tone as he looked Cullen up and down, or at least as much as he could see above the island. "I don't think Bull meant you to actually use those."

Cullen gave him a cheerful wink. "I like them. Besides, the hat adds a sort of gravitas, don't you think?"

Lips pursed, Dorian tried not to grudgingly smile at the overly large, wobbly Orlesian cooking hat emblazoned with the words Kiss the chef, then let his eyes drop down to the large wrap-around apron with its painted on abs and a large arrow pointing down embedded with the words Kiss chef here. "While normally I appreciate you gallivanting around sans shirt, I do wish you wouldn't wear such... Wait." His eyes suddenly widened. "You're not planning on wearing those to the barbecue, are you?"

With a laugh, Cullen moved the skillet from the hot zone to the side and waited for it to cool a bit before he crumbled it. "I'm fairly sure Bull would get a good laugh out of it."

Dorian buried his face in his hands. "Festis bei umo canavarum."

A crunching sound announced the fate of the bacon as Cullen replied smoothly, "I love you, too. Now are you going to help me with this or not?"

"I'll get the beans," Dorian said with a sigh. Moving to the fridge, he pulled the beans out from where they'd been sitting overnight marinating in their sauces, and brought it over to Cullen. "You're a frightful beast, I hope you realize. I don't know what Josie and Viv will think, seeing you in that ensemble."

Cullen gave a little shrug as he sprinkled the bacon on the beans. "It can't be worse than the time Sera wore plaideweave to her own wedding."

Dorian paused for a moment. "But that fit her," he grudgingly conceded. In truth, Sera had looked absolutely adorable, especially when he'd gotten close enough to see the bees worked into the pattern of the plaid itself.

Picking up the beans, Cullen said, "And I think these fit me."

Dorian rubbed his forehead for a moment. "They fit you, they just look--"

And the words died in his mouth.

It might have been because he couldn't summon up words to describe how utterly ridiculous the hat and apron looked, and would only look moreso paired with a pair of socks designed to look like sandals. It might have been due to that, in some other world and some other place and time.

It this place and time, and in this world, the words flickered and died as Cullen turned around and opened the oven door, bending over and putting the beans inside with one smooth motion before shutting it again. Normally such a sight would simply be a mundane affair, a domestic task blending in without notice with all the other small motions of cooking and mutual domesticity, marked only by a clandestine admiration on the part of Dorian concerning that ass as the muscles drew taut beneath whatever cloth happened to cover them that day.

Normal, however, also included pants. And underwear. Both of which were very much not there at present. Only the hat, the apron, and the sandal socks were there.

Dorian's mouth snapped shut as Cullen turned to face him with a grin. "There. They'll be cooking for a while. What shall we do in the meantime?"

Dorian scowled fiercely at him, even as he rounded the island between them. "You are very dull, and I hate you," he breathed as his hands landed on Cullen's hips.

Cullen's lips spread into a cocky smirk. "I know," he said as his hands traveled up Dorian's arms. "Though if you really don't like something I wear, you're always free to remove them."

"Oh, I plan to do so with great vigor," Dorian growled at him. "After I do what they tell me to do." His lips found Cullen's with a gentle humor befitting the silliness of the conversation, but the tenderness quickly deepened into something far more passionate. As their lips parted, Dorian reached up and grabbed the hat, tossing it onto a nearby counter.

"And the apron?" Cullen asked, a tad breathless.

Dorian let his hand follow the arrow down the apron, grinning as he found Cullen already waiting and eager for another kiss. "That might take a little longer," he suggested, then tugged the apron up as he dropped to his knees.

But then, some kinds of kisses deserved to be done properly.

And, as it turned out, sandal socks provided just enough friction for Cullen to endure even the most rigorous of apologies, despite the slickness of the kitchen tiles.

[writeradamanteve]

You are doing prompts for the first time? That's so exciting! We are including the wintery prompts as mini reindeer games over on @riverdale-events if you want to include them! I can't help but send one in. You are so good with AUs of all kinds. How about: 59. this year my family has decided we’re celebrating the holidays on a cruise and you’re the cute bartender who teases me for mourning the lack of snow

Remember this? Well, just to prove that I haven’t given up on them...

Here’s Part 1 of  Mi Irie

The Jamaican saying "irie" is often used to mean "everything is alright and fine." Note that Jamaica has numerous variations when it comes to greeting someone. When someone asks “How are you feeling?” or “How yuh stay?” an appropriate response would be, “Mi irie.” ~ Sandals.com

I.

She looked pretty miserable.

Which wasn’t the most surprising thing on a tropical cruise, if Jughead were to be honest.

Working as a bartender on the Ringmaster Caribbean Cruise ship for the last couple of years, his station was perhaps the only place on the ship where the miserable can turn to for comfort. The bar attracted both party goers and debbie downers alike.

Not that he was there to judge. He, of all people, understood feeling miserable in a room full of happily drunk people, both as a bartender and a person who, as a kid, grew up surrounded by drunk adults in his father’s bar. It was the funhouse image of an Eloisian upbringing--Jughead at the Whyte Wyrm.

That he ended up getting a bartending job was arguably a predictable outcome, or the opposite of--depending on how one looked at it. Sure, it was fucked up that he was a ten year old doing his homework in a bar, but ultimately, bartending became the one thing he knew how to do by heart, and if he was going to get anything out of his trashy childhood, it may as well be money he would be getting on bar tips.

But because he spent a lot of time around inebriated people, he did get the impression that everyone could be an asshole if they were drunk enough. It wasn’t an ideal working environment, but he needed a job that paid well while he wrote his book and went to school, and in some sad way, it was all worth the validation he got out of finding those who understood misery like he did.

So seeing this sad face at his bar wasn’t particularly extraordinary. He’d seen all types. And misery aside, she looked great. The golden cascades of her hair fell in waves over the skin of her sun-kissed shoulders. Her bikini, a nice dusty blue with a knitted pattern design, flattered her figure. Paired with a wrap around her hips and showing off her nice curves, he couldn’t help but think that the only thing weird about her was that she was alone.  

Then again, it was early morning and quiet.  

A soft breeze blew in over the turquoise waters of the ocean, wafting comfortably into the shaded bar area on the deck. The sunshine bounced brightly over the chlorine blue pool.

The bar was mostly empty. Out in the pool area, just outside the bar’s perimeter, guest were at a minimum. Most families with children were sleeping in or still having breakfast at the mess hall.

The people enjoying the pool at this time were adults, and a concentration of them were at the far end, riveted by the aquatic aerobics instructor and his goofy routines.

Miss Misery was, in fact, watching these antics from where she sat, passive and unsmiling.

“Nobody really goes to that class to exercise,” Jughead said to her as she watched them. “They like to watch Archie doing his thing. I’m surprised they don’t have dollar bills to put in his swim trunks, honestly.”

Archie, the instructor, as if on cue, tore off his Ringmaster Caribbean Cruise t-shirt and turned on the poolside shower to bathe under the stream, all while his “students” hooted and hollered.

Miss Misery’s lips tightened to a line, but she seemed amused instead of inscenced. “Well, he’s increasing their pulse rate, for sure.”

“He loves the attention.”

She nodded and turned her barstool to finally face the bar. “He must.”

When she said nothing else and her gaze began to wander to the TV hanging over the bar, he figured she wouldn’t mind the conversation. This quiet in the morning, he liked to engage guests one on one. “So, what can I get you, miss?”

Surprise piqued in her sea-green eyes. “You serve alcohol this early?”

He laughed and put his hands out in an open gesture. “All inclusive means it’s always five in the afternoon.”

Her eyebrows crinkled with what he could only assume was a sudden onslaught of possibilities. “Alcohol for breakfast?” This was a real marvel of a thing for her.

“It’s been done. For the seasoned drinker, a Bloody Mary is the most cliche of drinks, but it’ll do for a vacationer. The more hardened imbibers ask for a Prairie Oyster--strictly a veteran hangover cure.”

“What’s a Prairie Oyster?”

“Raw egg, Worcestershire sauce, bit of tomato juice, vinegar, hot sauce, black pepper, and a shot of gin. Two if the hangover’s particularly bad.”

Her jaw dropped open briefly before it clamped shut. “Does that actually work?”

Jughead shrugged. “No idea. I don’t go on benders so I’ve never had one.”

She seemed to accept this, her eyes falling on the overhead menu. The drinks written on it in neon colored pens were from last night’s specials, but they were good for any day. He waited for her to say something.

“Um… sangria?”

“Wow. Living it!”

She rolled her eyes, but he did manage to get a chuckle out of her. He began working on her order.  It would take a little longer to put her drink together, because he did need to cut up some fresh fruit, but he didn’t mind. If it meant she would stay a little longer, it was worth the extra effort.

“I’m Betty, by the way,” she said as he worked. “I didn’t see you at the bar last night, um--Jughead?” She was reading off his name tag, but she went on without saying how strange she probably thought his name was. “Last night it was Toni, who routinely got hit on by men of all ages.”

He laughed softly. “Yeah, she’s a crowd favorite. Got that whole Coyote Ugly vibe going. She’s not a fan of men, though. She prefers girls.”

“Oh.” She said it like it explained things.

“So,” he said, chopping up some oranges into thin quarters. “If you’re not here because you’re hungover, and you weren’t here to drink in the first place, did you come to the deck for aerobics then change your mind when you realized it was more of a strip tease? Or maybe you’re smart and figured you can enjoy the show from here, comfortably perched on our soft barstools.”

She cocked a smile, finally. “I just wanted to get away from the chaos of the mess hall and my family. I figured they weren’t going to look for me here. I’m not a big drinker.”

“Well, now look at you. Knocking back booze for breakfast.”

She snorted. “Hardly.”

He finished chopping up the apples and he threw all his chopped fruits in a pitcher, halfway full of ice, and mixed the sangria in it. After he gave the mixture a stir, he poured some of it in a glass, threw in a hefty dose of tequila, and slid the drink in front of her. “You look like you need some tequila. That’s my special mix. And drinks are on me.” He winked.

She arched an eyebrow. “It’s an all inclusive cruise. Of course they’re on you.”

“They don’t mix it the way I do.”

She took a sip and she gasped. “Wow!” she rasped. “Potent.”

“Just for you.”

She began to laugh and threw him a sidelong glance. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

He tilted his grin but said nothing.  

The truth was, since he started this job, he hadn’t said that to anyone but her.

***********************

She was back the next morning and this time, she ordered a tequila sunrise. She had on a different suit, starkly white against her tanning skin, and he may have been imagining things, but the top gave her breasts a spectacular cleavage that wasn’t as noticeable the day before. He had to remind himself to keep his eyes up, especially since hers seemed more interested in engaging him.

“Feeling better?” he asked, mixing her drink.

She shrugged, but her smile came easier. “Same shit, different day, but now I know you serve alcohol in the morning and you don’t water drinks down.”

He chuckled but pressed his finger lightly over his lips. “That last part’s a secret between you and me.”

Her tanned cheeks bloomed pink and Jughead eyed her for a moment, delighting on the effect he had on her. He slid the drink towards her and she sipped from its straw. She seemed less surprised by the alcohol content but she did blow a breath through her lips. “You must be breaking some All Inclusive Rule here.”

“You bet I am. Does that impress you?”

She quirked her gaze. “It depends on how drunk this makes me.”

He gave it a moment’s thought. “Kind of a low bar. You were drunk after the one glass I gave you yesterday.”

“Hey, I was drinking on an empty stomach.” Her protest sounded weak.

He laughed and pulled a large plate from beneath the bar.  It had piles of bacon, layers of pancakes slathered in maple syrup and butter, and some scrambled eggs on the side. She stared at it as he offered her a clean fork. She slowly took the fork and shot him a suspicious squint. “Is this your breakfast?”

He nodded, grinning. “It’s my second one. It’s a fresh plate and I hadn’t touched it.  I don’t mind sharing if you don’t.”

Her gaze gave him the once over and a ripple of pleasure coursed through him, especially when her lashes fluttered as their eyes met again. “I can use some bacon and pancakes.”

He leaned over the counter and brought out a fork of his own, cutting into the pile of food on his plate. “So, if you don’t mind me asking… are you not enjoying yourself on this cruise? You come here in the morning and you always sound like you’re trying to forget something.”

“Oh, do I? Maybe you’re right. I’m on this cruise with my parents and my sister--not exactly the kind of getaway I was looking for. It’s bad enough that I have to deal with my mother’s sideways disapproval of how I look in my swimsuit, but I found out yesterday that a snowstorm hit New York City and I missed it. Will miss it. The snow will be nothing but filthy piles of ice on the side of the road by the time I get back to it, if I catch any of it at all.”

He couldn’t help but laugh.  “Wait a minute… are you telling me that you were all gloom and doom yesterday because you missed a snowstorm in New York… while being on a cruise ship on the tropical waters of the Caribbean? Really?”

Her cheeks reddened again, but she seemed poised to defend herself. “You laugh, but New York after a snowstorm, when everyone’s still indoors and the streets are quiet--it’s the most beautiful thing.”

“Oh, is it?”

She nodded eagerly. “It is. That thick layer of undisturbed white powder, lights blinking through the snow--all you can see are the parked cars covered in a shimmering white sheet and the buildings along its side look like pretty gingerbread houses--it’s so picturesque. The first people to emerge are usually kids with their parents, eager to slide down snow hills before the roads are salted and the dream is obliterated by modern machinery. If you close your eyes and listen to their laughter, it feels warm. It feels like waking up to a fresh new life. There’s nothing like it.”

He gets it. He grew up in Ohio and he knew what the aftermath of a snowstorm looked like, but he imagined that New York City was prettier than Toledo, and most people would pick a tropical paradise over a snowy cityscape. Not him, personally. He didn’t care where he was.

“You’re just going to have to comfort yourself with free alcohol, white sand, and blue, warm waters.”

She gave a dramatic sigh. “I suppose so.” She followed it with a laugh. “So, when do you get to enjoy the white sand and blue waters?”

He shrugged. “I mostly don’t. In my free time, I hang around the ship and write.”

“Write?”

He nodded. “I’m on break right now but I’m completing my novel for my creative writing graduate program.”

She seemed only mildly surprised. “Which graduate program?”

“Iowa Writer’s Workshop.”

“Well, now, that’s impressive.”

He shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth. “Had I known, I would’ve started off with that.”

She threw him a mildly chastising look, even as she began to slice a piece off the pancake. “I’d like to think I come off as someone who would be impressed by a guy getting his Masters in creative writing as opposed to breaking the rules of a cruise ship branded Ringmaster.”

“You’ll be surprised at how mentioning the Iowa Writer’s Workshop does absolutely nothing for most people around here.”

“Maybe I’m not most people. So tell me, Jughead,” she paused and took a sip of her tequila sunrise. “If I were to, say, ask you to escort me outside the ship at our next island stop, would you be too busy writing your great American novel?”

This wasn’t exactly the first time he’d gotten asked out by a guest, but this was absolutely the first time he felt a thrill for it in the pit of his stomach.

She sipped her drink again and he watched her pretty pink lips mover over the straw.  

“It’s against the rules for the crew to fraternize with the guests,” he said, softly, so that only the two of them would hear.

“Well, then,” she breathed. “Now’s the perfect time to impress me with your rule breaking, Jughead.”

tbc

(Image credit: Travel + Leisure)

[maeve-of-winter]

Can you rank all of Kevin's love interests(kind of a mix between them as a character and (possible) relationships him?

This is belated, anon, but I wanted to do a thorough job, so thank you for bearing with me.

Definitive Ranking of Kevin’s Love Interests:

5. Moose Mason

A football player who continually cheated his girlfriend and then had the nerve to act sad when she was killed, Moose’s first appearance in the series had him refusing to kiss Kevin but being totally willing to illicitly hook up with him during one of said times cheating on his girlfriend. Notably, Moose would have no issue kissing Cheryl (and thereby cheating on Midge AGAIN) in a later episode. For whatever reason, fans of the Kevin/Moose ship are convinced that Moose’s assholery to Kevin in this instance means that “Moose has always been there for Kevin,” even though all it means is that Moose has no issue cheating on Midge while simultaneously denying Kevin basic affection.

Though Kevin rightfully dumps Moose’s cheating ass in 1x02, he inexplicably (seriously, there is no explanation) becomes interested in Moose again in 2x14. Moose lies to him here, telling him Midge is okay with the two of them hooking up, only for Kevin to find out later on that Moose was lying and become upset. But again, by 2x18, Kevin is once again interested in Moose, with no kind of development or explanation. The next few episodes hint around at Kevin’s interest, and he and Moose team up to vandalize the Southside, feeling justified for doing it due to Midge’s murder, and get away with it completely. And then in 2x22, Moose and Kevin inexplicably kiss, with no actual development leading up to it beyond hinting at Kevin’s interest in Moose via sidelong glances. There is also no development of it later in the episode. Honestly, if this pairing continues to be canon (thought apparently RAS doesn’t know if it will?) I’m not sure if it’s actually going to exist beyond appearing in background shots.

Final assessment: Moose was continually an asshole to his girlfriend and Kevin simultaneously, and there’s no reason to think he’ll treat Kevin any better once they’re dating. The only time he was ever decent to Kevin was when Kevin rescued his ungrateful ass after he was shot by the Black Hood. Moose, being a total ingrate, repaid him by trying to trick Kevin into cheating with him again in the above-mentioned incident in 2x14.

4. Ashton

Here’s a little tidbit of Riverdale trivia you may not know: originally, episode 2x14 “The Hills Have Eyes” (AKA the sexy cabin episode or the Love, Simon episode) was planned to include a scene of Kevin being asked out by a fellow wrestler named Ashton. The scene was cut for time purposes, presumably because in an episode that heavily involved Love, Simon, a gay romance, they didn’t have time for Kevin’s gay romance and instead needing to use those precious minutes to give us yet more Varchie and Bughead sex scenes.

Ashton seemed like he would make a good boyfriend for Kevin. Then again, my standards are fairly low, given how little Riverdale has given us. But he was interested in Kevin, and he asked him out on an actual date that was planned to be just a date, not an attempt to con Kevin into getting him to cheat with him yet again (TAKE NOTE, MOOSE). However, unfortunately for all Kevin fans out there, Ashton doesn’t actually exist.

3. Random Guy Jogging in the Woods

During Kevin’s very brief time cruising Fox Forest in 2x03, he made out with another guy who was there jogging. He was interested in Kevin and made out with him rather enthusiastically, showing us that even strangers are willing to kiss Kevin while Moose wasn’t. The only downside about Random Guy Jogging in the Woods is that we know nothing else about him, and we’ll also probably never see him again.

2. Fangs Fogarty

In terms of characterization, Fangs doesn’t actually have a whole to go on, functioning essentially as a named background Serpent. However, he was willing to stand up for the Serpents when he thought they were being mistreated both in 2x10 and 2x17, so if nothing else, he’s firm in his beliefs. And when he got to take a center role in 2x20, Drew Ray Tanner did an incredible job.

His interest in Kevin, though, is at once hard to categorize or quantify. After a hint that he was interested in Kevin in 2x10, this aspect disappeared entirely (as most of Kevin’s plots or entire character often seems to do, sadly) until 2x18, when he was co-directing the musical with Kevin and being very touchy-feely about it. It’s unclear if this was intended as romantic or platonic, as I don’t think they were ever even shown talking to each other during the episode (a testament to how little the writers actually care about their characters), but admittedly, Kevin did not seem into him. It gets even more nebulous when you consider that Fangs was having a fling with Midge at this time (Presumably, Midge found out about Moose lying and cheating on her and decided to have some fun of her own).

Still, there’s nothing to suggest that Fangs himself was in a committed relationship and was cheating on that person or that he would refuse to kiss Kevin, so he definitely beats Moose. Also, he exists and he’s a recurring character, which already puts him above Ashton and Random Guy Jogging Through the Woods. Plus, while biased on my account, he seems like he would be a total sweetheart to whoever he was dating, and I want that for Kevin. What’s more is that Fangs gets sympathy points for being falsely accused of Midge’s murder, shot by Mrs. Klump vigilante-style in an attempted “revenge” killing, and then having Veronica give her full approval of Mrs. Klump’s attempt to murder him.

1. Joaquin DeSantos

Let’s be clear from the get-go: Joaquin is far from without flaw. In fact, when he began dating Kevin, it was on the orders of FP, his gang leader, in order to monitor Sheriff Keller’s progress on the Jason Blossom murder. A murder which Joaquin helped cover up. 

But while it’s uncertain if Joaquin had feelings for Kevin prior to when he began dating him or if he just fell for him while playing a role, he’s still the best love interest Kevin has had to date, having both morals and a strong sense of loyalty. He tries to log his discomfort with the deception to FP (who is understandably exasperated at Joaquin’s failure to honeypot without becoming emotionally involved), but he continues to report into him on Kevin because he knows FP needs help. He’s still willing to take Archie to the Whyte Wyrm to figure out if it was one of the Serpents who attacked Moose. And he’s also willing to help Kevin and the rest of the gang find out the truth about Jason’s murder by pointing them in the right direction for clues. It’s no surprise that so many want to see Joaquin brought back so he and Kevin can reunite.

Also, he was always willing to kiss Kevin (even if it was for a con at first), so he’s still in a league above Moose.  

[jughead--jones]

He was glad to be out of the crowded space, and Archie wouldn't have even noticed with his current pursuit of a girlfriend. It would all work out for the night, he supposed. As they walked out and Jughead heard the question, he tensed and looked sidelong at the road. "I've got a place. It's kind of cramped, but it's a bed I can sleep on." The school's janitorial closet wasn't exactly homey, but it was better than nothing. Then came the offer, and Jughead looked at him with a small smile. "Thanks, Joaquin. I might take you up on it." It could help stave off the risk of expulsion for squatting on school grounds, at least.

He eyed the cigarette with a smirk, jutting his chin in its direction. "Those things actually help you relax, or is it just to look cool?"

"You know its no problem. " FP had done so much for Joaquin over the years that it was the least he could do in return. "Yeah lets go. I saw who i needed to." He tossed the empty cup as he headed out the back door, weaving through the crowd. Finally the music stopped and the air hit him in the face once he was out in the backyard. "So where are you staying now if you arent staying there?" He asked Jug as they started walking.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up, the smoke visible by the light of the full moon above them. "You know you can always crash with any of us. Maybe not Sweets, i know how you two are." He cracked a bit of a smile before taking a drag. "But the rest of us, you can."

[justanotherwannabeclassic]

Finding Neverland (8/?)

Summary: History has a funny way of repeating itself. Juliet Jones learns this the hard way as she finds herself thrown decades into the past, and tasked with ensuring that her parents fall in love. (CS movie redux) Notes: Happy Labor Day! Here’s a brand new chapter of FN!  Read on AO3. Previous Chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

Pan has Juliet.

They think.

Because that's the thing: they don't know for sure if he has her, just that they have a girl. That's what Emma reported to him when they got back to camp after their allotted four hours of looking for her. 

"Henry said Pan brought a girl back to camp."

But “a girl” can mean many things. If his memory is correct, Wendy Darling is also on the island, not that he can tell them that. He can't tell anyone that, so he sits by the fire, watching its flame flick upward. Brooding – that's what Juliet would say he's doing. She's told him more than once that he's a handsome brooder. He'll have to tease her that she missed some peak brooding if they reunite.

No, when, not if.

He can't dwell on any other possibility than reuniting with her. Not that their problems will stop once her finds her. There's the whole "ensuring she will still exist" problem that they will have to figure out.

Gideon isn't sure how much they derailed the timeline. For all he knows, Emma and Hook could be well on their way to falling in love without him having helped her father. But Gideon doesn't know that for sure, and that's a problem. Because if they don't fall for one another her, if Juliet's father doesn't make a commitment to fight to her mother, well...that creates many more problems than Juliet existing. Villains defeated, days saved, a flap of a butterfly’s wings.

(If they don't get together, would he even exist?)

Before he can dwell much further on everything that was spiraling out of control, Juliet's father sits next to him, and offers his flask.

"You look like you could use a drink, mate." 

Gideon doesn't hesitate in grabbing the flask. He takes a long pull, reveling in the burn of the rum. It's never been his first drink of choice, but it's serviceable in a time of need. He’s spent enough time around Juliet to pick up a taste for it, at the very least.

"Don't worry about drinking too much. I had a witch enchant it so that it won't ever run out. Worth every dubloon, I'll say," Hook explains to him, not for the first time. Well, it might be the first time for the man sitting next to him, but it's not the first time hearing it for Gideon. He flashes back to a Christmas years ago, the first he spent at the Jones' house as Juliet's boyfriend and not family friend, when he first heard the story.

They sit in silence after that. Gideon continues to nurse the flask, willing for every drink to soothe is his frayed nerves. Though he doesn't intend to drink himself to oblivion – that would not help find Juliet – he's hoping for enough of a buzz to make him feel something other than fear.

He knows very little about his grandfather, just that he was powerful and evil. His father doesn't speak of him, not that Gideon blames him. But it leaves him at a deficit for what to expect. Is Pan anything like the Black Fairy? God, he hopes not. 

"Pan. What's he like?" Gideon asked aloud, looking over the Captain Hook. There are books, plays, and movies about their dynamic. If anyone would know, it's Juliet's father. "I know of his reputation, but you seem to know the actual him."

"He's a bloody demon, that's what he is," Hook says. His expression turns dark as he recalls what he knows about Pan. "He deals in dark magic, and he knows how to use it. But even worse: he knows how to manipulate others."

"With magic?"

"With his words. Language can be more powerful than the sword or spell," Hooks says. "I'm gotten meself out of just as many predicaments with my words as my sword."

Knowing Juliet's self-proclaimed inherited inability to stop talking, Gideon could believe Hook's claim. Not that he can tell the pirate that. Gideon takes another drink from the flask.

"What do you think he wants with J?" he asks. It's something Gideon can't quite puzzle out. Though he and Juliet aligned themselves with her family, it's not as if Pan has a specific grudge against her.  Her family, yes, but he shouldn't know that. 

"He could be attempting to sow discord among the group or distract us from searching for Henry," Hook offers, looking grim. "Her display of magic earlier might have interested him."

Gideon's not sure who is stronger between his grandfather and girlfriend. Juliet is powerful, but she hasn't truly practiced it all since moving to New York. It had been apparent over that few days prior, when they had still be in Storybrooke – though she still had power, Juliet's precision had definitely slipped.

“Speaking of your lover’s magic, where did it come from?” Gideon gazes across the fire to where Emma has set up camp. At glance, he can almost mistake her for Juliet. Juliet favors her mother, similar in both coloring and stature. Part of him is surprised that no one has commented on the resemblance, but another part is not. They aren’t looking. To everyone here, Juliet is just another blonde woman. Not anyone special. And yet…

“Inherited,” Gideon finally replies, “her magic is inherited.”

-/-

“So how did things go with Hook and Romeo?” Emma asks her father, casting a sidelong glance to Romeo and Hook. She can’t quite make out what they’re saying from her position, but Romeo has Hook’s flask, and they are huddled close together. They appear almost friendly, and she can hardly believe it, especially considering their mission had been a failure. “You know, aside from not finding her.”

Her father shrugs. “Romeo’s understandably worried. He lashed out a bit, but got it under control. I’m honestly a little surprised. He’s handling it better than I would.”

Emma makes a noncommittal noise, not wanting to voice her agreement with David. He was the one who placed himself under a sleeping curse when separated from Mary Margaret. There had been extenuating circumstances, of course, but his response had been extreme. She’s grateful, however, that Romeo isn’t exhibiting David’s dramatic tendencies nor those of his Shakespearean counterpart. Yet, a voice in her head warns, one that she wants to ignore.

“And Hook?” she asks, knowing her father’s feelings regarding the pirate. Though a small part of her appreciates her father’s protectiveness – God, how she had wanted something like this growing up – it’s also become something of a hindrance.

“He handled Romeo well,” David answers, much to her surprise. Her father must note this, because he follows it up with, “I still don’t trust him, but it’s commendable how he seems to be helping him.” 

“He knows what it’s like to lose someone.” She thinks of the tattoo on his wrist, the one with Milah’s name. He’s been to hell and back, something that Romeo is careening towards with the disappearance of Juliet. She wonders if Hook recognizes this, if he’s trying to be the person to Romeo that he never had while grieving the loss of Milah. No matter his motivations, she can see the Romeo tentatively smile at something Hook is saying. Maybe, Emma thinks, there is more to the pirate than meets the eye.

“Speaking of losing people,” he father says, and Emma’s gut drops when she realizes just how he’s trying to segue the conversation, ���I know you haven’t had time to process everything that happened with Neal.”

“I really don’t want to talk about that,” she snaps, because God, she doesn’t. He’s right that she hasn’t had time to process his death, but now is not the time to do so. Not with both Henry and Juliet’s lives at stake. Besides, she’s starting to feel like she’s doing something wrong by not grieving in the way her parents believe that she should. 

“I just want you to know that if you do want to talk, your mother and I are here.”

“I know,” she says, because she also knows that. But even if she did want to talk, she’s not sure it can be to them. Archie would maybe be the best – it’s his job to listen. Her parents and their beliefs on what love and True Love should be are the last people she thinks she can talk about Neal with. Not after everything he did. Not after everything they don’t know. But she can’t tell David that, so instead she tells him, “but I can’t think about any of that until I know Henry is safe. Neal would want that too.”

Because as fucked up as things were between them, Neal seemed to love Henry and to want to be a figure in his life. If the roles were reversed, Emma can at least make herself believe that her son’s father would be fighting tooth and nail to get him back. And that’s something she thinks her father might also believe. 

Her words appear to convince her father to drop the subject, because he doesn’t say anything more. Emma tries to settle, and looks across the fire at Romeo and Hook. They’re still talking, and if she strains, she can hear bits of the conversation. They’re talking about Juliet, and for a brief moment, Romeo looks happy and in love. She knows without a doubt if someone were to ask her about Neal, she wouldn’t look the same way, and maybe that’s why Hook is over there and she is over here feeling very much alone.

-/-

Juliet is dreaming.

She knows this, because she is in Storybrooke, standing on the street in front of her childhood home watching her grandfather help her balance on a small, pink bicycle. It’s a memory, she realizes, a memory of her at age five, learning how to ride a bike for the very first time. Juliet remembers loving that bike, riding it up and down the streets of Storybrooke. But the child in front of her, the smaller version of her in braided pigtails, doesn’t know how to ride a bike yet. She watches her grandfather instruct her on how to balance, her parents and grandmother watching from the front lawn. And then she off, riding down the street. Juliet knows what happens next. She watches as her smaller self wobbles then falls. She remembers the scrapes she received, but also what comes next: her parents race from the yard, and her father lifts her into his arms. Her mother comes next, using her magic to heal her wounds. 

Then they put her back on the bike. 

The dream shifts, and she is in the Enchanted Forest. This, too, is a memory. It’s the first time she was ever completely separated from her parents. Before she was born, it's something that apparently happened often – everyone being torn apart from one another. But nothing to that scale had happened since defeating the Black Fairy. Though Juliet had traveled to different realms, everyone had always been together – until then.

God, she had been terrified.

Juliet watches her younger self huddle around a fire, its flames flicking shadows across her face. Juliet wanted to reach out to the younger girl, to promise her that her family would soon be reunited. But she can’t, frozen to her position on the other side of the flames, a spectator not and actor. But because Juliet has lived this moment before, she is unafraid. As she remembers, her grandmother comes to sit next to her, wrapping her arms around her younger self’s shoulders. "Don't worry," Grandma tells her, "we always find each other. Always."  

They do. They will.

“I will always find you.” That’s the family motto, right?

The dream shifts again. She is no longer in the Enchanted Forest. She is no longer in Storybrooke. Instead, she is in a coffee shop in New York City. She hears the dingle of the bell, and turns to watch an 18-year-old version of herself push through the entrance. She’s wearing a sweatshirt that has “Columbia University” emblazoned across the front and her eyes a rimmed red.

Thank God for waterproof eyeliner, she thinks now.

Juliet remembers this day all too well. It had been a few months into her first semester at Columbia. It was her first time away from home, and though her school gave her a community, college and New York City were nothing like Storybrooke. In New York, she wasn’t the daughter of the Savior, sister of Henry, princess of a far away land. She was invisible, and though there were times in which she reveled in it, her anonymity had increasingly felt like loneliness.

“I have to go. I’m at a coffee shop, and I’m about to order a drink. Then study, study, study,” her younger self says into her phone. “Love you, Mom.”

Juliet watches herself hang up the phone. She remembers the phone calls home, the ones where she never said she felt alone and adrift, but the ones where her parents must have known anyway. What would she tell herself now if she could?

That it gets better. That she will find her place. That she will spend a fantastic summer in Paris drinking wine, eating cheese, and studying art. That Storybrooke is always there waiting. That she has to figure it out on her own, but her family will always have her back, supporting her every step of the way. That in just a few seconds, she will crash into a man, and he will spill his drink down the front of her sweatshirt – the one that she still wears to bed and is stuffed in her closet – and—

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention and – Gideon?”

– she’ll realize that she stumbled into someone from home, someone who understands her strange childhood, someone who will become her person.

Juliet feels the stirring of tears at the corner of her eyes. Is this her life flashing before her? It’s not exactly her greatest hits, but this is what happens when someone dies, isn’t it? Her father said it was a myth, that it didn’t truly happen but –

Juliet wakes. 

She is surrounded by darkness, and a few experimental tugs of her arms let her know her hands are bound. She tries to stretch out, but she can only move so far. She’s in a prison of sorts, once that she isn’t sure she knows how to escape. Juliet takes a few calming breaths in an attempt to stave off the panic threatening to overwhelm her. 

“You’re awake.” She makes a startled cry at the noise, not expecting anyone with her in the darkness. The voice is unfamiliar – of course, it is unfamiliar – but Juliet tries to keep her wits about her. She’s weaponless, and try as she might, she is somehow unable to make her magic work. “Who’s there?” she asks. Juliet attempts make her voice sound authoritative. She’s not sure if she conveys the intended effect because when the man speaks, his tone is calm. “Don’t worry. My name is Neal Cassidy, and I’m one of the good guys.”

[speedracer87-blog]

Breaking routine

For @ mysensitiveside, whose single-word prompt was “ocean”.

“So why exactly are we doing this?” Regina asked, reaching a hand out to brace herself on Zelena’s dashboard, as Zelena leaned her BMW into a hard turn.

“We’re doing this because you, my darling little sister, need to get your shit together,” Zelena said cheerfully.

“Right. And we’re going to Mal’s so that you and she can… what? Give me a stern talking-to?”

“Something like that,” Zelena flapped a hand lazily in reply, and sped up, revving the engine a little.

“Could you slow down?” Regina clutched her seat belt. “And drive with both of your hands on the steering wheel? I hope you don’t drive like this when you have my son in the car.”

“I don’t. Henry likes for me to go much faster than this.” Zelena cackled at the strangled noise coming from Regina. “Oh, relax, sis. You know I treat my nephew like the precious cargo he is. Just sit back, take in the scenery. It’s a beautiful drive, in a lovely car meant to be driven fast, expertly handled by your gorgeous sister. I’ve never once had an accident, and I could drive this route blindfolded,” Zelena trilled.

Regina opened her mouth to retort then snapped it shut as they approached another turn. The winding road that led to their friend Mallory’s beachfront mansion was nerve-wracking enough without Zelena’s fast and loose antics behind the wheel. It was a relief when, after pausing at a gate while Zelena confidently punched in a security code to be let in, they finally pulled up in front of Mal’s newly-built home.

It was the first time that Regina had been there since Mal had moved in. Regina hadn’t really done much of anything since moving back to her hometown after leaving her job in Boston. She’d wanted Henry to experience life at a slower pace and she’d wanted a change in career. Regina scrambled out of the car, happy to have escaped unscathed with life and limbs intact. She shielded her eyes and craned her neck to look at the oversized house, its windows gleaming in raw newness in the sun.

“Lovely, isn’t it?”

“It’s… big,” Regina answered diplomatically. She privately thought that although it was slightly on the gloomy side and ridiculously large, it did suit Mal’s tastes, and the scenery and view were lovely.

“Come on,” Zelena said, linking her arm through Regina’s and leading her up to the door. She rang the bell and Mal answered almost instantly.

“You’re here! Come in, come in!” Mal practically yanked Regina inside the cool and quiet house, pausing to give both her and Zelena quick hugs, and then led them through the porch and spacious hallway into a living room.

Zelena flopped down into a sofa, right at home, and Regina carefully sat down on a vintage chair that looked like it belonged in a museum somewhere.

“Could I get the two of you a drink?”

Regina shook her head. “Too early.”

“Oh, live a little, Regina,” Zelena drawled from the sofa. “And Mal’s Bellinis are to die for.”

“It’s fine, Zelena.” Mal glided over to a sideboard, and opened a hidden mini fridge and came back towards Regina with a glass, a coaster, and a small bottle of sparkling water. She set them unceremoniously on a coffee table in front of Regina and gave her a wink. “I’ll be right back, girls,” she said and disappeared out of the room.

“This?” Zelena pointed at Regina’s bottle. “Is exactly what I’m talking about. Everything is too safe, too routine. It’s time for you loosen up.”

Regina frowned and picked up the bottle, twisting the cap off. “I know you mean well, Zelena, but I don’t see what this is going to accomplish when I’m already well aware of what my life is like and what I’m comfortable doing.” She poured the water out as Mal and a housekeeper reappeared bearing trays, one filled with plates of hors d’oeuvres and small sandwiches and the other with two Bellinis in comically large cocktail glasses.

Mal set her tray down and handed Zelena one of the glasses before taking her own and sitting down next to her on the sofa, looking like she had news to share, as the housekeeper disappeared out of the room. Mal was practically wriggling with excitement, which made Regina wary. She’d learned from experience to know that when Mal was excited over something, it most likely wasn’t going to be anything practical.

“So,” Regina said. “What’s this all about?”

“We have a plan,” Mal burst out, looking especially pleased with herself.

“A plan? Plan for what?”

“A plan to help you get back into dating,” Zelena said brightly, settling herself further among the plush pillows of Mal’s sofa.

Regina was annoyed. “I don’t think that’s really necessary.”

Zelena and Mal exchanged knowing glances. “Oh, yes it is, sis. You’re in dire need of our help.” Zelena took a sip of her cocktail, her tone matter-of-fact.

“First of all,” Regina said, crossing her arms, “Who said I want to start dating again?”

That threw them. Mal looked at Zelena, confused. “But you do.” She paused. “Don’t you?”

Zelena narrowed her eyes at Regina. “What are you playing at?”

“Why don’t you two tell me, since you obviously know what I’m thinking?” Regina tried to remain stern, but the corners of her mouth had a tell-tale twitch that she could feel.

Mal put on an aggrieved look that Regina had come to know so well over the course of their friendship, and with the expression on the other woman’s face Regina knew she was about to be “handled”.

“Look, Regina, we mean no harm.” Mal placed her glass on the table. “But as two of the people who love and know you best, we feel that it’s our duty to –  ”

“To help get you back out there,” Zelena finished Mal’s thought.

“And how do you expect to help me do that? Tinder? Blind dates? Clubbing?” Regina couldn’t help the hint of sarcasm creeping into her voice.  Zelena had a penchant for trying anything, at least once. She’d dated using various means, smartphone apps and dating sites alike, had casual hook-ups from people she’d picked up at whatever club she felt like frequenting, all recounted to Regina with a carefree candor that only Zelena could pull off.

“No, we know none of those are quite your thing.”

“Dating in general is not my thing, Mal.”

“Right, so your dear sister and I have thought up the perfect scenario by which you can meet several eligible men at once – no pressure, no awkward small talk, well, not much anyway, done in such a way that will be fun for all.”

“Fun for all?” Regina raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I'll be the judge of that – once I hear some specifics. And if either of you mentions speed dating, I'm leaving this house and never returning.”

When Zelena and Mal's laughter died down, there was a moment of silence to draw out Regina's dread and her friend's sense of suspense before Mal spoke, sounding very pleased with herself. “I've decided to host a masquerade ball.”

Regina blinked. “A costume party? Really?”

“Not the same thing and you know it,” Zelena retorted. “Just about everyone in town is invited,” she continued.

“I just didn't think it would be right not to invite everyone,” Mal interjected.

Zelena gave her a wry sidelong glance before going on, “Yes. Anyway, every eligible bachelor you’ve met since moving back will be there.”

“Plus a few you haven't,” Mal said with an air of mystery.

“Meaning Zelena's dating app rejects?” Regina smirked.

“That's not exactly how it works,” Zelena began before shaking her head with an exasperated sigh. “But you're not getting me off subject. The ball. You'll attend?”

“No.”

“You must,” Mal said breezily. “Everyone's already been invited and people are expecting you to be there. You wouldn't want to disappoint your potential suitors.”

“My potential suitors,” Regina repeated testily. “Archie, Doc the miner, Whale the doctor...” she said, ticking them off on her fingers.

“There are others,” Zelena said. “The point is to help you relax and at least talk to a few of them.”

“I talk to them every day.”

“I meant in a social setting! We figured everyone being dressed up and the drinks flowing would, you know. Make it a little easier for you.”

“We've gone to a lot of trouble to set this up,” Mal said, shamelessly playing on Regina's sense of guilt.

Regina shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I'm going to feel ridiculous, dressed up like a child on Halloween.”

“Everyone is going to dress up. They won't be allowed in otherwise, I was very clear on that.” There was a pause. “So? Will you be there?”

Regina sighed, resigned. “When?”

                                                            ***

Regina sighed as she followed Henry into Granny’s Diner, who had skipped ahead with the sort of boundless energy only the pre-pubescent possessed. She tutted at his forgotten manners as she pulled open the door. He’d begged to go after she picked him up from school, waving a math test marked with an ‘A’ and a declaration of ‘Good job!’, reasoning that he’d earned a cheeseburger and milkshake for a special treat at Granny’s. Knowing that he had been adjusting, both with the move and with the school subject, Regina had acquiesced and found herself preparing to face the looks from curious patrons and to ingest a potentially unhealthy meal at the place Henry had proclaimed the ‘coolest’ in town.

She pushed the door open and found that Henry had already sat down in the only available booth. Considering the time of day, it was surprisingly busy in the restaurant and she smiled nervously at the few patrons whose gazes she’d caught as she approached. He’d hung his coat on the hook at the end of the bench and she removed her own and folded it neatly beside her and placed it and her handbag down before sliding into the seat opposite a widely grinning Henry.

“You forgot to hold the door like I’ve taught you, Henry. And you needn’t think that you won’t be getting a salad as well, young man.”

“Mom!” Henry’s smile faltered a little and he had the grace to look slightly embarrassed when she raised an eyebrow and pointedly shifted her eyes towards other customers. He lowered his voice slightly and continued, “I’m sorry I forgot the door but I can still get fries with my milkshake and burger, right?”

Regina pretended to think for a moment. “Well, I suppose.” She laughed gently at the slight bounce Henry did in his seat and was just about to ask her son about the rest of his day at school when one of the staff came over with a bright “Hello!”.

Regina thought she recognized her, but didn’t know her name; the handful of times she’d been into the diner, the other woman had been either behind the counter or coming from the area housing the back offices and staff room, and whenever they’d made eye contact the woman would smile warmly in return before getting on with whatever she’d been doing.

She wasn’t dressed in the normal attire for the staff at Granny’s, crisp white shirts with red piping and black skirts or trousers and black aprons. Instead she wore a soft red sweater with a deep V-neck and a pair of tight, skinny black jeans hidden under an apron. Regina took in the red pendant dangling rather lowly from a chain around the woman’s neck and had just moved her gaze to the woman’s somewhat tentatively smiling face, when she heard a throat clear. Regina’s face warmed as she realized that she’d been caught staring, and that Henry and the woman had been waiting for her to say something.

“I – Sorry – I’m – Hi,” Regina finished lamely, smiling back.

“I’m Ruby. I’ll send someone right over after you’ve had a chance order but can I get you something to drink in the meantime?” She handed Regina and Henry each a laminated menu and then turned to Henry with a smile. “I’m guessing a… chocolate milkshake for you, and a sparkling water on the rocks for your mom?”

“How’d you know?” Henry looked surprised and a little awestruck.

“Oh, I like to keep up with what all of my customers like.” Ruby winked at him and Regina both. “I’ll get Ashley to come with your drinks in just a bit while you two look at the menu, but if I was to guess… I’d bet she’d be taking an order for a couple salads–” She paused to smile even wider when Henry made a little noise of protest, “And probably a cheeseburger and fries.”

“Yep!” Henry beamed back.

Ruby gave them both another wink and went to the swinging door leading behind the counter. Regina looked on at her retreating figure thoughtfully for a moment as the woman walked away then turned back to her son.

Henry leaned forward and, much to Regina’s amusement, didn’t bother to keep his voice down. “This place is so cool!”

                                                                ***

 Regina looked at her reflection critically. Not bad, she thought. After being pressured into going to the ball, Regina was reluctant to wear anything dramatic, but Zelena had insisted. Hence, Regina was dressed as a courtesan, in a dramatic purple ball gown with a lot of décolletage. She looked down at the jeweled eye mask in her hand. She may have looked good but she still felt foolish.

Zelena and Mal had meant well, but she wished they would simply let her handle her own private life the way she saw fit. She had been widowed long ago – so long ago, in fact, it almost felt like a lifetime had passed. She was certainly not the same person. She had all but given up on finding someone else, but she had been okay with that, if not expressly overjoyed with the reality of the situation. What was so wrong with that?

She fastened a cloak over her gown and slightly adjusted the wig she wore. If she was going she might as well try to enjoy the night. She smiled at herself in the mirror and let her face drop again into its usual unreadable expression. With a deep breath, she descended the stairs of her home and looked in on Henry and the sitter who had already arrived.

Henry looked over from the old black and white horror movie they were watching to smile at his mom. “You look nice,” he said simply.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Regina glanced disapprovingly at the television with a raised eyebrow. A wolf/man hybrid was heaving hammy breaths and arching his clawed fingers at the camera. Regina thought the actor should go ahead and fully commit to the role and gnaw at the scenery.

“Laura,” Regina said, addressing the sitter with a reproving note in her voice, “You know I don't like Henry to watch such garbage.”

“It was my idea, Mom. It's just a movie,” Henry said practically. “I'm not scared at all.”

“Just this once. Homework done?”

“Yep!”

“Alright. You can watch this cinematic masterpiece but I expect you to be in bed before I get back.”

“I will, Mom. Have some fun tonight,” Henry said with a smile. “For once.”

Regina sighed in spite of herself. Even her son was getting in on the conspiracy of “fun.” She had plenty of fun. Was it her fault if she was good at keeping herself company and preferred it that way?

With a few more instructions for the babysitter and a big kiss on the cheek which Henry squirmed at but submitted to in silence, instead of the usual protestations that he wasn't a little kid any more, Regina was off.

She took a much more leisurely route to Mal's home than Zelena had, and on the way there she thought about Zelena's words as she'd helped Regina pick out the dress she was wearing. Regina hadn't been in the best mood but Zelena had blithely ignored all of Regina's cutting remarks and simply said it was all for Regina's own good, and that it wasn't possible for Regina to see the situation as clearly as Zelena could. Was that true?

If she was being honest with herself, she did get lonely sometimes. She did want some romance in her life. She missed companionship, and no matter how busy she kept herself, she couldn't ignore that completely. But the men in this town? She wanted to cringe just thinking about dating any of them. Her heart wasn't in it, and she was going into this knowing it would fail. But hey, at least she'd be able to say she tried. She could get Zelena and Mal and their matchmaking over with, at least for a while.

She parked her car and fitted the mask over her eyes with the help of her visor’s mirror before going inside. She got out of the car and took off her cape, and with a grim determination in her step to see this thing through, marched up to Mal's door. Another couple was in front of her that she recognized, and she saw the woman take her date's arm and give it a squeeze as the door was opened. “Isn't this exciting, honey?” Regina heard the woman squeal.

Regina pressed her lips together. If their costumes had left any doubt, that insipid squeal was all too familiar. Regina hung far enough back from David and Mary Margaret Nolan that she wouldn't have to acknowledge them, but followed on closely enough that people may have assumed they were coming in together. She didn't want to appear to be walking in alone, for some reason.

She handed her cloak to a liveried butler and took another glance at herself in the entryway mirror.

Here I go.

Regina had to hand it to Mal – the house looked beautiful, and she had really committed to making this event feel like a masquerade ball. There was a string ensemble playing somewhere out of sight, but the music was filtering into the huge living room. There were long tables with wait staff behind them, serving delicious looking food.

Regina hesitated near the entrance, looking around, recognizing some immediately and others not at all.

She and Mal saw each other at the same time and started towards each other, moving around the periphery of couples dancing. Before she could get there, Regina's progress was impeded by Archie, who was inexplicably wearing his glasses outside of his mask.

“Good evening, fair lady,” he said with a stately bow.

Regina forced a tight smile. “Hello, Archie.”

“Oh, come on! You're not supposed to say my name.” He dropped his voice to an exaggerated whisper. “It ruins the mystery.”

“Sorry,” Regina said, not feeling particularly apologetic. She looked more carefully at his costume. “What are you supposed to be, anyway?”

“You can't tell?” Seeing Regina only look back at him in steady silence he went on. “A cricket.”

“Right, of course. Isn't it a little late in the year for you to be out at night?”

Archie's guffawing laugh drew several pairs of eyes their way. “That's a good one.”

“Well!” Regina said brightly. “I'd better go say hello to our hostess. Excuse me,” she said moving past Archie, who was too good natured to mind being brushed off so quickly.

Regina made a beeline to Mal, who was dressed as Marie Antoinette and was brandishing a huge feathered fan as she spoke to a couple of partygoers. She turned her attention to Regina as she approached.

“Darling! Don't you look beautiful tonight! You've captured the eye of everyone here. I saw you laughing with Archie. I knew this night was just what you needed to get back into the game.”

“If you call exchanging a few words with a man who thinks crickets wear vests getting back into the game, then yes. Mission accomplished. Can I go home now?”

“Nonsense!” Mal scoffed with a smile. “Let's get you some champagne and I'll introduce you to a few people.”

Regina sighed and tried to put a pleasant face on. She accepted the champagne and let Mal lead her around and meet her acquaintances. After a few minutes she was starting to vaguely sort of enjoy herself. Or maybe that was the champagne. She had to admit her friends were right. Something about the atmosphere and having this annoying mask on made it easier. She agreed to dance with the third person who asked because she feared that Mal, who was glancing her way with Archie in the proximity, would send him over to dance with her. Not keen on the idea of having her feet stepped on, Regina let herself be led out onto the dance floor as the music changed. The guy she was with didn't look like he'd draw extra attention to himself, which was the preferable option.

Doing an approximation of a waltz with her partner, one of Zelena's dredged-up singles she hadn't met before, Regina made the appropriate noises to all of his questions, mostly paying attention to the surroundings and trying not to be too bothered by the other couples dancing who looked so very much into their partners.

“Not a bad spread at this deal,” her partner was saying.

“Mm,” Regina hummed, smiling her vague agreement.

“Never been here before. Had to make a promise to a friend to come though. She was apparently desperate to fill this place up with every bachelor from here to Boston under sixty for her sister to hopefully meet someone. She must be a real dog or dysfunctional in some way, if you get what I mean. Going through all this to try to set her up? Red flags.”

Regina's dancing slowed to a near stop, but her partner didn't seem to notice. “I confess I just wanted to spend some time with my friend, you know how it is. I didn't think there'd be lookers like you here.”

“Aren't you the charmer,” Regina said, pulling away from the man and feeling satisfaction as the smirk on his face faded into confusion. Regna fixed him with a cold look and turned to move away.

He grabbed her arm, “Hey, I didn't... Ohh.” Regina looked at him once more and hated the dawning recognition she saw spreading on his face. “I didn't know. Sorry. You're –  ”

Regina snatched her arm away and marched off the dancefloor toward the door where she'd come in. She saw Zelena standing there and stopped. Zelena looked her way and approached with a quizzical look on her face.

“Regina? What's wrong?”

“Your idea of helping me ‘get my shit together,’ as you so elegantly put it, is to make every jackass you know think that I'm desperate?”

“What? No!”

“I've just been dancing with one of your carefully selected suitors, who informed me that you practically begged him to be here tonight. Oh, and then he said that he only came here to get a shot with you.”

“Oh, Regina. I'm sorry someone said that, but I promise, I –  ”

“You know what? This was a bad idea,” Regina said. “I'm going home.”

“I'm just trying to help!” Zelena said, pulling off her mask. “You can't mourn forever, Regina. It's not what Daniel would have wanted for you!”

Zelena's exasperated tone carried to those nearby, who turned to look at the curiously. With a scoffing noise Regina shook her head. “Thanks, sis.” With as much dignity as she could muster, she stalked past Zelena, who knew better than to follow her, and didn't turn back.

To complete the rest of the evening's illusion shattering, she found the liveried doorman on his phone, intensely swiping. Rather than disturb him, Regina found her own cloak and left.

Once outside she ripped off her mask in disgust. How utterly humiliating. Well, that was it. She wasn't going to play good sport and go along with any stupid plans to set her up ever again. Halfway to her car, her steps slowed and she heard Zelena's words echoing in her mind.

You can't mourn forever.

But that wasn't what she was doing. She might not have been actively seeking a relationship, but it didn't mean she was totally against the idea, either. She felt ready, she was sure – but it had to be done in her own way. What was so wrong with that?

With her car in sight, Regina imagined herself arriving home and going to bed, earlier than even Henry. Maybe she actually was as pathetic as her ungallant dance partner thought she was. Well, she wouldn't go straight home. She stood by her car, feeling like a total loser as she realized there wasn't any place in town to go, especially dressed like this. As she stood there, she heard the sound of a couple men who had emerged from the house to smoke and the tell-tale scritch of lighters and matches being used. Making a decision, Regina moved through the semi-darkness, hoping not to be seen by whomever the men were. She headed towards the sound of the ocean as it led her away from the murmuring voices near the house. She pulled her cloak around her and noticed a figure standing on the cliff behind the house, looking out toward the ocean. In the moonlight she could see the figure was in a hooded cloak not unlike her own rented one. She paused, not knowing whether to approach or not, but came closer.

The figure turned and she recognized Ruby, from Granny’s Diner.

“Oh,” Regina said. “Hello.”

“Hey,” Ruby said with a little smile. She turned back to the ocean. Instead of awkwardly turning and walking away, Regina came closer until she was standing next to Ruby. The view was stunning, Regina had to admit. A huge harvest moon hung in the sky, high above the ocean, illuminating the water and hypnotic waves. She was content to simply look as Ruby was doing, without breaking the silence.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” Ruby said at length.

“Yes, actually.”

Ruby faced Regina. “So what are you doing here? Party too much for you?”

“Something like that. And you?”

“I just wanted some air. Something about the moon... I don't know. I felt kind of drawn to it. Is that strange?”

“Not at all. Given the choice between this view,” Regina said, “And those oafs inside?” Regina took a deep breath of the ocean breeze. “I'll take the moon every time.”

Ruby smiled. “No contest.”

“No contest,” Regina echoed. The two of them laughed lightly.

“I don't know why I bothered to come here,” Ruby said with a hint of sadness to her voice. “All these guys... they treat me like an object. So do a couple of the women, at that.”

“Oh,” Regina said. “You...?”

“Yeah. I thought everyone knew.” There was a silence. “Feeling judgemental?” Ruby asked dryly, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Regina shrugged. “Everyone can do what they want.”

“So what's your story?”

“I don't follow.”

“Why did you come here?”

“I didn't want to,” Regina said.

“I figured.” When Regina looked at Ruby questioningly, the other woman continued, “I mean... you aren't exactly a woman about town, if you know what I mean. Apart from the few times I’ve seen you at the diner, I almost never see you out after dark.”

Regina studied Ruby's pale face in the moonlight. Her green eyes held a gleam of something Regina couldn't quite place.

“It's not like that,” Regina said, even though it was exactly like that. “I just keep myself busy, I guess. As for why I'm here, my sister and my best friend thought I needed to socialize more, break out of my routine. Seems like a running theme. I don't see why that's anyone else's business but my own, though.”

“I'm sure they mean well.” After a moment of thought Ruby added, “Probably.”

That got Regina to smile. She wasn't the only one with a reputation around town, at least. “This ball was unofficially held in my honor,” Regina said. “They wanted to throw every bachelor in town and out of it at me, hoping one of them would take. It failed miserably of course.”

“Why?”

Regina blinked. “What do you mean, why?”

“Why did it fail miserably? There wasn't one person in there you were interested in?”

“Not really. I don't know why – well except for the man who was a total ass to me – but none of them interested me at all.”

“Well... maybe you're looking in the wrong direction.” Ruby held her gaze for a long moment.

“Meaning?” Regina stared back and found it difficult to breathe as the air shifted around them.

“Like I said the other day, I like to keep up with what all of my customers like.” And then Ruby was closing the distance between their lips. Her kiss was soft, warm, and, Regina found, too brief. She pulled away and looked at Regina.

“So… yeah. I think you know what I'm talking about,” she said.

Regina didn't think about what she did next, she just acted on impulse and pulled Ruby close to her, kissing her with all the pent up, turbulent emotions she'd held within for so long.

When they broke apart, Regina noticed Ruby's green eyes were ablaze with something that she hadn't recognized at first as desire.

“Wow,” Ruby said teasingly. “I had an inkling, after the way you were checking me out –  ” She giggled when Regina started stammering.

“I wasn’t, I didn’t –  ” Regina trailed off, face warm with embarrassment.

“But,” Ruby continued, “I didn't figure on this.”

“Figure on what?”

“On you being so passionate. You've got some hidden depths.”

“Oh,” Regina said, slightly mollified. “You could say that. I guess you were right...”

“About?”

“I was looking in the wrong direction. I didn't know what I wanted... until just now,” Regina said sincerely.

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Just give it to me,” Ruby said.

Regina handed the phone over, too caught off guard to think of a good reason to say no. She watched in silence as Ruby punched some numbers into the phone and handed it back.

“There,” she said. “Now you have my number.”

“You... want to go out with me?”

“That's the general idea, yes.”

Regina tilted her head. “You don't think I'm... too boring for you, or something?”

Ruby laughed, her smile white in the moonlight. “Nobody who kisses like that could possibly be boring. And I’d like to keep uncovering new surprises in you, and get to know you better. A lot better. I'm betting you feel the same way.”

“I do...”

“Well then,” Ruby said smiling wickedly. “I guess this night wasn't a total failure after all.”

                                                              ***

 Driving Ruby home, Regina took the curves in the road with abandon... or at least as much abandon as she could muster. She still wanted to make it home to Henry in one piece, but there was something wild that had been freed inside... sparking to life and burning brighter every time she looked across to the passenger seat where Ruby gazed back, a smile quirking at the edges of her mouth.

Mal and Zelena's plan had worked better than they could have imagined, Regina realized. She felt alive again. And she couldn't wait to see what would happen next.

(the end)

[river0vixen-blog]

Our spot

(Blog has moved to river0vixens)

Our Spot A/N: This is my first attempt at a fic. It sort of takes place between episode 5&6. I felt like I wanted to fill some things in and try for a more organic start. Let me know what you guys think, because I have a bunch of ideas for other Jughead fics. — TO: JUGHEAD: 8:48PM Are you busy? TO: BETTY: 8:49PM Not currently, what’s up? TO: JUGHEAD: 8:51PM I just need to get out. I feel like I’m going crazy. Everything is just too much. Can you meet me? TO: BETTY: 8:51PM Sure, where? TO: JUGHEAD: 8:52PM Our spot. TO: BETTY: 8:52PM On my way   Jughead stopped short of the edge of the clearing. It was bordered on one side by the back of a hair salon, a small cafe, and a disused alleyway. On the other three sides, a dense forest, the same one that surrounded the entire town of Riverdale and separated it from the rest of the world. Once upon a time the tower at the edge of the clearing was a fire watch tower, but the years had rendered it forgotten to all but he and Betty Cooper. Actually, truth be told they had forgotten about it too, they just stumbled upon it when they were looking into town planning for the Blue and Gold, and decided it would be the safest place to talk openly.    

He stared up at the tall silhouette of their tiny retreat, a relic of a town that had lived and died before they themselves had been thought of, and took a small comfort in the flickering light of the candles dancing across the buildings facade. “If you’re not Betty Cooper this is officially the most impressive catfish I’ve ever been a victim of.” He called out as he began his ascent up the rickety stairs that lead to a small balcony that wrapped around the building. “Most impressive?” She called back, he could hear the slightest hint of a smile in her voice, which gave him hope that whatever demon he had come to battle with for her, wasn’t too great an adversary. “Well you know, there was that promise of the American dream and a functional family life for a minute there.” He half joked, trying for the umpteenth time to not resent the life he was actually born into.

Rounding the corner Jughead took in the room for the hundredth time. The wood floor looked worse for wear, but it seemed sturdy enough. The walls were also made of wood, but once upon a time they were painted white. Only a few flecks of paint at the top and bottom of the walls alluded to that now though. In the back right corner there was a built in cabinet that probably used to serve as a pantry but Jughead and Betty had used it as a makeshift blanket cubby, and on the back left of the room there was a built in bed frame with broken slats that Jughead had stayed up until three in the morning fixing, before throwing a camping mattress across the top of it. Scattered around the room was a myriad of evidence that Betty and Jughead had made the space their own: blankets, cushions, a framed photo of James Dean, some ramen, a camping stove, and a few discarded bottles of alcohol that they would occasionally use to celebrate a new story or finding a clue. Across the lower half of the front of the left wall they had rebuilt their evidence map again in case anything should happen to the one at the school.

Betty sat curled up on the bed, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and her phone in the other, lazily scrolling, but clearly not paying any attention to what was flicking across her screen.

“You ordered a Jughead to go?” “Well, not yet, but if he keeps making stupid jokes I might.” She smirked at her own wit, and put her phone down beside her. “So where are your guards?” Jughead jeered in his typical friendly mocking way. He crossed the threshold into the room and stopping short of the small card table they had been using as a makeshift desk in the center of the centre of the tower’s confine. Betty groaned and tucked her head into the space between her knees. She felt the warning signs of an Alice Cooper induced headache tugging at the back of her eyes. Jughead saw this and felt a burst of sympathy swell within him. As he watched, Betty pinched the bridge of her nose and mumbled something about a weekend retreat a couple of hours away. She tried to push any further thoughts of her overbearing mother out of her mind, instead focussing her energy on trying to keep herself upbeat and composed. “Sounds like Cinderella has the night off.” He flashed a smug grin to Betty, edging further into the room, staring at the slim blonde, whose attention had returned to her phone.

It wasn’t the first time that the realisation of their alone-ness had struck him, they had spent a lot of time in solitude up there, theorising, writing, joking around but this was different. Whether it was the goosebumps across her collarbone from the cool night air, or the way her hair was flying out of her ponytail making her look more human than he had seen her in a while, something made him very aware of just how isolated the two of them were. His eyes trailed down to the opening of her collared blouse, and down her chest, his eyes resting on her cleavage for a moment before moving down her body and the length of her long legs, before travelling back up to her sad, frustrated face.

“What is it, Juggie?” Betty asked, as she shuffled further back on the bed to a more seated position, pulling him from his inner monologue back into the room. “What?” Confusion swept over him, combined with the tiniest hint of panic, the same kind of sensation that a child caught in the act of something completely out of bounds might have. “You’re staring. What’s up?” She smiled softly, but there was no hiding the concern crossing her delicate features. If she had noticed the way Jughead was looking at her, she didn’t let it show. “Nothing, I just-” he fumbled, trying to come up with something better than nothing “Hate seeing you like this.” “I’ll be okay, Juggie. I just needed to see a friendly face.” “Sorry, in that case should I go?” He joked, thumbing at some loose pages on the table beside him, chastising himself for his train of thought. He tried in vain to regain some form of composure before crossing the rest of the room and sitting backwards in the old rickety dining chair beside the foot of the bed and crossing his arms on the backrest. “Idiot” Betty scoffed, throwing her head back slightly with a giggle. “Thank you for coming.” Jughead smiled as her expression shifted from an exhausted sadness to almost happiness. “No thanks necessary, Betts. I’m just here for the free booze and the banter.” Betty took Jughead’s form in. He wasn’t a kid anymore, and the past few weeks had definitely been reminding her of that fact.

They fell easily then into normal conversation, stealing sidelong glances at each other as they passed the bottle of whisky between them. While neither were ones to believe in things like psychics or spirits, they couldn’t deny that they felt a shift between them. Things were changing for the duo. Quickly, passionately, and confusingly.

Betty couldn’t help but admire the kind of person Jughead was becoming, ever since childhood she had held a certain soft spot for him, but that place was becoming warmer and deeper with time and proximity. Similarly Jughead, who had never seen the point in a relationship when all anyone ever did was leave anyway, and had always awkwardly pushed away anybody who exhibited any kind of romantic feeling towards him, was finding a sort of closeness with Betty that he was trying so hard to resist. In his mind, no matter his flaws, Betty would always belong to Archie, and anything standing in the way of that – especially Jughead – wasn’t acceptable. He couldn’t betray his friend like that.

“Do you ever feel like everything is kind of a joke, and you’re actually a part of some really cheesy teen movie?“ Betty asked, resting her head against the wall and finding his eyes with her own, once again cutting through his thoughts that had caused a veil of silence to fall over them at some point. There was a sincerity and a sadness in the way she spoke that cut through Jughead and made him want to hurt anyone who made her feel so horrible. “I mean, it’s usually a B-grade horror movie, but-” Jughead started, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Yeah, a lot of the time. I mean, my dad is - well, he’s my dad, and mom took Jellybean and split, then you left for the summer, Archie kind of left me in the lurch, Jason… everything is just all kinds of messed up Betts. I get it.” She nodded quietly, tears threatening the corners of her eyes. She looked at her knees and willed herself not to cry again. “It’s just too much. Everyone expects me to be this thing I don’t even recognise anymore. Boring Betty Cooper. The good girl, the quiet girl, the girl who might just go crazy like her no-good sister Polly.” The prickling had moved to stinging, but she swallowed the urge to cry. She was done crying. “Betty, you haven’t been boring a day of your life.” Jughead reached over and gently stroked her knee as he moved from the chair to the end of the bed. Betty snorted in response and clapped her hands together. “Juggie, when we were in the third grade, you bought sour candy to school, and I didn’t want to try it because it would stain my tongue and I didn’t want to have a blue mouth for the rest of the day because it was too silly.” There was a mixture of humour and frustration in Betty’s voice and she let out an exhausted sigh. “I am text book boring.” “Okay, so you had an off day, but who hasn’t?” Jughead offered, gently nudging his friend, eliciting a smile in response. The twosome was slightly tipsy by this stage, and his gentle nudge ended up acting more like a push as Betty nearly fell completely out of the bed, making them both incredibly aware of the fact that Jugheads hand had never managed to leave Betty’s knee. He moved to pull away, but her fingers snaked between his. “I don’t want to be boring, Juggie. But I’ll take boring over crazy.” Briefly an almost sobering silence fell over them as the night got a little darker and a breeze kicked up and extinguished a few candles by the wall on the opposite side of the room. “What if everybody is right? My mom, Cheryl, half the town… what if they’re right and I’m just one bad day away from snapping like Polly and ending up god-knows-where? I am so scared that I am. I am so afraid that one day I’ll wake up and I’ll be going wherever the broken things go.” Betty asked with a childlike concern in her voice. As she spoke, her hands flew around wildly in the air, each swing threatening to unload the contents of the bottle in her hand and break Jughead’s shoulder. Breathlessly she looked down again, desperate to fight the recurring urge to cry that seemed to sweep over her more often than not in recent times. Betty took a swig from the bottle in her hand and held it out to her friend. “Give me that.” Jughead sighed, taking the bottle from Betty and swallowing the sweet amber liquid inside. It burned on it’s way down, a dangerously familiar feeling that was almost addictive in nature. “You’re not crazy. You’re not broken Betts. Trust me.” His own words reminded him of the day his father was sprawled on the living room floor blaming Jughead for his mom leaving with Jellybean. He knew what it was like to doubt yourself so much, and he couldn’t even begin to suppress the rush of sympathy and affection that burst out of him for his oldest friend. What surprised him though, was the anger. He suddenly found himself infuriated with the world for ever making Betty Cooper doubt herself so much.

“Jughead, I-” He swatted away whatever words of support his friend was about to unleash on him. She knew as well as he did about the day his mother left, she was the first one to come looking for him when he hadn’t turned up for school three days running. She was the one who found him holed up in his treehouse, crying over the few photos of his mother and sister that he had. At the time he could never have understood why they left or if they would ever come back, but older and wiser as he was, he almost envied their ability to pick up and leave some days. As for Betty’s sympathy, there was no need to worry about something he had become good at ignoring. It was almost laughable to him how much caring for other people had become second nature, so much so that he chuckled when he spoke.

“It’s not important right now, Betts.” “You know, when we were kids, my mom wasn’t as bad. After everything happened with Polly, I guess she kind of snapped as well.” Betty sighed after another comfortable, but heavy silence. “She turned on just about everybody. It’s like she thinks that if she has total control, and the world sees us as composed, and neat, and united the town won’t keep whispering about her behind her back.” “What happened with Polly, anyway?” Jughead chanced, not entirely sure what he was meant to say or to what, but sensing that in some way at least, Betty expected him to respond. “I don’t know.” Betty shrugged, absentmindedly twirling a lock of Jugheads dark curly hair around her finger and avoiding eye contact. “Dad said after Jason… well, after they broke up, she tried to..” she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. “But you don’t believe him?” Jughead nodded as he spoke. It was less a question and more an understanding of the way Betty’s mind worked, but he didn’t know what else to say. “It’s just-” her eyes met with his, and she felt a sense of calm wash over her. He had an almost soothing effect on her soul. “- it doesn’t make sense. I know Polly. I know what she’s like, and how she reacts, and it just doesn’t add up.” “Betty, before you say anything else, is this going to turn into a Nancy Drew kind of adventure that could land you in parental purgatory?” “Of course not.” She smiled, pulling him a little closer to her as another cool breeze kicked up around the watchtower. “It’s more like a Holmes and Watson type thing.” Jughead rolled his eyes but couldn’t fight the smile that sprung across his face. “Please?” She added after he didn’t respond for a while, concerned he may actually not want to help her afterall. “Betty, I’ll help you find your sister. You don’t even have to ask. You know I will.” Jughead had never been as serious in his life, as he was in that moment.

For a while the two sat idly chatting. They spoke a little more about Jason Blossom, and the kids at school. They joked about something Cheryl had said to them a few days earlier. By the time the bottle was empty, Betty had pulled Jughead onto the bed beside her and slid his arm over her waist for warmth. When they were kids, they had shared the spare bed with Archie whenever they had slept over there over school breaks, and it felt almost like second nature to be lying together now. If not for the electricity that burned between them, a low, gentle hum that drew them towards each other like magnets it would have been completely casual.

“So, I’m glad to see you and Archie are back on speaking terms, Anyway.” Betty sighed, trying to force down the bitter taste his name left in her mouth. Try as she might to be his friend, everything he had been doing lately, specifically with Grundy, didn’t sit so well with her. The way Betty had spat Archie’s name out caused a guilty sense of hope to rise in Jughead’s chest, it was like it was poison to her and she was trying to get every last drop out of her system. “When -” he started, trying to choose his words very carefully “Did you stop…. you know, with Archie?” Betty sat in contemplative silence for a few moments, trying to figure out how to put those feelings into words. “The moment he said that Grundy believed in him when nobody else did, was the exact moment that I realised all I ever was, all I ever will be, is furniture to him. I’m there, always, and he stopped appreciating it. In that exact moment, it occurred to me that he represented something that didn’t exist anymore, and whatever he represents now… it’s not for me.” Jughead considered Betty’s words as they hung thickly in the air, Betty had spent basically her entire life fawning over a person who never once realised how good he had it. She had fought for him so much so that she had nothing left to fight for herself, and he still didn’t see how much belief she had in him. “But then I realised,” taking a moment to collect her thoughts, Betty plunged into her next statement. “That there was someone who deserved me, my friendship. Someone who does have my back. Who believes in me just as much as I believe in them.” Jughead looked up, suddenly aware of how close she was to him, her thumb tracing tiny circles on the side of his hand, each rotation sending a fluttering feeling to both of their stomachs. Her face was so close to his that he could see the flecks of gold littering her big blue eyes and the glossiness of eyelashes that had been threatened with tears.

Jughead froze, as did time. It was like every thought he was having was running through his brain impossibly fast, but so painstakingly slowly at the same time. He felt something rise in his throat, a heavy, primal feeling, and he tried desperately to swallow it down. He may have been wearing so many layers, but suddenly Jughead Jones felt cold, exposed, but in a way that fascinated and terrified him. He looked at Betty’s soft pink lips and every ounce of self control left him as he saw them inch the slightest bit closer to him and her eyes flutter closed. Their lips collided and though they didn’t speak again for some time, so much was being said by their kiss. It started slow, nervous, almost clinical. Both of them were caught by surprise, but very quickly it developed into a hungry kiss. He felt Betty’s tongue at the edge of his lips, asking for entry and he obliged, meeting her tongue with his and exploring, teasing each other. Somewhere in the distance they heard a twig break, and it snapped them back into reality. He hadn’t even realised that Betty was beneath him now, and his arms were propping him up beside and above her, he hadn’t felt her soft, warm hands creep up under his shirt to feel the bare skin of his back. They looked at each other with new eyes, and collapsed into a fit of giggles. Betty mouthed ’wow’ at him, and let herself relax into his side.

After a heavy, thought filled silence, jughead propped his head up on his hand and whispered in the darkness. “Betty, I-” She froze, reluctantly meeting his eyes with her own at the sadness in his voice. “I don’t want to be a rebou-” “You’re not a rebound, Juggie.” “You’re drunk.” “I’m not drunk.” “You drank half a bottle.” “I’m not drunk.” “I’m not a rebound.” “You’re not.” They lay once again curled up together for a while. Betty couldn’t be sure but she thought they must have fallen asleep.

Betty’s phone vibrated in her back pocket between them.

Mom is going Mommy Dearest on me. You awake?

A message from Veronica.

“Juggie.” “You have to go?” He smiled, trying to mask the faintest pangs of disappointment in his face. “It’s veronica. I’ll call you tomorrow?” Betty offered, stroking Jugheads hair as she sat up and retrieved her shoes from beside the bed. Jughead nodded sleepily, painfully aware of the coldness that washed over his front side as Betty got out of the bed and moved to grab her bag from beneath the card table. “Wait.” He called, right before she exited the room. With a speed that surprised even him, jughead got to his feet, ignoring the dizziness that washed over him and threatened his ability to walk a straight line let alone stand upright. “I meant what I said.” He assured her, standing much closer than would be considered normal, and reaching out to tuck a stray few hairs that had sprung loose from Betty’s tight ponytail behind her ear. “We’ll find your sister.” “I know. Thank you.” She nodded, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it gently. “Come over for breakfast this week, we can go from there.” Turning on her heel Betty started down the stairs. Jughead had only managed to make it a few inches back into the room to collect a couple of things before taking his own leave when he heard her light footsteps approaching again from behind. “Did you forget somet-” as he turned to ask her the question, her lips connected with his again, trying desperately to tell him what she meant, what he meant to her. “When you realise that what I feel for you, has absolutely nothing to do with Archie, let me know.” With that, Betty Cooper walked off into the night, leaving Jughead with a light heart and a heavy head, and the promise of potential. A few days later, Betty sat near Jughead at her mother’s dining room table over breakfast, setting their plan to find Polly into motion.

[thescholarlystrumpet]

If There’s No Objection Rated Explicit

Prompt-verse: Belle & Gold are rival attorneys with benefits. When one attorney wins a case against the other then the loser must give pleasure to the winner.

PART ONE  PART TWO

Part Three  Posted for @rumbelleorderinthecourt prompt: Rumbelle have sex in any legal/courtroom situation.

On AO3 HERE

***

Archie frowned as the rest of court began shuffling out. “Gold. French. I’d like to see you both in my chambers.”

Belle looked up from the paperwork she’d been stacking into a briefcase. “Sir?”

Gold crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat with a sour expression. “The case was dismissed, I hardly think…”

Archie shook his head. “This isn’t about the case. I’d… I’d just like a quick chat with you both. If you don’t mind.”

Belle’s gaze slid sideways to Gold, who was studying the judge with a casual arrogance. Her hands clenched so hard, her nails dug into her palms. The older man - her professional rival and sometimes lover - had been pushing every damn button all day. What should have been a pretty open and shut hearing had dragged out into a complex web of ridiculous proportion. She had stacks of casework sitting on her desk back at the office that were still untouched. Now, thanks to Gold’s maneuvering, she’d be stuck taking care of that well into the wee hours of the night.

On top of that, the case ended up with a dismissal due to a technical error. So, neither of them had won and there was no reason to celebrate in their usual manner. Not that she felt very celebratory at the moment. She was just as likely to claw Gold’s eyes out as she was to rake her nails down his back.

Gold gave a sigh. He just wanted to get out of here, go home and drink himself to bed. “Archie, I’m sure we’ve all got enough to worry about and it’s been a long day. Can this wait?”

Archie pressed his lips together thinly. “I really don’t think it should. I have you both on my docket again tomorrow. The Clayton case?”

Belle exhaled heavily. Right, that was tomorrow. Gold wasn’t even supposed to be on that one; Regina was. Yet as soon as Belle had taken the lead on defense, Gold’s name had suddenly started showing up on the correspondence.  

At first she’d been flattered that he’d take on extra work just for a shot at the sexy little game they’d created. But then he’d been such an utter prick in the preliminaries. And again, all day today.  Gold was always a shark, but it felt lately like he’d been sharpening his teeth on her, specifically.

It was not at all what she’d expected when they started sleeping together. A bit of forced indifference, perhaps, but not this streak of puerile nastiness.

Archie continued, his gaze shifting between them, eyebrows slightly raised. “I hope you can understand why I might have a few remarks about… today’s proceedings.

Belle flushed with embarrassment. She may not have handled things so delicately, herself. Twice, Archie had had to raise his usually gentle voice just to interrupt their sniping.

Taking a deep breath, she plastered on a neutral expression. “Of course, Judge Hopper, I have no problem taking an extra minute to speak with you. Especially if you feel it will help things run more smoothly in the courtroom.” With a pointed look at Gold, she added, “I’m sure everyone can benefit from that.”

Gold glowered at her but, not to be outdone, gave a grudging nod. “Fine,” he bit out the word.

Belle bit back a smug smile, momentarily content at having forced his hand. They followed Archie back to his chambers.

The younger man gestured for them to take seats in front of a large oak desk. Rather than sit behind it, he leaned back against it, standing between them with his arms crossed. “Okay, I’ve known both of you for years and I know you’re both excellent litigators. There’s a reason for the reputations you’ve each earned. Can we talk about what the hell happened today?”

Gold pursed his lips, refusing to budge first. Belle swallowed and glanced at the window. A weighty silence stretched out between them. At last Archie broke it with a sigh.

Then, he began to lecture.

Belle chewed on her lower lip, eyes cast down at her lap, looking appropriately regretful. This was not how she’d pictured her evening. Despite Gold’s less than pleasant behavior of late, their late night interactions were still… far more than compensatory. She’d won the last time and he’d spent so long between her legs, she was half-worried his tongue would give out. He hadn’t seemed to share her concern, declining her offer to finish him off, as well. True to the word of the deal, all the focus had been on her. She’d been too knackered to even say goodnight as she kissed her juices from his lips and cabbed it home.

Since then, they hadn’t faced off in court until today. She saw him around quite a bit but she’d been trying to maintain a professional distance. Which was very hard to do when her stomach flipped with yearning every moment in his presence. It was silly, really, wanting him as badly as she did. He was a condescending prick to her all through the prep for the Clayton case and he’d been an arse and a half today. And yet…

She sighed inwardly, noting in her peripheral how the fading sunlight streaming through Archie’s window glinted against the strands of silver in Gold’s silky smooth hair. She couldn’t shake the memory of clutching that hair between her fingers as he made her scream with pleasure. She crossed her legs against the dull but growing ache blossoming between them.

It had been weeks and her lingering anger just barely took the edge off her hunger for him.

With a flutter of guilt, she realized that Archie was still talking but she'd barely heard a word.

Gold fought the urge to roll his eyes as Hopper droned on. He was tetchy as hell and not ready to have a man 10+ years his junior school him on proper courtroom etiquette. Yes, he’d fucked up by letting his temper get the better of him. He knew it. Hopper knew. And worst of all, Belle knew it.

Not that she hadn’t given back as good as she got. In fact, he’d nearly tripped over his own tongue after a few zingers she’d shot his way. Why she had to be quite so delicious in her fury was quite beyond him. It certainly didn’t help the mass of very confusing emotions already swarming around their strange… association.

Using the word ‘relationship’ - even in his own head - felt too intimate. Belle had made it sufficiently clear that intimacy was off the table. Their personal interactions had always been rather brief, perforce, but since the law conference, she’d barely spoken two words to him that weren’t whispered in the dark of a bedroom. At first, he had tried to see it as the usual professional boundary. Then she had stopped sitting with him at the bar across from the courthouse and started purposely ignoring him in hallways. Once, she’d swerved so fast as he approached, she ran into a clerk, resulting in an explosion of case files.

Alright, perhaps he’d taken things a little far in retaliation: joining the Clayton case just to force her to interact with him, calling out every minor gaff and textual ambiguity along the way. He had acted like an imbecile in court, today. It was a wonder Hopper hadn’t tried to put either of them in contempt.

But Belle just kept swinging back and some sick part of him had been enjoying it. Her eyes gone bright and wild, barely concealing her ire, the way her her petal pink lips plumped as she pursed them and glared.

Fuck. He couldn’t believe he still wanted her this badly. It was shameful.

He sunk down into the wingback armchair, his cane across his legs, as his gaze slid to her, unbidden. She was so fucking beautiful, even in her false penitence. He knew it was all for show by the way her foot kept twitching, eyes shifting to the watch on her wrist. She was just as eager to get out of this room as he was.

He ground his teeth as Archie launched into yet another clumsy metaphor on being respectful of shared spaces.  

Archie’s secretary, Anita, buzzed the com on the phone, announcing a call from Archie’s husband on the line. The judge paused mid-sentence, his face lighting up in a way that took off ten years. “I hope you don’t mind if I take this?”

Gold made a dismissive noise and Belle shrugged, both secretly relieved at the interruption. It made Belle's heart ache just a little to see this domestic side of Archie, knowing she'd be going home to a cold and empty apartment. She silently scolded herself for her envy.

Hopper nodded a few times, making affirmative sounds before hanging up and turning back to face them. “Sorry, folks. I'm being called off home. Seems the kids decided to make dinner tonight and… well, I can't miss that.” He grinned and for a moment, Gold felt something akin to liking for the younger man. Only love for a child could soften a man's eyes so quickly.

A pang went through Gold at the callous way he’d been treating Hopper. He glanced at Belle again, whose shoulders seemed to have slumped, her expression oddly wistful. Perhaps he’d been wrong about a few things, lately.

Archie continued, “I hope you'll be able to think over what I've said? Maybe find a way to work through… whatever it is you're both dealing with?”

Belle swallowed and gave him a grim smile. “Thank you, Archie. I do appreciate you taking the time.”

“As do I,” added Gold, this time with a hint of sincerity. Belle looked sidelong at him and he licked his lips. “Would you mind if… that is,” he turned to Belle “Miss French, might I request a moment of your company?” He inclined his head toward Hopper “If Judge Hopper doesn’t mind us using his office a few minutes longer.”

Hopper shrugged, pulling on his coat. “Go for it. Anita is going home too but the door locks from the inside and I've got the only other key. Just press the button on your way out.” He paused, hands at his lapels. “Thanks for listening, guys. You know I hate having to come down on you like a scolding teacher. We’re all friends, here, really.”

“You’re most welcome,” Gold said, surprising himself that he actually meant it.

Belle’s eyes were unusually bright as she offered Hopper a smile. “Get on home before dinner gets cold.”

Archie left and Belle rose from her chair to face Gold, arms crossing over her chest, protectively. “So… you, uh, wanted to talk?”

Gold stood as well, trying not to lean too obviously on his cane. “I did.”

They faced one another in the growing quiet, the last of the day fading and night overtaking its burnt orange light. Belle shifted in her heels. Gold twisted his cane.

“Mr. Gold,” she began.

“Belle, I…” Gold began simultaneously, taking a small step toward her. He recoiled at once as his surname left her lips. She called him 'Gold' in private but she never used the honorific 'Mister.' The addition was an unnecessary formality to put between them. His stomach turned sour.

The change in his demeanor was sharp and immediate. His face shuttered, arms holding his cane out in front of him, both hands settled atop it.

Belle frowned, “Can you just… please tell me what's wrong? Why have you been… just tearing me to pieces, lately?”

Gold scoffed, “Miss French, if my critiques have so thoroughly riled you, perhaps it's your own capacity to receive criticism you ought to examine.”

A heat rose in Belle's cheeks and she brought her hands to her hips. “Seriously? That's what you wanted to say? After sitting through all that crap from Archie? You ask me to stay not to apologize but to tell me I can't take criticism?”

“If the shoe fits,” Gold sneered, cocking one hip. A glance toward her laughably impractical shoes left him trying very hard not to stare, instead, at the shapely legs that rose from them. Trying and failing.

Belle was fighting the urge to smack him silly when she realized he was looking at her legs with a barely disguised hunger. Despite herself, she felt a jolt of desire run the length of her spine, heat curling in her belly and the apex of her thighs.

“You know what?,” Belle ground out through half clenched teeth. “I don't need to fucking care what you think of my work. And you know why?”

He gave a humorless smirk and Belle was struck with the urge to bite his lower lip and make him change his tune. Make him beg to get on his knees for her, again.

“Why is that, I wonder?”

Trying to shake it off, she strode toward him and poked a finger into his perfectly pressed silk tie. “Because you're a fucking asshole, Gold.”

He lifted his chin to look down his nose at her, attempting to shut out the delicious smell of whatever she used in her hair. His hands were starting to shake with the need to reach out, to caress her, to crush her to him and never let go. He tightened his grip on his cane handle, knuckles going white. “You eat with that mouth?” he returned weakly, his voice rougher than he'd expected.

Belle pursed her lips. “You know exactly what I do with this mouth.” Her voice was low and breathy, her pupils blown as she held his gaze.

“Fuck…” he breathed, cursing himself inwardly as he felt his trousers get tighter.

Belle licked her lips and for just a moment, neither of them could move, stuck in a tableau of aroused frustration. Belle sucked in a breath and dropped her hands to his belt buckle. It was all Gold could to do nod his assent before they both began tearing at the other’s clothing. Their kisses were messy and biting, stoking the rising flame but leaving no room for tenderness. Belle’s knickers and Gold’s trousers hit the floor. In minutes she was atop Hopper’s desk with her skirt hitched to her waist, Gold dropping to his knees just as she’d imagined. He wasted no time in covering her with his mouth, suckling her lower lips and swirling his tongue over her clit before sliding it as far inside as it could go. Belle leaned back on one hand, using the other to cover her mouth. She gasped and moaned into her palm as Gold growled into her slick flesh, fucking her with his tongue until her thighs began to shake. Just as she was on the verge of climax, he withdrew and pulled himself to his feet.

“Gold! What the hell?”she panted.

Gold leaned over her, his mouth shiny with her wetness. “Tell me you want me, Belle,” he breathed, kissing her hard, her taste salty-sweet on his lips. His cock brushed against her entrance and Belle spread her legs to welcome him.

“Yes,” she whispered, trying to nudge him forward with the heel of one foot at the small of his back. “Fucking hell, Gold, don’t make me wait…”

“I need to hear it,” he growled, nearly shaking with the effort of not simply burying himself inside her. “Please, Belle… say the words. Tell me you want me…”

“Yes,” Belle groaned, “Of course I want you. How could you ever think anything else?”

Gold exhaled a heavy breath, sliding home with a single thrust. Belle arched her back, shunting her hips toward him as he buried his face against her neck. He set an almost brutal pace, pulling out only slightly as though he couldn’t bear to withdraw from her any further before filling her again, over and over. The heavy desk creaked with their efforts, sweat dripping down his spine as he stifled his ridiculously needy little sounds in the soft flesh of her neck and shoulder. Belle began to shudder against him, her inner muscles fluttering and clenching hard. With one more thrust, she was coming, her free hand clutching at his hair. His pace grew erratic, his bad leg beginning to ache. With a final groan, he spilled himself deep within her.

They both caught their breath a minute before Gold stumbled back, pulling up his underwear and trousers before collapsing into the chair behind him.

Belle righted her blouse, her hair hopelessly disheveled and lips swollen with his kisses. She was agonizingly beautiful and he was dangerously close to begging her to come home with him. Not even for a repeat performance - though he’d be happy to give one after a proper refractory period - but just to lay in his arms and let him breathe her in. Just to spend a few more moments reflected in her eyes. She slid slowly from the desk to her feet and came to stand in front of his chair, lightly stroking his sweat-soaked hair.

“Hey…” she started softly, urging him to look at her with a touch to his cheek.

Gold raised his eyes to hers, hesitantly. “Hey.”

“What was that about, anyway? Thinking I wouldn’t… that I didn’t want you?”

He swallowed, his mouth opening and closing silently. “It’s… it’s nothing.”

Belle shook her head. “It’s not nothing. Is that why you’ve been such a… well, such a beast the last few weeks?”

He exhaled loudly, pulling away from her gentle hand at his face. “Belle. I don’t… Let’s not do this. It’s not important.”

She leaned in to capture his face between both hands. “Like hell it’s not. You’ve been awful to me lately and while you make the apology almost worth it, I’d like to know what’s going on.”

He gaped at her. “I was awful to you ? After you’ve been blanking me at every turn? You nearly killed a man just to avoid walking next to me…”

Belle cringed at the memory of the incident with the law clerk. Then the weight of Gold’s words sunk in. Blanking me at every turn.

Oh.

Oh, she’d been such an idiot.

Not just keeping a professional distance or maintaining her composure, in her effort to keep her eyes and hands to herself, she’d been actively ignoring him. In fact, now that she took the time to think about it, they had barely had a two-way conversation (even during their sexual trysts) since they got back from the conference.

She hadn’t given a single thought to how that might make a man feel. Gold always appeared so confident, so aloof, she’d never have guessed her silence could even scratch the surface of his armor, let alone hurt him. Then again, how much of her own self-assured poise was a really just a facade?

The bitterness was starting to overtake the afterglow of orgasm and Gold began to tense up, readying himself to leave, when Belle deposited herself into his lap and kissed him. It was different from the kisses they’d exchanged earlier. This one was slow and sweet, an invitation rather than an admonishment.

He returned the kiss all too eagerly, arms wrapping around her. When they broke apart for breath, there was a glow to her cheeks that made his knees go watery all over again.

“I’m sorry. I never meant to treat you that way, Gold. I thought I was just… I don’t know…. Being professional. Keeping our private, ehm, activities, private. I had no idea I was shutting you out so completely, I swear, I do want you.”

He eyed her skeptically and she pressed another heated kiss to his lips.

“Can you have any doubt how I feel after we just violated Archie’s office?” she teased.

He bit back a grin at that, ducking his head. He ran a hand over her messy hair and shrugged. “I know I’ve been an utter pratt. You didn’t deserve that either. I'm sorry, too.” Meeting her eyes again, he gave a slight shake of the head, his hair swaying with the motion. “That night at the conference… I honestly never expected….” he sighed. “I have been awful - you’re right. I’ve never… I’m not a very good man, Belle.”

Belle made a noncommittal sound. “You’re not always ‘nice,’ I’ll grant you that. And that’s fine by me, ‘nice’ is boring, anyway. But I know you’re a better man than you think you are. Certainly a better man than you pretend to be."

“You can’t know that,” he rasped, a lump suddenly rising in his throat.

“Well, I’ve collected quite a bit of evidence in the time I’ve known you that points me in that direction. Plus, I’ve got a hunch.” She rubbed her nose against his, affectionately.

He released a little chuckle. “Good lawyers don’t trust hunches.”

“Bad men don’t apologize for their mistakes. Or at least they don’t apologize and mean it.” She cocked her head to the side. “Do you mean it?”

With every fibre of my being, Gold thought vehemently. What he said was “Come home with me tonight and I’ll prove it.”

Belle gave him a playful swat on the shoulder, getting to her feet. “Not tonight. Someone drew out a case for hours today which means I’ve still got to get a ton of paperwork done. But… maybe this weekend? Depending on the outcome of the Clayton trial, of course.” She winked.

Gold smiled, something warm settling in his chest, occupying that formerly-constricted space between heartbeats. “You’re on, sweetheart.”

[grey-skies-all-clear-blog]

This might be an unsustainable level of detail, but I wanted to take note of events in the HB films in order to get a better grip on the source material in preparation for writing serious adaption fic. So here's my notes for the first bit of The Even Chance. Warnings for mention of food and my inability to shut up about Archie Kennedy’s voice.

Starts in a storm, grey-blue, beautiful score. Grey skies. “January 1793. The British fleet lies at anchor in Spithead. Ships and men rot in idleness. Across the channel, revolution in France is sweeping away the old order.”

-have France be represented by a nearby school with some kind of french ties. french patron and heritage, maybe.

on teal seas, two ladies row HB through the rain from the dock to the ship. They’re wrapped up in dark grey cloaks. They are strong. H looks faintly ridiculous in the uniform, expression grim. Squints up against the rain [putting up a hand to shield his eyes - delicate lil hands he has], looking over the ship. H’s sea-chest, which looks nice [well-made, elegant gold letters - idk if this is standard] has “H.Hornblower” inscribed on it. H braces himself against it as the boat rocks. Hesitates.

The man on the ship [clinging with one hand and one leg to the ladder, like he knows this position well and knows he shan’t fall] shouts down “Jump! You’ll be alright!” He can yell well, clear voice, even over the storm. H does not jump gracefully, foot catching in the boat; he jostles his hat out of place as he climbs. The deck is empty, coils of rope scattered on it. It looks abandoned.

The man from the ship [it is archie i realise now] has a broad face. Strong, dependable. Neutral-to-good cheer. Smiling, he says warmly: “Welcome to purgatory.” Hornblower is still wide-eyed and looking like a stunned mullet. Opens his mouth to respond, closes it again; follows Archie.

Under the little balcony a man [Mr Eccleston, first lieutenant] in pearl-grey coat stands conversing with two officers, all of them turned away. Mr Eccleston’s face is striking, though softened as if by erosion. “Mr Eccleston, sir.” “Come aboard, sir.” “Your name?” Horatio seems to be stammering, or trying not to gag, and keeps this up through this conversation. It’s possible he’s trying to keep his teeth from chattering. Closes his eyes against anxious nerves or weak stomach. “Horatio Hornblower, sir. Midshipman.” Mr Chad, lieutenant of the watch, has a pointed chin and pointed nose. A comedian’s kind of face; the thin chap from Laurel and Hardy, maybe.

“I’ll see it sent below. You should too; get out of those wet clothes.” “Yes sir!” H gives a relieved smile. Remembers himself and adopts military seriousness. His voice is soft, a little nervous. “I mean. Aye aye sir.” Presses his lips together, nods, salutes; poor thing, doesn’t know what to do with himself, does he? Mr Chad seems amused; gives a sidelong glance to Mr Eccleston, but says nothing.

“Mr Kennedy. Take Mr Hornblower down to the midshipman’s berth.” “Aye-aye, sir.” He does have a nice voice. Lighter than Horatio’s. He’s more sure of himself. Down below decks there’s a violin playing, squawks of women laughing or scolding, men laughing along, the general clamour of a lot of people going about their business.

“Mind your step!” A leads the way around swinging hammocks and swaying people; H self-consciously ducks his head and glances about, bewildered or perhaps wary. Redcoats pass by. “Difficult to say who smells worse, the men - or the beasts in the manger for’ard! One gets used to it.” Around them people are laughing raucously; Horatio looks ‘round at them, face mostly blank, guarded. Down another flight of steps.

A pig is squealing, bring coaxed along by a man addressing it as “piggy-wiggy”. Horatio does look like a drowned rat, doesn’t he? Set rosebud lips, those pretty under-shadowed eyes. Attractive face. Still looking guarded, surveying, not sure if there’s a threat afoot. Thump. Oldroyd, pink-faced and curly-haired [ginger, maybe blonde], in loose [pale blue and white] checkered shirt, is laughing. Archie smilingly chides H: “Watch your head.”

Styles: “There goes his Majesty’s latest bargain!” A drawl. Brown curly hair, idk what the accent is but it seems broad, truly incredible acne scars. [Pizzaface.] Archie and Hrrrratio both stop and turn; “Belay that, Styles!” Severity. Composed, voice still light, a voice like he’s shoving the man briskly. God horatio looks cute with like a little curl slicked down on his forehead. “Unless you want to find yourself at the gratings.” Says it so pleasantly. [also: Styles and Oldroyd have a lady with them. Maybe 18th century chicks dig baggy check shirts.]

A beat; “Aye-aye, sir,” intonation like he doesn’t take him quite seriously. Not actually afraid. Matthews gives Styles a reproachful look, then looks away. M in thin-striped shirt [teracotta-white]. Closer fitting. Brown neckerchief. Teeny little ponytail. white curly hair. A goes on, resigned i suppose [what-can-you-do and a shrug], as they walk: “They’re not bad men for the most part, provided they’re kept busy.” His voice goes up and down as he speaks, it’s nice. Flows easily. Well-spoken. Gentle voice, oh my god, can I get over his voice. I think I can’t.

“But this endless waiting-“ edging past people moving. The violin still singing. “Most of us have been here six months already! Discipline you see. Things will be different once we transfer to a fighting vessel, I don’t doubt; but who knows when that may be?” I can’t tell if he’s phrasing things more ornamentally than one normally would during these olde times. He does have something of the entertaining monologue about him. Giving an easily-spoken speech. Opens his mouth, enunciates, leaves those pauses; not quite realistic, but good for presentating.

“Our only -“ someone clips him as they pass. “Our only hope at present is that the unpleasantness in France might come to something. You’ve heard the latest rumours of course! That Louis was captured just before Christmas!” Horatio’s just following silently, looking dubious, oh my god the cheekbones. “What do you think they’ll do with him? You can’t kill a king.” Oh-ho, a little faith in the monarchy, then? Respect for the power structures. Speaks with the ease of someone who knows it won’t hurt him. Conversational. Horatio bounces on his toes, hesitating. People around them are canoodling rather vigorously.

“But as my father explained to his [gillet?] Alright, p’haps some of these people have missed the odd meal o’two, but lopping the heads off the nobility’s not gonna fill their bellies, is it? Still, that’s Johnny [cradburg? crappo?] for you.” Not a lot of sympathy for the working classes, I’ll wager, [is there anything in canon that prompted us all to agree A comes from a well-off/slightly noble family or is it just headcanon and hearsay?] Quiet as they get to the midshipman’s berth; a small room lit by lanterns and the odd candle, where men sit at a largish table in white shirts, waistcoats and neckerchiefs. Horatio really does look like death walking.

“Oh. Allow me to introduce, the midshipmen of His Majesty’s ship-of-the-line Justinian.” ruddy-faced now, taking off his brown coat. Sweat or rain shining on his face. It feels cosy in this room. “Known elsewise to her intimates as the good ship [i don’t even fucking know. sounded like “slau of des-pot.” slough of despair? might have been said with an appalling accent.]

Someone else speaks; a man with a round face, voluminous [80’s] hair, mutton-chops. “Wh’sis, Archie?” “Another mess-mate, gentlemen.” Someone with a meaty face high forehead prominent nose and slightly posher accent asks “And whose pretty arse did you neglect kissing to find yourself among the fleet’s forgotten, eh?”

Good God, A looks lovely. His pretty face. Cheekbones. A mild face. The beefcake side of mild though, mind. Especially next to HB, who looks about halfway dead, hollow cheeks, curls ragged on his forehead, face sweaty, puffiness about the full lips, under-shadowed eyes, Kubrick stare. Is silent [swaying somewhat, trying to gather himself]. Meat-man again: “well, speak, apparition!” “My name is Hornblower.” A rich voice.

Mutton-chops: “What an infernal piece of bad luck for ya.” His accent is clipped only on certain sounds, makes me think he’s from somewhere in the country. Or maybe Northern? [Those two will be Hether and Cleveland.] Clayton looks across, with a hand gesture like he’s holding a cigarette to his lips. His face is mild in a different way, sleepy, the shape of his eyes, his resting expression. Milk-sop is putting it a bit strongly. More like the drunk and dishevelled Sad Case, the man stretched out and smiling languidly, who dreams instead of eating. I know I’ve seen him before, he looks older than he must be, his hair is lank brown and stringy-straight on his forehead. Beaky nose.

“How old are you, mister Hornblower?” “Seventeen sir,” [while blurry Archie grins in the foreground]. Looks about. “Seventeen, sir!” parrots meat-man. “Y’hear that, Cleveland?” “If you wanted to be a seaman, boy, you should’ve started at twelve.” “I doubt he even knows the difference between a head and a halliard.”

[no-crap-fm]

That Voice - Part 4

Ray as in Raymond

The day came and went in a blur for Finn. He tried to relax in his room before he headed to the pub. He didn't want to appear too eager. He certainly did not want to be the first one to arrive. When Finn's dad came home he called up the stairs. Finn bounded down to meet him. His hair mussed and his cheeks red. He couldn’t keep his hands still. "Alright there, son?" His dad was a little shaken to see Finn so keyed up. Finn shrugged, attempting to adopt his usual cool demeanor. "Yeah." Rubbing his hands together his dad continued. "How about some tea then?" Finn nodded. He hadn't realized how hungry he was. Finn and Mr. Nelson had a companionable silence as they tucked into their sarnies and cups of sweet Earl Grey. "Have a good Saturday?" Finn's dad was hopeful that his son would give him more than a grunt in reply. Finn shrugged again. He answered with his mouth full. "S'pose. I went by Stan's this morning." Eyebrows raised, Mr. Nelson asked, "And how is old Stan? Still banging on about becoming too commercial, yeah?" Finn smiled. "'Course." Before Finn realized his words he went on. "He's got a new closer. They rearranged everything." This was an unexpected piece of information for Mr. Nelson. He wondered why it was of consequence to his son. He opted to prod Finn further, rather than return to the usual program of teenage silence or sub-verbal utterances. "Ah, he does, eh? Is the store in a state from the changes?" Finn lifted his gaze thoughtfully. "Em, no. It's actually a good system. Sound, I'd say." This was high praise indeed coming from his son. Mr. Nelson knew better than to meddle with Finn’s method of organizing his music collection. Finn caught a look at his watch and thought it best to get going. With a quick mumbled word of thanks to his dad, Finn ran to the door. Shrugging on his jacket, he walked over to his scooter. After checking the time again, Finn thought it better to walk to the pub. He still felt a bit anxious and the walk would help calm his nerves. Maintaining his cool attitude was far too vital. The gang teasing him about his singer was out of the question full stop. Twenty minutes or so later, Finn pushed through the pub doors. He heard the gang before spotting them at their usual table in the corner. Their voices were raised in excitement over something. When Finn got to the table, he stopped suddenly. Something was different. Planted in his usual seat was a girl. Finn didn’t know her. She was laughing and threw her head back as the rest of the group laughed along with her. Finn stood there just a couple of paces off and watched. Her long, dark hair trailed down her back. The black leather jacket she wore had quilted patches at the shoulders. His eyes moved down her back to observe her dark jeans and purple converse. Whatever she was saying held all of them in thrall. Finn was instantly annoyed. He wasn’t going to be able to ask about Ray from Stan’s in the midst of such a distracting new person. Aside from the fact Finn was uncomfortable with new people, he had no interest in adding anyone to the gang. They were just fine with the five of them. Chop and Chloe broke Finn out of his reverie, shouting and waving him over. Shouts of “knobhead" and “where ya been” being directed at him by a tipsy Chop. Reaching across Chop, Chloe waved and tried to tell him that he had to come meet her mate, Mae or something. Finn nodded and slouched into the chair by Archie. He sat down already in a proper strop after taking in the state of the gang. Sliding a pint his way, Archie nodded at Finn. “So, what’s got you in such a foul temper, mate?” Finn shrugged as he pulled out his rolling papers  and made himself a cigarette. “Nowt, jus’ thought it was goin’ to be us tonight.” Finn threw a sidelong glance at Chloe’s “bezzie”. “Give her a chance, Finn. She’s a top lass. You’ll like her. She’s dead funny and she really knows her music.” After that Finn could hardly hear more. Mae had started telling Chop a story and Archie had leaned in to listen. Finn sat in the corner of the table feeling thoroughly isolated. He gave the new girl a cursory glance. If he was honest with himself, he thought she was pretty. He liked her Stone Roses shirt. Finn had the same shirt at home. However, he came to the pub with a mind to ask Chloe, and possibly Izzy, about the infamous Ray. He was hoping for some information, not an introduction. Some time later, the opportunity to talk to Chloe on her own arrived. Finn was standing at the bar waiting for his second pint. Chloe walked out of the loo and Finn called to her before she got back to the table. “Hey Chlo, y’alright?” “Sure. How are you doin’, stud?” She gave him a big smile and stroked his arm. He hoped she didn’t think he was flirting. Finn felt like he had to walk a line with Chloe. If he overstepped he was certain she would willfully misinterpret his actions. He had no designs on Chloe in that way. Of course she was fit, but she just wasn’t Finn’s type. He stammered. “Em, I wanted to ask you summat. Ya know Stan’s record shop?” Chloe looked suddenly confused. “Em, yeah. What about it?” “Well, Stan said there’s a guy working there you might know.” Still confused but intrigued Chloe nodded. “Em, well, I was hoping you might……well…” Finn paused. His words were failing him again. He had no idea how to proceed. “What Finn? Did this guy ask about me?” Chloe looked very interested. “Em, no. Look, do ya know a guy named Raymond? Stan thinks he might be at college with us.” Chloe looked up thinking. “Raymond? Em, let me have a think. Raymond? It doesn’t sound familiar.” Finn shrugged. “Stan called him Ray. I thought you might know have known him. Stan said Ray hangs out with a Chloe. I thought it might be a long shot.” He smiled at her. Chloe glanced back at the table where the gang and her friend were sitting. A slow smile crossed her lips. “Em, Finn, why are you looking for this guy named Ray?” A blush creeped up Finn’s cheeks. He awkwardly ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Well, Ray seems to know his music and I thought it would be cool to meet him. I noticed he made some changes to the store and I thought they were really sound.” (And I think he has a really talented singer for a girlfriend and I’d love to meet her.) Again, Chloe smiled. Finn had no idea what any of this meant. Biting her lip, Chloe said, “Em, let me see what I can find out for you, Finn. I might know the guy.” The way she said the word guy was off to him. It was almost like she laughed a little when she said it. Finn chose to ignore it, “Ta for that, Chlo. I’d really appreciate it. Also, d’ya mind keepin’ this between us, yeah?” He smiled at Chloe and raised his eyebrows. Chloe nodded. “Yeah. Course, Finn. It’s no big deal.” She practically jumped away and returned to her seat at the table by Mae. Chloe put her arm around the girl and looked back at Finn. He stood there waiting for his pint, feeling utterly confused. However, the night wasn’t a total loss. He was certain he was getting closer to finding out about Ray.

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Thank you so much for reading!- K