#(but its also three plane tickets and a house for six days)
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A Well Kept Secret - George Weasley (Part One)
Word Count: 2.6k
Warnings: Food mentions, talking about food, one night stand (no smut) having a child, getting pregnant, being pregnant,
Summary: A one night stand with George produces a child and a secret.
Trope Series: Secret baby.
A/N: This one is going to be in two parts (possibly three we will have to see) but I just started writing this last night and couldn’t stop so here it is.
@izzytheninja @youto-believein
It was a chilly evening in the Fall of 1997 when it all started, two lifelong friends meet in a London pub for a drink or two to take the edge off of their worries and fears as war wages around them. A red haired man sat beside a girl He’d known for the last nine years, they were nearly three drinks deep as their fingers brushed. With a soft intake of breath they looked to each other, her eyes wide as she stared up at him; his eyes had trained on hers as his tongue slid over his lips then dropped to her parted lips. That’s when he knew it was over and his life would never be the same. Little did he know how one night of pure bliss with his schoolyard crush would change both their lives in the ways that it did.
It was only one night. It was only supposed to be one night no matter the feeling that had arisen as they kissed on her bed that night and whispered “I love you” in the dark. The world was far too dangerous to start anything more than that one night and so they kept it at that though it was hardly a surprise to anyone when their glances to each other were lingering or their goodbyes just a touch too long. It was eight weeks before Y/N realized something was off.
The missed period. That’s what did it for her. The most obvious of symptoms but now as she looked down at the stick waiting for an answer things fell into place. She was sick to her stomach so often her diet consisted mostly of crackers the last week, she was exhausted though she had chalked it up to the stress of the current situations the suddenness of it started to make sense. Her mind ran through a checklist of symptoms her mother had claimed during her second pregnancy and with each check mark left her mind became more certain and as the timer went off and her eyes focused on the results she wasn’t as shocked as she should have been.
She was having George Weasley’s baby.
With a hand pressed to her stomach her mind raced. The Weasley family were targets, and England wasn’t safe. So with a single letter owled to her parents Y/N was packing her bags and was off to the states.
She settled into a small town in Missouri. Hermann, population now 2,401 with one on the way. With her life’s savings she paid cash from a tiny shack of a house in the center of town and tried to live her muggle life. At only 19 she was receiving dirty and pitying looks alike as he stomach started to grow beneath her waitress uniform.
At 29 weeks pregnant she received the news, a letter from her parents proclaiming the fall of Voldemort and the end of the war, they begged her to come home. As she looked down at her swollen stomach she hesitated and wrote them a single word response. No.
She had planned to return to London, her home for her whole life, but fear continued to stop her. Voldemort was gone, the Weasley family had lived, George had lived, her family was safe, but the thought of showing up so many months later after no words to George frightened her beyond any unforgivable curse. And so she did it alone. She gave birth to their son alone. She held a first birthday alone, and then a second, and a third all alone. Each year as his birthday drew to a close Y/N wondered if she should write to George, if she should tell him of their son, tell him about his big brown eyes and thick red hair; to tell him of all the mischief their three year old caused. And every year she remembered that it was meant to only be one night. The night had been filled with passion and confessions of love but she not only had to worry about rejection for herself but for the small boy that crawled into her bed when the wind was too loud and begged for just one more bedtime story before she turned out the light. He thought his father was gone, that he had loved him and wanted him but that now he was gone. She couldn’t put her son in a position to be rejected. Not by his own father.
And so she stayed. She stayed away from England, away from her family, away from George. Until an owl arrived on her doorstep 2 weeks after Graysen’s third birthday, an envelope at its feet. With a sigh she took the envelope inside and tore into it, inside was an invitation to her sister’s wedding. It read...
Please join us for the wedding of Alexa & Dawson
The First of September, 2001 at six o’clock in the evening
Dawson’s Family Home
Painswick England
Reception to Follow
Also inside the envelope was a letter, a plea from Alexa to come home, to “Bring Graysen and come home. Just a few weeks. Be my maid of honor and let me meet my nephew.” And so, filled with guilt, Y/N booked the plane tickets and a week later the two of them flew to London.
**********
Leaving the safety of the home she had built made Y/N’s blood run cold, on edge every time she left her parents house, every flash of red hair was a Weasley in her mind and every time it wasn’t she’d breathe a sigh of relief. Until the day the air caught in her lungs as a tall red haired man spotted her across the street. Identical to the one that played in her mind all the time.
He raced across the street and threw his arms around her, barely taking notice of the small red haired boy holding tightly to her hand. “Y/N!” He exclaimed. “How long has it been?”
Y/N used her free hand to pat him on the back. “Almost four years, it’s good to see you Freddie.” She pulled away, her eyes darting to her son, standing at her feet looking up at the man with curiosity. It was then that Fred looked down too and in that moment he realized her long kept secret and she knew it.
“And who’s this?” His voice tentative as he looked between her and the boy.
“This is Graysen.” She smiled and crouched down beside him, the two of them now looking up at Fred. “Graysen, this is one of Mummy’s friends from school, can you say hello to Fred?”
With a glint in his eyes a grin spread across his face. “Hello Fred!”
Fred now too crouched down to a closer height. “Well hello to you too Graysen,” Fred held out his hand and Graysen grabbed it. “How old are you?”
Graysen smiled and jumped up and down. “I just turned three in July!”
Fred faked a shocked face. “Three in July? You’re awfully big for three.”
“Mommy said I got it from my Daddy.”
Fred mumbled under his breath. “I bet you did.”
Y/N gave him a smile and picked Graysen up. “Well we best get going, I have to pick up my dress for Alexa’s wedding, it’s in two weeks.”
Fred nodded. “Right, well I’ll let you get back to your errands, but only if you agree to come to dinner at the Burrow tonight. You spent so much time at our house during breaks Mum will be thrilled to see you.”
“Oh Fred I don’t know I wouldn’t want to impose.” She said, shaking her head vigorously.
“You wouldn’t be, you’re invited. Please come, bring Graysen and your partner.” He insisted, looking to the little boy.
Her voice became small, “Actually it’s just Gray and I.”
“All the more reason to come then.” He was certainly persistent on the matter.
Y/N smiled softly at him, “You’re not going to accept no are you?”
He shook his head, “Not this time.”
“I’ll be there, six as usual?”
“Mum does like to keep a tight meal schedule these days.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Perfect.” With that the two parted ways and Y/N regretted coming home.
**********
Fred strolled into the shop, two paper bags in hand, each filled with food from their favorite muggle dinner in London. Walking up to his brother and setting the food on the counter Fred narrowed his eyes at his brother. “George?” He began, “You remember like 4 years ago, there was a night you didn’t come home?”
George turned from his brother as the corners of his lips turned up at the memory.“Yeah, why?”
“Where were you?”
George rolled his eyes and sighed. “I told you before, I’m not telling you, I was safe that’s what matters.”
Fred rolled his eyes too and mumbled under his breath. “I don’t know if you were as safe as you could have been.”
George turned to him in confusion “What do you mean?”
Fred shook his head. “Nothing, just make sure you’re ready to go by six, you know mum doesn’t like us being late.”
**********
At half past five Y/N sat in front of her parents' empty fireplace, Graysen playing on the floor in front of her as a million thoughts raced through her mind, how could she have said yes? How could she have agreed to dinner with the family of her son, a boy they didn’t know existed, that they didn’t know was theirs. She had considered leaving him with her parents but Fred has specifically invited the two of them and so as the clock struck quarter to six she wrapped Graysen up in her arms and the two of them apparated to the Burrow. Placing Graysen on the ground and holding tightly to his hand Y/N knocked on the front door three times.
When the door swung open Molly Weasley stood on the other side, face bright and smiling and she pulled Y/N in for a hug and ushered her into the home.
It was as bright and warm as it had always been, filled with noise and people.
“Who’s this?” Molly asked smiling down at Graysen looking around the magical house in wonder.
“This is Graysen, my son.”
Molly looked at her with wide eyes, “Your son?”
“Yes, he’s why I left the county.”
Molly gave her a smile and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You did the right thing dear, it wasn’t safe.”
“I know, but I should have come back sooner.” Her voice was soft and filled with sadness.
“What’s done is done, now come, we’re all sitting down to dinner.”
Walking into the kitchen felt so normal, she’d taken so many meals here in her youth it felt so natural to take the seat she’d always held, right beside George, though his seat seemed to be empty.
The table filled, Aruther and Molly at the heads, Ginny and Harry, Hermione and Ron, Bill, Fleur, even Percy and his wife had joined the fray tonight but the twin’s seats still remained empty at six oh one when there was a loud crack and the two cackling gingers appeared.
“Sorry we’re late mum, one last customer and all that, you know how it is.” Fred smiled as their laughter died down and they looked to the table.
When their eyes locked the room went silent. Y/N and George just stared at each other, until Graysen pulled on her arm for her attention. That’s when George looked to the small boy beside her and his heart soared then sank. Silently he went to his seat, the one beside Y/N, just as it has always been back when they were younger. Though this time they stayed nearly silent as they filled their plates and ate, Y/N keeping a close eye on the boy next to her as he fed himself small spoonfuls of the concoction he’d made of his plate.
“So Y/N,” Fred spoke. “You introduce Georgie to your son?”
Y/N swallowed and shook her head. “George? This is my son Graysen.”
George leaned around her to get a good look at the boy, the red hair and the big brown eyes, there was no doubt that he was a Weasley. “Hello Graysen, it’s nice to meet you. I’m George.”
With a full spoon still in his mouth Graysen attempted a smile and waved his little hand in George’s direction. The normal conversation resumed and George turned to her and asked. “How old is he?”
“He just turned three.” She stated, her eyes trained closely on her plate.
“He seems like a sweet boy.”
“He is, he’s adorable and an absolute terror at times. His tantrums have been known to shake walls.”
Arthur chuckled, jumping into the conversation. “You know, the twins were like that too when they were young, thought they were going to bring the whole house down once or twice.”
Y/N smiled and stayed silent, the rest of dinner focused entirely on the food in front of her and keeping Gray’s mess contained to his plate. Dinner was cleared and everyone ushered themselves into the living room, Graysen and Victoire sat in the middle of the floor playing, everyone else sat around them on couches and chairs. It was all polite conversation until Fred turned to her with a mischievous smile, the same one his twin got, the same one that Graysen got, the one that indicated a terrible, terrible, idea.
“So Y/N,” Fred began, “Who’s Graysen’s dad?”
Y/N tried to smile but the panic was clear on her face. “Wow, right to the hard hitters.”
“Shouldn’t be a hard question.” His tone flat, no hint of laughter in his voice. And so the interrogation began.
“You don’t know him.”
“Is he a wizard?”
“Yes.”
“Come from a big family?”
“No just him and his one sibling.”
“A twin?”
“No.”
“Parents names?”
“Mark and Anna.”
“What happened to him?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Did he go to hogwarts with us?”
“Yes.”
“Gryffindor?”
“Yes.”
Fred paused his rapid fire and his eyebrows rose. “Really?”
That was when it dawned on her, she’d slipped. There were only four Gryffindor boys their year. Fred knew it wasn’t him, and there was only one other redhead. “Fuck.” Y/N stood up quickly, picking Graysen up in her arms as she walked swiftly toward the door. “I’ve gotta go.”
George stood up after her following the two of them to the door. “Y/N wait!” He shouted but without a second thought a crack filled the air and she was gone.
George stormed back into the room, his eyes full of rage. “I can’t believe you!” He yelled his anger directed at his twin as the rest shuffled from the room.
Fred huffed. “Why are you angry with me? I was just asking questions about his father.” A sly smirk on his face as he leaned back in his chair.
“Because you know it’s me and you pushed her anyway!” George grew more angry by the minute.
“I did that for you! Do you really think she was going to tell you when she’s kept it from you this long already? No!” Fred now stood, face to face with his twin.
George choked on his words, clenching and releasing his fists as he tried not to attack the man before him. After a moment, his breathing calmed and his voice steadied. “That’s not a decision you get to make for her or for me. Now I have to go fix this and I’ll be lucky if she lets me in.” And with that George turned and walked out the door.
#Tw: food#tw: food mention#tw pregnancy#tw children#tw one night stand#george weasley#george weasley imagine#Harry Potter series#harry Potter series imagine#george weasley x reader
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Prometiste.
summary: when a relationship starts breaking, previous promises are broken too.
word count: 1.7k
warnings: pure angst! Is a sad one :(
a/n: I got inspired by my favorite song to write this piece, this song is very dear to me and i loved how this turned out. Let me know what you think of it, please! (btw, the title translates to ‘you promised’)
you can find the rest of my masterlist here
✧・゚: *✧・゚:**:・゚✧*:・゚✧ ✧・゚: ✧・゚: *✧・゚:**:・
The distance can make people grow closer, or it can break them apart. When the second happens, the results are two people with a broken heart and a lot of problems unresolved.
In the beginning, things were great. Harry would pick Y/N up at the airport every time she would go visit him on tour. He’d have her attached to his hip all the time, grabbing a chair for her to sit and watch him rehearse, put her on his lap while his hairstylist was doing his hair, going straight to her arms after every show and going straight to their hotel room to make love to her just like he knows how to.
When her time to leave would arrive, he would beg her to stay just a little more, claiming she was his lucky charm and needed her with him at all times. He’d never say goodbye, simply because he didn’t like that word. He’d much prefer to leave a kiss at the top of her head and make her promise she’d come back soon.
And every time she kept her promise.
Six months passed since Harry began his tour, and in every visit she made she’d notice him more distant, and even if she didn’t want to admit it, she could feel how he was slowly slipping through her fingers.
He’d no longer make the trip to pick her up from the airport, he’d tell her to wait in his dressing room until the concert, leaving her alone for hours without any sort of explanation or sight of regret. She started to feel more like a baggage, an intruder.
Regardless of how she felt, she decided against talking to Harry about it. It was obvious he was stressed, so she sat and watched in silence how the love of her life slowly changed into a person she didn’t know anymore.
Suddenly, she found herself starting looking forward to saying goodbye instead. The question of why she was still wasting her money on plane tickets to see a person who didn’t even look happy to see her was a real enigma, but she still did it anyway. No matter how many text messages Harry would leave on read, or how many unanswered calls landed on his phone, she still loved him and had faith this would only be temporary.
The tour finally made its stop in London, and the reason why Y/N was looking forward to this particular stop, was because Harry had a week long break before his next show. Which meant he was going to be completely free from any obligations, and his mind would finally be stress free.
He hasn’t been sending her many messages lately, but he did tell her his plane got delayed and he’d arrive later than expected. She took the extra time to cook dinner at his house, as a welcome gift.
Harry’s flight was supposed to land at 6 pm, however, it was already nine and he hadn’t come to his house yet.
Y/N got worried and sent him a couple of messages asking him about his whereabouts but he was yet to answer. So she insisted. She was tired of being ignored.
However, after finally receiving an answer from Harry, she immediately wished she didn’t.
Can you stop being so annoying?
Y/N felt as if someone ripped her heart from her chest as tears immediately threatened to spill out of her eyes. Dozens of questions started to run through her mind, still having trouble at understanding the situation.
She contemplated her options. She could either leave, or she could stay and wait for him to come home and one and for all demand an explanation of his behavior. She chose the latter.
So she sat on the couch, looking directly at the flat screen hanged on the wall even though it wasn’t even on. She flinched when she heard a jingle of his keys, following from his footsteps.
None of them said anything as Harry approached her, sitting beside her on the couch in complete silence. He sighed.
“I don’t think this is working anymore, Y/N” He whispered, turning to look at her. He caught how one single tear fell off her left eye, not answering him. She swallowed the rest of them though. “There’s so much going on right now, and I had to make a massive readjust of priorities…”
“And I suppose I didn’t make the cut” She interrupted him. Harry took a deep breath. “Did you stop loving me?” Finally turning to look at him, Harry’s heart break into a million of pieces when he saw her, bloodshot eyes from containing her tears. Harry shook his head. “Then what happened?” she almost begged. “Because it looks like you did and you’re just lying to me to make me feel better”
“I haven’t stopped loving you, never will” he confessed. “I thought I could balance it all. Tour and… well, you. I haven’t been a good boyfriend and you deserve someone who puts you first because… because I can’t”
“I know I’m not perfect, I was certain that my place was next to you. And I tried to keep my promise, I really tried, Harry” She couldn’t contain herself anymore as she started sobbing.
He grabbed her arm and pulled her to his chest, allowing himself to also cry. He felt how Y/N’s tears stained his shirt, but he didn’t care. She tried inhale Harry’s essence as she felt like it was going to be the last time she’d be able to do it.
“I know you did, I do” He started kissing the top of her head multiple times. “This is on me, baby. Is all on me, I’m sorry”
She pulled away from his chest, whipping her tears only to receive new ones. “You could’ve spared me so much time of uncertainty, you know? If you didn’t want this anymore, then why you didn’t say something sooner?”
“I… don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to accept it was time to let you go”
Y/N’s lip started trembling. Deep down she knew Harry just didn’t love her anymore, and although that thought hurt, she would’ve preferred hearing that rather than a really vague excuse. She needed to get out of the house, otherwise she’d collapse.
She stood up abruptly, starting to look for her purse. Harry panicked, standing up from the couch as well. “Please don’t go while you’re like this”
“I don’t want to stay, Harry” she choked a sob. “I really need to go, please” she begged. Harry looked unsure, but he still let go of her arm he didn’t even realize he was holding.
So he watched grab her purse and leave. In that moment, Harry knew he was making the biggest mistake of his life, one that he’d forever regret. But even if he already knew, he still did it anyway.
✧・゚: *✧・゚:**:・゚✧*:・゚✧ ✧・゚: ✧・゚: *✧・゚:**:・
Y/N cried until there weren’t any more tears to spill. She woke up the next day with a wet pillow and a broken heart. At first, she thought it was all just a bad dream, but memories from the night before passed through her mind and a new wave of tears came.
She felt like her whole world was falling apart, suddenly feeling lost and… empty. Her chest felt empty. And it was because her heart didn’t belong to her anymore. Harry had it.
And despite he knew he held her heart in his hands, he still broke it.
Or perhaps he forgot he had it.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d forgotten something.
Y/N just wanted it all to end. The ache in her head and in her chest, it was becoming too much to handle and she didn’t know what to do anymore.
After spending her whole afternoon in bed staring at the ceiling, she came to the conclusion that in order to stop her soul from aching further, Y/N needed to erase the past three years of her life from her mind.
It was an impulsive decision, but she didn’t realize it until she was in front of Harry’s front door with a couple of duffel bags in the back of her car, waiting to be filled with all her belongings.
Harry wasn’t home, of course he wasn’t. He had a concert to do. He had a career and a life that was waiting for him, and Y/N wasn’t part of that anymore.
Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the bags and entered the house with her spare key, feeling sad about thinking it would be the last time she’d use it. She placed the key in the table beside the door and headed upstairs straight to Harry’s room.
A wave of memories invaded her mind. Times where they were happy, times where being in love was the only thing that matter for them.
His room. A place Y/N loved but now was bittersweet to stand in. She placed her bags on his bed, allowing her palm to touch the white sheets and closing her eyes for a second.
His bed. Where thousands of promises were made through soft whispers and tender touches. She remembered how Harry would promise her it would always be them against the world, how he bowed he’d never leave her alone, loving her until the end of times, through thick and thin. No matter the situation, it’d always be just them. Just Y/N and Harry.
And she, being her, believed him blindly.
It seemed like Harry forgot all those things along with so many others. Along with the fact that today would’ve been their fourth year together, not that it mattered anymore.
Once her bags were full, she let herself have one last look at the room that used to be her favorite room in the entire house. She took out the promise ring Harry had given her a year prior, letting it rest on his nightstand.
Just like last night, Y/N had two options. She could either leave now, or she could stay and wait for him for one last goodbye.
And this time, she chose the first option, and didn’t look back.
#harry styles imagine#harry styles#harry styles imagines#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x reader#harry styles x you#harry styles one shot#harry styles angst#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fic#harry styles fanfiction
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Okay so I have a headcanon that Spencer and Graham meet Paul, Artie and Liam (Paul's roommate if you don't know/remember) at like comic con or some sort of convention and then become friends so uhh here's some incorrect quotes because why not
Spencer: You're a loose cannon, Paul
Paul: No, I'm not. I'm a cannon maybe, but a loose cannon? Is that what you think of me?
Liam: I think you play by your own rules
Artemis: No way, he thinks rules were made to be broken
Spencer: Those are all attributes of a loose cannon
Paul: No, I'm just a reckless renegade. Graham is a loose cannon
Graham: *smashes a chair*
---
Graham: I’m gonna need a human skull and I can't have you ask any questions why
Liam: Only if you also don't ask why
Liam: *Pulls out 7 pristine human skulls* Take your pick
Graham:
Liam:
Graham: This one is fine
---
Artemis, banging on the door: Graham! Open up!
Graham: Well, it all started when I was a kid...
Paul: No, she meant-
Spencer: Let him finish
--
Liam: There are seven chairs and ten people. What do you do?
Spencer: Have everyone stand
Artemis: Bring three more chairs!
Paul: The most important ones can sit down
Graham: Kill three
---
Artemis: Is having a penis fun?
Paul: It has its ups and downs
Graham: Sometimes it’s a little hard
Liam: It’s a pain in the ass
Spencer: Oh, Jesus, fuck, guys, come on.
---
Paul: Are you the big spoon or the little spoon?
Graham: I'm a knife
Spencer, from across the room: They're the little spoon
---
Paul: Hey, you want some leftovers?
Graham: What's that?
Paul: You've never had leftovers???
Graham: No, because I'm not a quitter.
---
Liam: Care for another sundae, weenie?
Spencer: I am not a weenie!
Paul: Relax, you’re among friends. *raises his drink*
Spencer: My friends don’t hang out at Weenie Hut Jr’s.
Graham: You tell ‘em, Spencer! *sips his drink*
Spencer: Graham, what’re you doing here?
Graham: I’m always here on Double Weenie Wednesdays
---
Spencer: We’ve been conducting an ongoing study to see what Paul will and will not eat.
Graham: Grass? Yes!
Spencer: Moss? Yes!!
Graham: Leaves? Ohh, yes!
Spencer: Shoelaces? Strange but true!
Graham: Worms? Sometimes!
Spencer: Rocks? Usually nah.
Graham: Twigs? Usually!
Spencer: Liam's cooking? Inconclusive!
Artemis: How did you… test this?
Spencer: You just hand them stuff and say ‘eat this’ and if he eats it, he eats it
Artemis: ... I don’t know how to feel about this
Liam: IS THAT WHERE ALL MY SPARE SHOELACES WENT?
Paul to Artie later: look being a half werewolf does things to you
---
Graham: Who thinks I can fit 15 marshmallows in my mouth?
Artemis: You’re a hazard to society
Liam: And a coward. DO TWENTY!
---
Spencer, setting down a card: Ace of spades
Graham, pulling out an Uno card: +4
Paul, pulling out a Pokémon card: Jolteon, I choose you
Artemis, trembling: What are we playing
---
Artemis: How did none of you hear what I just said?
Paul: I’ve been zoned out for the past two and a half hours
Spencer: I got distracted about halfway through
Graham: Ignoring you was a conscious decision
---
Spencer: It’s dark in here
Paul: Don’t worry dude I got this
Paul: *Stomps his feet*
Paul: *Skechers light up*
---
Paul: Graham isn’t answering his phone
Spencer: I’ll call
Artemis: Paul and I have both tried six times each, what makes you thi-
Graham: Hello?
---
Graham: Hey, what do IDK, LY, and TTYL mean?
Spencer: I don’t know, love you, talk to you later
Graham: Ok, I love you too, I’ll just ask Artie
---
Paul to Artemis: On the count of three, what's your favorite cake? One, two, three-
Paul and Artemis, in unison: Chocolate cake peanut butter frosting with chocolate chunks!
Graham: Our turn, Spencer! One, two, three- vanilla!
Spencer, deadpan: I've never had cake, what is cake.
---
Liam: Why are Spencer and Graham sitting with their backs to each other?
Artemis: They had a fight
Liam: Then why are they holding hands?
Artemis: They get sad when they fight
---
Spencer: Isn’t it weird that we pay money to see other people?
Paul: Plane tickets?
Liam: Concert tickets?
Graham: Prostitution?
Spencer, holding his broken frames: Glasses.
---
Graham: You lying, cheating, piece of shit!
Spencer: Oh yeah? You’re the idiot who thinks you can get away with everything you do. WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD
Graham: I’m leaving you, and I’M TAKING PAUL WITH ME
Artemis, picking up the monopoly board: I think we’re gonna stop playing now.
---
Graham: You fuckers don’t know about my knife stick. It’s a knife taped to a stick and it’s the ultimate weapon.
Artemis, not looking up from her book: Spear.
Graham: BLOCKED
---
Spencer: You have to apologize to Artemis
Graham: Fine.
Graham: 'Unfuck you' or whatever
---
Spencer: There is no future. There is no past. Do you see? Time is simultaneous, an intricately structured jewel that humans insist on viewing one edge at a time, when the whole design is visible in every facet.
Paul:
Artemis:
Liam:
Everyone Else At Spencer's Surprise Birthday Party:
Graham: All I asked was if you wanted to cut your birthday cake first
---
[The group, playing DND, are in a prison cell that was just hit by an earthquake]
Paul: Uh, I'm gonna roll a perception check of... 4, and see if our cell is, uh, in any way damaged by this quake
Spencer: You're in a prison cell
Artemis: You did great. Well, I got a 10-
Spencer: You're in a prison cell with bars on it
Graham: I got a 1!
Spencer: You're in... a cube-shaped place.
---
Artemis: Welcome, idiots
Spencer: Hello, Artemis
Artemis: No, no, not you, you're not an idiot
Spencer: You underestimate me
---
Paul: If I die, my funeral is going to be the biggest party ever and you’re all invited
Spencer: If?
Graham: Great, the only party I’ve ever been invited to and they might not even die!
---
Store Worker: Would a Ms Schue-Horyn please come to the front desk?
Artemis, arriving at the desk: Hello, is there a problem?
Store Worker, pointing to Paul and Liam: I believe they belong to you?
Paul and Liam, simultaneously: We got lost :(
Artemis: I didn’t even bring you guys here with me-
---
Paul: Liam... Why did you draw a pentagram on the floor?
Liam: Your text told me to satanize the house before you returned
Paul:
Paul: I wrote sanitize, Liam
---
Graham, after Artemis and Paul were complaining about APN: I'm gonna burn this place to the ground
Artemis: I'll show you where my desk is. You can start there
---
Graham: What's the expression? Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice... fiddle-dee-dee.
Liam: Fool me once, and I'll be fooled for a day. Teach me how to fool people and I'll be fooled for the rest of my life.
Paul: Fool me once, fool me twice, fool me chicken soup with rice.
---
Graham: Back in uni I once self medicated with a mix of NyQuil and DayQuil called QuilTM in the hopes it would manage my undiagnosed ADHD
Paul: And did that actually work?
Graham: Spencer tells me I wasn't much different than usual but, between you and me, I don't remember my entire sophomore year
---
Graham: I'll whoop their ass.
Spencer: Wait, don't! That's Artemis!
Graham: Wait, is it?
Graham: I mean, I'm still gonna do it, but is it?
---
Liam: Wow, Graham. I like seeing you get all feisty
Graham: That's the Graham way
Spencer: I thought the Graham way was a toasted bagel with grape jelly?
Graham: That's the Graham breakfast way
#tin can bros#flop stoppers#the wayward guide for the untrained eye#incorrect quotes#paul schue horyn#artemis schue horyn#spencer lang#graham holden#liam white#caps tw
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Înger
You’re not quite sure what the nickname Sebastian keeps calling you means.
-
“My name?” You thought about it for a minute, holding your finger up and looking over at your phone. Sebastian was beside you and started explaining what his meant, but you had to Google yours.
“Well?” Sebastian asked, laughing a little. He looked at you with the cutest smile and it was hard to turn away, but you kept looking until you found what you were looking for.
“It means angel.”
“All of that googling for one answer?” Sebastian asked. You laughed and continued on with the interview. When it was done you quickly got your microphone pack off your jeans and walked with Sebastian to get some lunch. You were in New York for this part of the press tour, and since Sebastian lived there, you were staying with him. And then you’d move on to Los Angeles for another three weeks of press. Over the course of filming, Sebastian had become one of your best friends. You were even planning a vacation with each other since you both really wanted to go to Hawaii and acting like a couple would definitely get you some hotel discounts.
“Pass me the soy sauce, will you, înger?” He asked later that night when you were cooking dinner together. You had decided to cook him a meal for letting him stay with you, but he was such a control freak about his food that he’d taken over in ten minutes and now he was showing you how to make home-made chicken stir fry, your favorite.
“What did you just call me?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. He smirked.
“Nothing. Just pass it?” You handed him the glass bottle and tried to act like what he had said was just a fluke or something. It definitely wasn’t English – and you knew he was Romanian, because he sprinkled in a few phrases here and there when he couldn’t remember the English phrase, but he mostly never spoke it unless he was around his family. You had never actually heard him speak it except when he was on the phone with his mom. And you could speak a little Spanish, which was similar, but not similar enough to where you could understand anything past articles and some grammar.
You heard him on the phone later that night and you could hear him say your name, and then that same word again, înger, and you were curious. So you did some more googling of nicknames. It wasn’t hard to find.
Angel.
He was calling you angel. You looked back at where he sat in the living room while you were cleaning up the dishes, smiling a little. You’d felt like he maybe liked you, and you liked him, too, but you never thought it was real. You never thought that he would actually make a move as dangerous as that because he had to know that you could just google it and figure out what he was saying. But maybe he wasn’t even being that dangerous – he always called you funny nicknames and you always called him some back. Your nickname for him was chubbs, since he had said he had gotten chubby recently. You didn’t see it, but you liked to see the look on his face when he realized you were teasing him as much as he always teased you.
“I’m heading to bed,” you said after he hung up, “early flight tomorrow.”
“Yeah. I’ll meet you at four?” You nodded and left to go to his guest room. You saw him smile at you as you left and couldn’t help but feel a little giddy. You texted some of your friends, and a couple of your co-stars, asking if he did the same thing to them. Of course it was a no, so you put your phone underneath your pillow and tried to get a little sleep. Eventually the light in the hallway shut off and Sebastian continued to his room on the brownstone’s third floor. You could hear the floor settle and then he went to bed, too.
You woke up the next morning and threw on a big sweatshirt and shorts, hoping you wouldn’t run into any fans in a flight that early, and met Sebastian in the front hall of the house. He called a cab and took care of the luggage, letting you get in first. You made it through the airport without seeing anybody, but when you saw some fans heading toward Sebastian you made it a point to go get the two of you coffee.
“You really got them to write chubbs on the side?” He chuckled when he saw what the sharpie had written on the plastic cup. You shrugged. “You are the worst.” You sat back down beside him until it was time to board. The studio had made sure the two of you had tickets together, so you were squeezed in by the window seat. You had both finished your coffee so he put the cupholder between you up. You felt the plane move and jumped a little bit, causing Sebastian to look over at you.
“Sorry.” He shook his head and took your hand, squeezing it. He knew you hated when planes took off, and usually he made it a point to distract you. This was definitely distracting, but in a different way.
“’S okay, înger,” he said softly, trying to pull a smile out of you. “We’re only going over the ocean so they can turn us around toward land.” He only let go of your hand when the plane was completely in the air and you leaned your head on his shoulder, falling asleep as he started watching a movie and you could hear a little bit of it from his headphones.
You were so drained by the time you got to Los Angeles that he basically had to force you into the shower to get ready for the entire day of press. You weren’t done until nine at night, and he knocked on your door with a six pack in one hand and a bag of your favorite diner food in the other just about two hours later.
“Oh my God, turn it off!” You laughed as he turned on the TV and the first thing that popped up was the porn channel. He laughed too and changed it to the on demand screen where you could rent movies.
“What, you aren’t curious?” He teased.
“No!” You replied, pushing on his shoulder. “I am not looking at some random guy’s dick!” He rolled his eyes.
“You are absolutely no fun. You wanna watch the second Jurassic Park?” You nodded and he pulled up the rental screen. You’d never seen the movies, so Sebastian was making sure you did by the time press tour was over. You sat back on the bed’s headboard, popped open a beer, and watched the second movie. You started a random comedy after since the two of you were talking over the next day’s plans and eventually the clock hit midnight.
“I’ll let you get your beauty sleep,” he said as he got off the bed.
“Noooo, I’m up!” You tried to say. He laughed and started cleaning up the room.
“Good night, înger,” he said with a smile on his face. You were so tired that you were almost asleep, so he didn’t hesitate to touch your hair and rub his thumb across your forehead before he left. It felt like heaven. You heard the door to his room beside yours open and shut. He watched a few videos or something before the sounds in his room silenced and he fell asleep, just as you did.
The next day you woke up, realizing what happened the night before, and texted him to see if he wanted you to Postmate some coffee in. You decided to try and look cuter than usual, since the interviews today were all video interviews, and you put on a romper that had a gap in the abdomen area. You threw a jacket over it, slightly insecure even if it did look cute, and you also expected for Sebastian to make a crack about how he could buy you clothes if you couldn’t afford ones without holes in them.
“Finally, coffee that won’t call me fat,” he remarked as you handed him his iced coffee a few minutes later. You rode in the cab to the studio, Sebastian in front, and started getting settled in. All of your interviews were together, as per your request, because you hated doing solo interviews. Interviewers also asked a lot of questions that you didn’t want to answer because many of them were just sexist, asking what man you were going out with, asking what you were allowed to eat because you had to look a certain way, and the kind of things you didn’t want to answer but were always afraid you would have to.
Sebastian took a seat beside you, putting both of his hands in his jacket pockets, and when he did his elbow hit yours. You looked away from him, smiling a little bit, and waited for the interviewer.
Most of the interview was fine. You mostly talked about the movie and Sebastian was talented enough to steer the conversation back to the movie whenever they got off of the topic, and he answered more of the difficult questions. It wasn’t your first movie, but it was your first where you were objectified on screen and off. The two of you made it to your last interview before lunch. When you saw the name of the interviewer, your heart jumped. This was the same interviewer that had asked you questions you didn’t want to be asked last time.
“You okay, înger?” Sebastian asked as you waited in the empty room. Your leg was shaking up and down, arms crossed against your chest. “Too much coffee?” You shook your head.
“No, this interviewer is just kind of an ass and I don’t know why this network keeps sending him,” you said, quietly enough to where only he could hear.
“Just let me deal with him, then. If it gets to a point where you’re not comfortable just look at me and I’ll get him off your back, okay?” You nodded. He moved his hand over to yours and squeezed it tightly. The way he spoke to you made you think that maybe there was a reason behind the nickname. Maybe he wasn’t calling you an angel in general, maybe he was calling you his angel. You wished. You gave him a small smile and a thank you, letting go of his hand as the interviewer walked in.
It started out tame enough. He was a little more police than he had been in the past, so Sebastian didn’t have to do much steering at first. But then the interviewer started talking about you, and Sebastian turned the topic on its head. The interviewer only got worse and worse, though, until you looked over at Sebastian for him to save you. And he did, thankfully. His hand reached for yours, knowing that the camera was shoulders up for the both of you, and squeezed it. You felt yourself calm down, instantly. Your body cooled down and the fear of answering questions faded into the feeling you always got when Sebastian touched you. You took a deep breath and finished the interview.
“Are you okay, înger?” He asked as the interviewer left the room. “I tried to…”
“What does that mean?” You asked him. The name made you want him to come clean. You just wanted him to be honest with you, because at this point it was completely obvious that he liked you.
“Nothing,” he lied. “Just a nickname.”
“Just a nickname,” you repeated. “Right.” You mostly forgot about everything as you sat down to lunch, talking about anything besides the interview. He went to the bathroom and you opened the translate app. You translated what you wanted to say and checked another app to be sure, and when he came back you put your phone down, ready to read off the words.
“Tin la tine,” you muttered when he sat down. He gave you a look of… understanding but confusion at the same time.
“What?” He asked. You repeated the words, again, this time as anxious as you’d ever been. Before you could say anything else, the assistants came to get the packs off of you.
Sebastian avoided you for lunch and for dinner, and even though he didn’t act any differently on camera he definitely did off camera. You were starting to think you’d seriously screwed up by the time you got back to the hotel after a cab ride, alone, because Sebastian said he had an errand to run. You sighed and went back to your room, texting your friends, and sighed. You had confronted him and it had gone all wrong, so maybe you were all wrong. Maybe the nickname wasn’t trying to get a certain reaction. Maybe it was just a reflex. You didn’t know, and you weren’t sure if you would ever know, until you got a knock at your door. It was 10 PM, you realized, and that could only mean it was one person knocking.
You opened the lock to see Sebastian standing there, hands in his jacket, and he looked nervous. He looked more nervous than he ever had before.
“Can I come in?” He asked. You nodded, stepping aside, and shut the door. You were vaguely aware that you’d taken off the jacket and felt insecure for a second.
“I’m sorry about earlier, I just figured… you were acting…” You didn’t really know what to say as you locked the door back and turned around to look at him. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry. I just freaked out because, well, no one’s ever said that to me before, and no one’s ever bothered to say it to me in Romanian. And I guess you figured out what the name means, right?”
“Angel.”
“Yeah. And it’s… It’s your name, but that’s not why, it’s…” he hesitated. “I like you. A lot. And I know that I can’t have you, but I thought maybe if you didn’t know what I was saying, you wouldn’t be able to shut me down. But I guess I was wrong and stupid and I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” You raised an eyebrow. “Sebastian, I was trying to tell you that I like you too. Only I don’t know how to speak Romanian.” That finally made a smile appear on his face.
“Mi-ai intrat în suflet,” he said quietly. “Are you gonna look that up?”
“You could just tell me.” He took a step forward and reached out a hand and you took it, unsure of what he was saying.
“It’s something that means you’re part of my soul. And I realize that sounds stupid in English.”
“No, it doesn’t.” You pulled on his arms until they were on your waist, his fingers cold against the gap in your romper, and looked at him. You looked at him until he understood, wrapped your arms around his neck, and tugged. He was gentle when he kissed you. His hands were soft and his lips were soft and you could feel them curl up into a smile. You must have kissed him for a few minutes, backing up until you were against the wall. His hand went behind your head to make sure you didn’t hit the wall too hard and then he was closing any gap there possibly was between the two of you.
“Inima mea îti apartine,” he muttered against you. “Ai inima mea, înger, daca vrei.”
“What does that mean?” You asked when he looked down at your bodies, his hands tightening on your waist underneath your romper.
“It means my heart is yours. You have my heart, angel, if you want it.” His eyes started searching yours for the answer, but it wasn’t long until he got it.
“Yeah. I’d like that, dolofan,” you replied, smiling a little bit. He rolled his eyes.
“Of all of the words you could learn to say and you learn to say chubby. Why am I not surprised?” He laughed with you for a second before leaning into another kiss.
A/N: I’m hoping all of my translations are right! There are some symbols I can’t pull off on my computer so I am very sorry to anyone who speaks this language because I can not figure out how to do them. This was such a cute request and I hope you like it!
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How. Did I spend.... nearly 1200$ over two weeks.
#i mean i can't complain because i had it apparently but also like#the guilt#the misplaced awful guilt and worthlessness#(but its also three plane tickets and a house for six days)#(and that bloodmilk ring and stuff for my hair)#its just really hard to like. let myself do things like this and not feel like i should just give it all back#because like#its p much either let myself do good things for myself that involve budgets and money#o r lay in my room wishing for death with 3grand in the bank that only reminds me of still not being able to live on my own#a n d like.#let's be real. its worth it.#like its so unbelievably almost unbearingly shockingly worth it#....and with october already planned and paid for---#there's six paychecks between now and then#which puts about 4200$ coming to me to do more of the same things with#and that's f i n e.#because there's gonna be more.#(i can't do anything about the residual guilt thru conditioning but in two weeks I'm not even gonna be thinking about it)#(because its gonna be six nights of us being gross and comfortable so like. yeah)
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We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:
Charlotte Choi, who is known by no other name, a 23 year old daughter of Hecate. She is the singer for HEXED and a clerk at The Lion’s Den.
FC NAME/GROUP: Choi Yuna (Yuju) CHARACTER NAME: Charlotte Choi AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 24, October 31, 1996 PLACE OF BIRTH: Seoul, South Korea OCCUPATION: Singer for Hexed, part-time clerk at The Lion’s Den HEIGHT: 5’7” WEIGHT: 105 lbs DEFINING FEATURES: Spiral burn on her left palm.
PERSONALITY: Charlotte has a very nurturing and maternal personality, brimming with compassion. Growing up taking care of five younger siblings made her very responsible and patient, so she is usually able to keep a clear head even in a crisis. This has also made her very skilled at conflict resolution and negotiation, at least when it comes to children, anyway.
She is the opposite of an impulsive person. She thinks before she acts, she thinks before she speaks. It usually takes her a while to make decisions because she needs to weight all her options. And while she is not necessarily an introvert, she does tend to be rather quiet because she is often distracted with her thoughts- be they about the situation at hand or something more fanciful like an idea for a song.
HISTORY: [TW: abuse, neglect]
Charlotte was born the youngest of a set of fraternal triplets in Seoul, South Korea. Fearing the power of three demigod children of Hecate, their father only kept the oldest daughter, sending Charlotte and Cassandra away shortly after their birth. Charlotte was sent to New York to be adopted under the table by a wealthy couple there. After a few odd incidents, however, the couple decided that they did not want her anymore and discretely passed her on to another family.
From there, the baby was renamed Nina, and she eventually became the eldest in a house of six children adopted by Mary and Samuel Collins. She knew from the moment that she could understand it that she was adopted, that she had been given up at birth- and her adopted parents did not let her forget it, always stressing that she owed them a debt for taking her in when her birth parents hadn’t wanted her.
By the time she entered grade school, the Collins had taken in five other toddlers and infants, which meant that a lot of Nina’s free time was spent doing what she could to help care for her little siblings; waddling around to get the older ones snacks, helping them get dressed, teaching them how to brush their teeth and hair. She did not mind it, though. It was a lot like playing house with dolls, she imagined, and she did not have any dolls. Even at that young age, she had quite the maternal instinct.
As she got older, her responsibility grew, the Collins essentially ignoring their adopted children as much as they could. In between school and various part-time jobs, as well as singing on street corners for tips, she cooked and cleaned and helped her siblings with their homework and sang them lullabies to chase away the monsters in the night.
The only time the Collins seemed to pay her any mind was when something strange happened in the house -a vase shattering without cause, the lock on the fridge opening on its own, the bathtub overflowing even though no one had turned on the water- and Nina was always blamed. Usually, she got away with a hard slap or a shove from Samuel, although some incidents were severe enough to warrant being locked in the hall closet for long stretches of time or properly beat. Even if she did not understand why these strange occurrences were her fault, she took the punishments in stride. At least it was her and not one of the younger children.
At eighteen, she told the Collins that she wanted to leave. It was a hard decision, given that she loved her younger siblings, but she had spent her whole life selflessly caring for them and she felt like she needed to start thinking about her future. She had been busking on the city’s streets and making fairly good money (when she was allowed to keep it), so she figured she could make it on her own. Maybe not in New York, but somewhere. Maybe even in Korea, as an idol. She wanted to be a singer more than anything.
Samuel laughed in her face and hit her so hard that she had a bruise on her cheek for a week.
Later that night, Mary gave her an envelope that had apparently come from her birth parents, on the condition that she stayed to help support the family. Hungry for any knowledge of who she was and where she had come from, Nina agreed. Inside the envelope was just a small bundle of tattered papers that looked like they had been ripped from a book. At first, she was immeasurably disappointed and angry. She did not understand why this was the only thing that her birth parents had decided she would need, and it almost seemed like maybe the Collins were playing a cruel joke on her.
However, the book pages were strange, and they soon drew her curiosity. They were in a language she did not recognize, and yet when she tried to read it the words flowed off her tongue effortlessly. And then all of the faucets in the house suddenly began gushing hot water.
The next day, she murmured some of the words when Samuel yelled at her about the dishes not yet being done, and to her shock a plate flew through the air and narrowly avoided his head. The man immediately flew into a rage, yanking Nina from her chair and taking her over to the stove. He lit one burner, dragging her hand over to it. The second her skin touched the red-hot burner, she released an ear-splitting scream that seemed to daze Samuel for a moment. She took that moment to grab her backpack and run out the door, willing herself to not look back.
And so, she was alone. All she had to her name was her wallet, those book pages, and a copy of Macbeth. So, she decided to give herself a clean slate. She renamed herself Charlotte Choi and used the money she had hidden in the lining of her backpack to buy herself a plane ticket to Berlin. She did not know why she had decided to go there until she arrived and a stranger suddenly approached her on the street. It was her sister. She just knew it as soon as she saw her.
She was surprised to see that her sister, Cassandra, had the same spiral burn on her hand as she did. One that had just appeared the same day that Samuel had burned her. But maybe she shouldn't have been surprised, considering the strange things that had been happening around her lately. Not to mention the strange feeling that had drawn her to Berlin in the first place. It was almost unbelievable, to just find a long-lost sister like this, but it felt like a piece she had been missing for her entire life had clicked into place.
And yet, she still did not feel whole. Something was still missing. Cassie felt it too.
Then, a few weeks later, they just suddenly looked up at each other and both said a single word: Seoul. Whatever they were missing, it was in Seoul. But they wanted to know what they were getting into before they flew across the world, so Charlotte flipped through her spell book pages and said an incantation, gripping Cassie's hand. The spell triggered a vision in both of them, showing them another girl who appeared to be in danger, locked in a basement and injured.
They were triplets, they realized. And their last sister needed their help.
Going to Seoul and tracking down their long-lost third sibling was surprisingly easy, as was blowing their father's door off its hinges, now that their powers were growing. It took all of Charlotte's strength to keep a clear head and stop Cassandra from killing their father for what he had done to Claire. She was just as angry about the situation, but she knew that more violence would solve nothing. So, instead, they took Claire away to safety. For a while, the triplets were rather nomadic, bouncing between various dwellings as they tried to figure out what they were going to do.
Once the dust had settled, there was only one thing they could think to do… They started a rock band. Hexed, the group was called, and they quickly developed a loyal following in Seoul’s underground rock scene. Over the next few years, they made something of a name for themselves, their music videos getting a fair amount of views and their concerts in clubs often being packed. They even did a few shows in Japan.
However, after finally completing their spell book, they found a message within it about a mysterious island called Mount Phoenix. Charlotte still had an inkling of fear about their father possibly trying to find them again, so she was relieved to have a safe place for her and her sisters to live.
PANTHEON: Greek CHILD OF: Hecate POWERS: Charlotte has the ability to cast a wide variety of spells, using either her personal pocket-sized spell book or the large one that she and her sisters share. Her specialty is psychic spells; as ones that alter a person’s perception of reality, influence someone’s mind, or make objects move on their own. She can also create small amounts of fire, but she mostly uses this ability for stage tricks at concerts.
STRENGTHS:
thinks before she acts
can keep a cool head in a crisis
compassionate
creative
keeps herself very physically fit
WEAKNESSES:
suffers from insomnia
often overthinks things
puts others (especially her sisters) before herself
has trouble saying no and standing up for herself
can stretch herself a little too thin
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It’s Truly Magical.
IT’S HONEYMOON TIME!!!
Summary: You and Piotr enjoy your honeymoon --by going to Disneyland, no less.
Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader.
Rating: T for implied sex, mention of needles, and briefly referenced childhood trauma but this fic is a fluff fest I promise.
Set after “In the Dawn of a New Day.”
Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @nebulous-leo
“So let’s see… a week and a half is… uh…”
“Make list.”
You stare down at your suitcase as you try to do the math in your head. You’re trying to pack for yours and Piotr’s honeymoon.
Because the two of you are married now. You, Y/N Rasputin, managed to snatch up the world’s greatest catch for yourself.
Suck it, universe.
“That’s… ten-ish days, so ten outfits –except for the nice dinner, so that’s another outfit, oh, and the plane flights…”
“Just make list.”
The two of you are going to California, courtesy of your uncle; you two get to spend the first four days of the trip at Disneyland, and then the rest of your honeymoon will be spent at a little beach house AirBNB where the two of you can just chill and enjoy the ocean.
“So that’s like… twice as much underwear? Three times as much?” You blink when you remember that this is technically your honeymoon. “Do I even need underwear?”
“This might be easier if you made list, moya lyubov’.”
“And I’ll need… uh…”
“Darling wife of mine.”
You smile bashfully, butterflies fluttering in your stomach at the reminder that you’re his wife now, and look over where Piotr’s sitting on your two’s bed.
He smiles at you, loving and endeared, and tosses a pen and notepad at you. “Just make packing list already.”
(You do, eventually, wind up making a list –though your husband does have to help you with the process.)
***
The day of the flight brings its own boughs of anxiety and struggle. There’s the prospect of trying to navigate the airport properly and get through security –which promises to be a headache regardless of how much time you give yourselves—and then underlying tension that the two of you might get thrown out for being mutants—
But the unarguable worst part of the day happens before the two of you even leave home to head to the airport.
Piotr crosses his arms over his chest, face strained with worry as he stares down the small vial of yellow fluid in your hands. “I do not like this.”
You’re not cleared to fly on commercial flights –and technically won’t ever be, since the psychic scarring on your brain is permanent—without having your mutation repressed in some way, shape, or form. After an extended discussion between Hank, Professor Xavier, Alyssa, and your uncle, the four of them figured that you’d be unlikely to get a repression cuff or collar through airport security, which only left one option to keep your mutation repressed in the event –albeit unlikely—that you had an episode.
Repression serum.
The dose in the vial is only enough to get you safely to California –and you’ll have to use it all for it to work properly. Another vial will be provided before you and Piotr leave California to come back home. There’s no way for you to use it under any other circumstance or hoard it away for later, and Alyssa and Professor Xavier were both confident that you were well past the issues that led you to using it regularly that you wouldn’t be likely to relapse—
But yeah, you don’t like it either.
“It’s what we have to do, sweetheart,” you say, expression grim as you load up the syringe. “It’s for everyone else’s safety. And mine.”
“I know,” Piotr says, paling slightly as he watches you prepare the injection site on your arm. “I just… I really do not like this.”
“It’s going to be okay, honey,” you reassure him. “I’m going to be okay. I promise.”
There’s really not much else to say, considering what you have to do or your history with the repression serum, so you take a deep breath and insert the needle into your arm.
The serum hits as fast as you remember it hitting (since the dose was calibrated for your resistance to the stuff). Within about thirty seconds, you can feel your connection to the air around you being tamped down. It’s almost like someone’s put on a very thick jacket all over every inch of your body.
You grimace once you remove the needle and press a piece of gauze against the injection site. “I don’t like that.”
“Are you alright?” Piotr asks, panic evident in his voice and on his face as he kneels in front of you. “Do you feel sick? Do we need to see Hank?”
“No, no, I’m fine, I just don’t like how the serum feels,” you clarify. “I don’t like not feeling connected to the air. It doesn’t feel good.”
Piotr blinks as understanding flickers across his face, then he abruptly claps a hand over his mouth and stands, turning away from you in the process.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” You quickly set the syringe and the now empty vial aside and stand, maneuvering so you’re positioned in front of your husband. “Piotr, talk to me. What’s going on?”
Piotr shakes his head as he wipes a few tears away from his eyes. “I was afraid… that you would like it. That you would miss using serum. And that you do not… it is big relief to me.”
Tears well up in your eyes as your heart tears for your mush of a man. You wrap your arms around Piotr’s waist and hold him while he takes deep, shaky breaths. “It’s okay, Piotr. I’m okay.”
And you are. You really, truly are.
***
Getting through the airport is just about as much of a hassle as you anticipated. It’s confusing, it’s chaotic, there’s far too much standing in line involved, and the ratio of people to available outlets –logically—should’ve caused a bloodbath by now.
Fortunately, you and Piotr don’t get tossed out for being mutants (even though the two of you “pass” relatively well, you’re both legally required to register as mutants, which always opens up the risk of being thrown out of anywhere that checks your ID).
(Piotr also doesn’t set off the security checkpoint metal detector when he goes through it, which –while logically being a good thing—is honestly kind of disappointing.)
You opt to lean against your husband’s shoulder while the two of you wait to board, at which point you lament over having to wait even longer, to which Piotr remarks that the two of you will still get to board earlier than everyone else because you’re flying in first class, which prompts you to pull out your boarding pass and study it—
“We’re flying first class?”
Piotr chuckles as he drapes his arm over your shoulders. “You just realized this?”
“You’re the one who checked all the tickets and reservations, not me!”
The ticket does, in fact, confirm that the two of you have first class seats reserved –next to each other, too, which is a bonus.
“Why’d my uncle get us first class seats?” you ponder quietly. “It’s so expensive.”
“Probably my size,” Piotr reasons. “I have trouble fitting in smaller seats.”
You shrug, then smile up at your spouse. “Well, we can at least have fun with flying first class for the first time!”
“That we can,” he agrees before dipping his head to kiss you.
***
As it is, Piotr still barely fits into the first class seat. It’s clearly better suited to accommodate him than an economy seat –but only barely.
Fortunately, you don’t need the dividing armrest down to be comfortable, and you’re more than happy to be closely snuggled against your hubby for several hours. You take the window seat so Piotr has an easier time getting in and out of your seat and nestle up against him while he scans the in-flight safety pamphlet.
“You two are absolutely adorable,” one of the flight attendants comments with a smile. “We don’t see a lot of super lovey couples on the flights.”
“I think it helps that we’re flying out for our honeymoon,” you joke; at home, it’s a well known fact that you and Piotr are a pair of regular lovebirds –though, the added buzz from the wedding and honeymoon doesn’t hurt.
The flight attendant beams when you show off your engagement ring and wedding band. “Congratulations! That’s so wonderful! We do offer complimentary beverages and snacks to our first class passengers. Maybe some sparkling wine to celebrate, or a cookie and some milk if you’re not alcohol drinkers?”
You look up at Piotr. “Cookies and milk?”
He smiles down at you, then nods at the flight attendant. “Cookies and milk would be nice.”
***
Fun fact: A non-stop flight from New York to California is a little over six hours.
Additional fun fact: years of being able to fly one’s self makes travelling by plane a touch lackluster.
“We’re not even breaking the sound barrier,” you whisper to Piotr at one point. “Where’s the fun in that?”
He merely snorts and kisses the top of your head.
All in all, though, it’s a good time. The two of you snuggle against each other as the plane soars through the skies, Piotr fills you in on all things Disney, and you play games provided on the little screen interfaces on the backs of the seats in front of you.
You’re also provided a proper meal a couple hours into the flight –and, much to Piotr’s delight, it’s reasonably healthy, if not necessarily portioned out for someone of his size.
“The perks of flying first class, I guess,” you comment before starting in on your food.
***
Actually arriving in California, admittedly, is a bit of a mindfuck, solely due to the time difference between the East Coast and the West Coast.
“None of this feels right,” you mumble as you try to reconcile the earlier time to your inner body clock.
“Imagine how I felt first coming from Russia,” Piotr comments as he scans the directional signs to figure out where the two of you need to pick up your luggage.
“Shit, yeah, that’d be insane.” You frown. “How does your family manage to jump between here and there, then?”
Piotr shrugs. “Lots of coffee, probably.”
***
The process of getting to the famed park is far less drawn out than the flight. Once you two have your luggage, you head over to the car rental place and pick up your car –rented so the two of you have a reliable way to get around for the rest of your honeymoon—and take the half hour drive to the park.
You give Piotr a goofy smile when another motorist curses you out for abiding by the traffic laws. “It’s like we never left home.”
Piotr just tips his head back and laughs.
***
To make everything extra special, your hotel reservation is at one of the hotels in the park itself –very appropriately named “Disneyland Hotel.” The two of you get checked in and head up to your room—
And it’s nice. There’s a massive king-sized bed that sits directly across from a combination dresser and TV cabinet. A desk and chair sit next to the dresser-cabinet combo, and a cushy looking armchair sits next to the bed on the far side of the room. Everything’s decorated in warm, inviting tones of brown and gold, save for a genuinely pretty blue and gold carpet. On the other side of the bed, closest to the door, is another door that leads to a bathroom.
It’s nice. Clean. It has amenities like a mini-fridge and a coffee maker and an ironing board.
It’s also like almost any other hotel you’ve ever been in.
Piotr shrugs when you remark as much. “Were you expecting something else?”
“I don’t know… mouse ears everywhere? Super bright colors and patterns?”
Piotr chuckles as he sets yours and his suitcases down. “The crucial experience is park. Rooms are supposed to promote rest and relaxation.”
“Fair enough.” You dart over to the window on the far side of the room to check out the view, then chuckle when all you can see is the parking lot. “Oh, damn, can’t get this view anywhere else.” You whip out your phone to take a Snapchat video of the view, then tuck it back in your pocket and turn around when you hear Piotr groan and the bed creak ominously.
He’s dropped face-down into the bed, arms spread out like a starfish and legs hanging haphazardly off the bed.
You cross your arms over your chest. “Feeling comfy, baby?”
“Planes do not agree with me,” he laments, voice muffled by the bed.
“I bet.” You cross over to the bed and hop up next to him. “How about this,” you suggest as you gently rub his back. “We just get some room service –because I’m hungry—and then just stretch out and rest. We’ve got four days here at the park; that’s plenty of time to check everything out.”
“Sounds wonderful.” He lifts his head and grins at you. “We are at Disneyland.”
“Yeah, we are,” you reply with a grin of your own. “Are you excited?”
He giggles and nods before dropping his head back down. “Very.”
You gently run your fingers through his hair and kiss the top of his head before turning and rummaging through the nightstand drawer for a room service menu. “You get comfortable, babe. I’ll get us some food.”
***
The two of you eat and take a little nap before unpacking. Since you aren’t staying the entire duration of your trip at the park, you only unpack what you need –a few clothes, some toiletries, a couple of things to do during down time…
And, in your husband’s case, an entire pantry’s worth of healthy snacks and protein bars.
You gape as Piotr carefully tucks away a supply of unsalted veggie chips, mixes of dried fruit and nuts, crackers with “extra fiber” (whatever the fuck that means), and a couple boxes of protein bars into one of the dresser drawers. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Piotr! We are on vacation!”
“We still need to eat!” he retorts defensively.
“They have restaurants and room service here!” you argue, trying to hold back amused laughter. “And we can always buy food if we need something they don’t have!”
“It is still less expensive this way,” he reasons.
“The park expenses are on someone else’s tab, and we’ll still have to get groceries for the rest of our trip.”
The gears in Piotr’s head visibly turn while he processes your statement. He huffs –and shoots you an amused glare when you giggle—and continues unpacking his snacks. “Just wait until end of trip, when you are sick from travel food and I am not. You will eat words then.”
“The only thing I want to eat is your dick,” you fire back, snickering when the tips of Piotr’s ears go red. You pick up one of the boxes out of the dresser drawer and read the label. “‘Multi-grain Nutritional Crackers, now with Extra Fiber.’ Honestly, you are such an old man.”
Piotr shakes his head, takes the box from you and puts it back in the drawer, then lifts you up into his arms. “Not old just yet.”
You giggle and press your lips against his.
***
The following morning hosts massive bouts of excitement –Piotr—and general disgust at the existence of mornings in general –you.
Your mood does perk up, though, upon having some proper breakfasts in one of the restaurants in the hotel –accompanied by coffee and some of the park’s legendary Dole whip, no less. By the time the two of you head into the “attractions” part of the park, you’re just as pepped up as your Disney-loving hubby.
The two of you wander around a bit, getting a sense for the park and where everything is, until—
“Babe!” You point at the Alice in Wonderland spinning teacups ride. “Let’s go on that one!”
Piotr acquiesces, and the two of you get in line for the ride. It takes a fair bit of standing and waiting, but eventually the two of you are ushered onto one of the massive teacups. You both get settled, then wait for the ride to start.
“What’s this for?” you ask, tapping a stand in the middle with what looks like a steering wheel attached to the top.
“To spin ride,” Piotr explains. “It makes cup spin faster.”
Your eyes widen as you stare at the device. “I thought the ride just spun the cups on its own.”
“It does.” Piotr gestures to the frame the cups sit on. “Entire ride spins like merry-go-round. Riders can spin cups while ride spins.”
You grin, borderline maniacally. “Fuck. Yeah.”
Once the ride starts, you immediately start trying to spin the cup as fast as you can. Under any other circumstances, you suspect the cup would spin without too much resistance.
However, those circumstances don’t involve having the world’s heaviest Russian husband in the cup at the same time.
You grunt as you try to spin the cup. “Dammit! Why do you have to be so heavy?”
“It is not end of world, msyhka,” Piotr chuckles. “Just sit back and enjoy ride.”
“I want to go fast! But I can’t do that because I just happened to shack up with the one Russian juggernaut that eats lead for breakfast!”
Piotr laughs again –then grips the wheel and gives it a mighty yank.
You shriek, delighted, as the cup whips around at maximum speed. The world dissolves into a blur of color and noise as your hair whips around and smacks your face.
It’s like flying without the physical effort of flying. It’s amazing.
“That was awesome!” you giggle as you stumble off the ride. “We should go –babe?”
Piotr staggers after you, looking considerably worse for wear. He’s gone pale –paler than usual, at least—and clammy looking, and his jaw is clenched tight. “I think,” he manages in a weak, shaky voice, “that was mistake.”
You put your hands on his arms, helping steady him. “Holy shit, baby, you look awful. Come on, let’s get back to the hotel room so you can lay down.”
“Perhaps that would be for best,” Piotr agrees as you steer him in the direction of the hotel.
***
“No fucking way. The Steel Boy Scout can’t handle rollercoasters. That’s incredible!”
“I mean, in his defense, it was a spin heavy ride,” you say to Wade as you stroke Piotr’s hair.
The two of you are back in your hotel room; Piotr had opted to lay face down on the bed and bury his face in a pillow, while you’d opted to call Wade and update him on how the vacation was going –or, rather, wasn’t.
“Yeah, well, still,” Wade insists in your ear. “It’s funny. He’s a superhero who battles diabolical villains on a regular basis, and he can’t handle spinning around a little.”
“I mean, you make a valid point—”
The bed lurches as Piotr shoots off it and sprints to the bathroom.
“Ah, shit. I’ve gotta go.”
“Has Chernobyl finally decided to blow?”
You wince as the sounds of Piotr emptying his stomach contents into the toilet emanate from the bathroom. “Yeah. I’ll talk to you later.”
***
You spend the rest of the day in the hotel room to let Piotr properly recuperate. You order room service for the two of you once Piotr’s feeling well enough to eat, and otherwise spend the day texting, scrolling through social media, or watching TV while you hold your husband and stroke his hair.
All in all, it’s a day perfectly spent.
And, fortunately, Piotr’s feeling well enough by the time the day comes to a close that the two of you can catch one of the park’s famed fireworks shows. Granted, you have to stand off to the side so Piotr doesn’t block anyone’s view, but it’s still a stunning spectacle to behold.
(It also gives Wade’s fireworks “demonstrations” a run for their money, which isn’t something you’d ever thought could be possible.)
“Are you feeling better, honey?” you ask as the two of you stroll back to the hotel, hand in hand.
“Much.” Piotr squeezes your hand gently. “Tomorrow should go much better.”
“Here’s hoping. No more spinning rides for you, mister.”
Piotr chuckles and shakes his head. “On that, we are agreed.”
***
The following morning, Piotr’s in a much better state than the previous day. After a hearty breakfast at the hotel, the two of you head back into the attractions part of the park and scope out more rides to try out –with a strict emphasis on “non-spinning” for your husband’s sake.
Eventually, the two of you come across a ride called “Big Thunder” that seems promising. The two of you hop in line to get on the ride—
Except upon finally being able to get on said ride, it turns out that Piotr’s too big for the safety mechanisms to work properly.
You burst out cackling as Piotr sheepishly extricates himself from his seat and steps back onto the platform. “We can’t win with you, huh, baby?”
“It would see not.” He kisses you gently. “I’ll see you back at walkway.”
You smile at him and blow him another kiss as he heads towards the exit.
Then, an attendant comes by to check your harness and the harnesses of the other rides. There’s the sound of the motors that run the coaster coming to life and hissing –and then the ride shoots forward.
And you scream.
***
“It was awesome!” you gush to Piotr once you find him outside the ride. “It’s like flying, but I get to sit down the entire time. It’s basically perfect! Although, I think we’re gonna have to skip rides while we’re here. You’re not gonna fit on… any of them, really.”
Piotr chuckles and kisses the top of your head. “You can still go on rides, myshka. This is your trip, also. And there are calmer rides and other attractions I can enjoy.”
“Alright.” You take a moment to check a map of the park that Piotr downloaded and sent to your phone. “Do you want to go find a ride we can both go on?”
“That sounds very nice.”
You smile and take his hand in yours, then the two of you head off in search of a ride that both of you can go on.
***
The two of you wind up going on Astro Blasters –even though neither of you are very good at hitting any of the targets—and going on the famed Pirates of the Caribbean ride together, and you also hit Splash Mountain and the Indiana Jones rides on your own.
(Piotr pays to get pictures of you riding the rides on your own and gets a good chuckle out of your open-mouthed, exhilarated expressions.)
You also take time just to wander around the park and take everything in. You two take a selfie in front of Sleeping Beauty’s castle, spy the Mickey Mouse costume character strolling around and saying hi to kids, and generally take in the sights and sounds of the park –of which there are many.
Just like the advertising says, it’s genuinely magical.
***
“Are you enjoying Disneyland?”
Piotr grins as he wipes his fingers on a napkin. “Da. I really am. Are you?”
You grin back and lean over to kiss his shoulder. “Yeah. It’s pretty awesome.”
The two of you had opted to stop for lunch after a bit, with Piotr citing that getting overtired or going too long without eating in the baking California heat would wind up doing either of you in. You’d decided to get a corndog and a soda, whereas Piotr had purchased one of the famed turkey legs and a bottle of water.
(The picture you’d taken of Piotr biting into his turkey leg was nothing short of priceless.)
“I want to get something to remember trip by,” Piotr continues as he polishes off his turkey leg (which had taken him the same time to eat as it had for you to devour your corndog). “Proper memento.”
“Well, Mikhail did give us that jar of money after the reception,” you point out. “You want to use that to get a little honeymoon treat? Maybe some matching mouse ear headbands?”
Piotr beams and nods. “That sounds wonderful.”
***
The two of you resume wandering around the park after eating lunch. You briefly stop to watch a parade of characters and decorated vehicles go by, then resume the hunt for some proper mementos to commemorate your honeymoon at the park.
Which, actually, is easier said than done. The park has several shops scattered throughout it and different kiosks by rides that host specially themed mouse-eared headbands. Trying to compare all the options available, let alone narrow things down to a top pick, is almost too tall a task to handle.
(Not to mention that the headbands themselves are egregiously expensive. Holy shit.)
Eventually, though, you settle on a sequined Minnie Mouse ears headband –complete with a sequined red bow with white polka dots—while Piotr opts for a classic –sequins free—Mickey Mouse ears headband.
“I think we look pretty good!” you declare as you post one of the selfies you took of you and Piotr to Instagram.
Piotr brushes a soft kiss against your temple. “I agree –but you look best.”
You sputter and duck your head bashfully. “You’re awfully sweet, Mr. Rasputin.”
“Says person eating cotton candy.”
“Not my fault it’s good.” You split your last bite in half and offer part of it to him –then gape when he actually accepts it. “What’s this? You actually ate cotton candy!”
Piotr rolls his eyes good naturedly –though he does pull a face at how sweet the candy is. “Is my vacation. I eat treats if I want.”
You grin and giggle, then yank on his hand and head in the direction of another vendor stand. “Ooh, come on! I need to get a pretzel!”
“You just finished cotton candy.”
“Yeah, but—” you glance around and lower your voice carefully “—I need to get a Snapchat of it so I can send Wade a snap about being a ‘childless whore fucking up the pretzel line.’”
Piotr’s eyes widen and he claps a hand over his mouth to stifle a massive snort. “What?”
“Baby, please?”
He shakes his head, but ultimately acquiesces. “Lead way, myshka.”
***
You wake up on the third day of your trip with sore legs and feet, a barely there stomach ache from eating too much cotton candy the day previous, and an erection pressed against your ass.
You grin when Piotr’s lips start pressing against your neck. “Morning, sweetheart. Feeling good?”
“Chrezvychayno.”
You sigh, content, when his hand latches onto your hip and his other arm presses against your chest, pulling you flush against him. “Y’know… we’ve pretty much done everything we can do in the park. We could just…” You swing one of your arms back so you can slide your hand down his side. “Stay in bed today. Order room service. Do what all honeymooners do.”
“That,” Piotr murmurs huskily, lustily. “Sounds perfect.”
***
You two spend the last day of the Disney part of your trip largely lazing around. You stroll through the park to get more pictures and check out a few more rides, but other than that you two simply enjoy each other’s company until the time for your dinner reservation at the renowned Blue Bayou restaurant comes. The two of you take a few hours to get cleaned and dressed up for the dinner –a cocktail dress with blue and purple flowers for you and a suit with a blue and purple tie for him—and head over to the Blue Bayou restaurant.
The space itself is nothing short of breathtaking. There’s trees along the edge of the outdoor dining area, and lanterns and flowers are strung across the space to give it a soft, ethereal feel.
You two are seated in a quiet corner of the dining area at a sleek black table bordered by chairs with elegant backs that look like wrought iron; the waiter hands you two your menus and takes your drink orders—
And then it’s just you and Piotr.
You glance up from perusing your menu and smile at your husband. “Anything in particular looking good?”
He “hmms” thoughtfully. “Possibly lamb… or roasted chicken.”
“They both look good,” you agree. You nudge his leg under the table, then grin at him when he looks up at you. “Love you.”
Piotr beams at you. “I love you, too.”
The waiter returns a couple minutes later with your drinks, jots down your orders, then takes your menus and whisks away once more.
Piotr reaches across the table –careful not to knock into either of your glasses or the candle at the center of the table—and takes one of your hands in his. “So. We are married.”
You grin. “Hell yeah we are.”
He smiles back, then gazes thoughtfully at the engagement ring and wedding band on your left hand while rubbing circles against the back of your hand with his thumb. “What comes next?”
You let out a huff. “I mean… we have a house to furnish.”
“That we do,” Piotr chuckles. “But I meant more for us. What do you want us to do next, as couple?”
You glance around surreptitiously, then quietly suggest, “Have lots of sex?”
Piotr snorts. “Duly noted, myshka. Answer question seriously, please.”
You sit back in your seat, taking a moment to enjoy the way his thumb rubs against your hand before mulling over the question. “I don’t know. Right now, I’m kinda just content to enjoy the moment and our new life together.”
Piotr nods after a moment. “Okay. And… in future?”
“Kids, eventually,” you say, flashing a demure smile at him. “I mean, I think we should get the house furnished and functional first, but… maybe in the next year or two.”
Piotr smiles at that, eyes sparkling and face glowing. “Alright. It is your body; you set all rules.”
“I think in a year or two we can start trying,” you reiterate. “But, right now, I’m just looking to enjoy us. You.”
His smile softens, and he squeezes your hand gently. “That sounds very nice.”
You smile back, slowly getting lost in the depths of his sparkling blue eyes—
It really is magical.
#sass writes#piotr rasputin x reader#colossus x reader#IT'S HONEYMOON TIME#BOW CHICKA WOW WOW#deadpool fanfiction#x men fanfiction
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wheel of fortune | ben, chase & jacob
summary: tarot and tension. Jacob helps guide a path for a quest no one wants to go on.
The day after Ben was let out of the hospital, Chiron called him, Chase, and Jacob to the Big House. Jacob had mentioned wanting to tell him more about his vision, but the fact that he was being summoned like this gave the situation a new gravity. Like the nightmares weren't just something he just had to learn to live with but a problem with a solution he could reach.
Ben was starting to suspect he hadn't hallucinated his mother the other night, after all.
He walked inside, Jacob at his side. Chase was already there. Ben helped Jacob find a seat and then lowered into a chair himself. He pulled the pendant, borrowed from Chase this morning, off from around his neck and wordlessly passed it to the son of Morpheus.
Chiron was reading something in front of him and placed a bookmark in the novel before looking up at the three demigods before him. "Good afternoon. Let us get right to it, as I'm sure you're all aware of why you are here. So! I hear," he said carefully, "Jacob has a vision to share."
Chase tried to avoid eye contact with Chiron during their time alone and took the pendant readily when Ben walker in. He turned the top half of his torso to face Jacob expectantly, neck still a bit sore, but more manageable at this point.
Jacob folded his cane on his lap and took a moment to organize his thoughts. "Yes. Right. I had this vision the night before Ben returned," he explained to begin. "Of a row of colourful houses, and an ocean sweeping through them. The wind was howling and someone had a kettle on. I was on a worn stone path that later turned into a gravel road with a lighthouse at the end. In between those two tableaus, there was a figure which I believe must represent the two of you."
He ran back over the vision in his mind, relieved to have listened to his recording of it only minutes prior. "In front of the lighthouse was a man, I'd say thirties to forties, with plain features and brown hair. He was in a business suit that seemed out of place. As I watched, he untied his tie and then something from behind him grabbed it and began choking him with it." Jacob touched his own neck in sympathy. "As I tried to move around him, it was as though wading through honey, and looking over his shoulder was fruitless as well. When I tried to touch him, I was put in darkness, and when light returned there was an old woman in front of me. I was unable to move and she repeated the same word, 'spy', over and over again until it became too much."
Here, Jacob took another pause to shake off the chill creeping up his spine at the memory. He caught his breath. "It stopped all at once. She told me to shh-" he put a finger to his lips. "-and then I woke up." The last sentence was said with finality. "Now, last night I did a tarot reading to gain some more insight into what this could entail. Before I continue, are there any new developments on either of your ends relating to this vision or that may affect it?"
Ben listened to Jacob quietly, staring at a spot on the floor in front of him. He hadn't heard the details of the vision before and getting it all recounted sent a chill along his spine. When the question was posed, he glanced up and looked to Chase, slowly, so it wouldn't hurt too much. "Um," he started. "We both started to be, um," he looked away again, "controlled, in our dreams. I don't know if that counts."
Chiron had his arms crossed over his chest, looking troubled. "Do you know where this place might be, Jacob? Hazard a guess? I was advised by Olympus that you two," he looked to Ben and Chase, "were advised where to go."
Chase wrapped his arms around himself as Jacob spoke. He waited for him to stop and nodded. “I had a dream about bright houses near an ocean too.” His voice was stronger than it had been a few days ago. “Uh, and yeah, something controlled us...?” He looked at Chiron now. “Morpheus said that there was some... hag in Newfoundland? And that she was trying to sap my powers? With the mist and stuff.” He frowned, unhappy to see that Ben was apparently still a part of this, other than just being an instrument in some sort of assassination plot.
Once Chase said it, Ben knew. He closed his eyes. "Nemesis said the same to me."
Jacob exhaled. “Yes, Newfoundland makes sense. The lighthouse was prominent as well, although the province is littered with them. Somewhere on the coast, at least we know that. I’m afraid in terms of exact location, my knowledge is vague.”
Chiron took a deep breath. "Alright. The coast of Newfoundland. I unfortunately think this is something we can't delay on. You two will have to go expeditiously."
Ben stiffened, then stared at the ceiling, as if his mother could see him glaring at her from here.
Chiron continued. "Jacob, can you share your reading?"
"The lighthouse was in my dream too," Chase added quietly. He frowned at Ben and closed his eyes as he sighed. Of course.
Jacob dipped his head in a nod. "I used a spread that has been useful in the past. The problem, the perpetrator, who can fix it, how to fix it, the goal, and the outcome." He leaned forward and tapped six different spots on the table in front of him to demonstrate where each card would go.
"For the problem, I drew the five of pentacles, which usually would represent a sort of poverty or financial destitution. Outside of monetary matters, it can stand for loneliness or despair." Jacob tapped the next spot over on the table. "The perpetrator, two cards came. It appears as though you may encounter more than one enemy on this quest. The first, the 7 of cups– illusions, fool's gold, dreams. I imagine this card would stand for this hag, as you put it, who has been controlling you. The second card was the Emperor, reversed. Inflexibility, excessive control, likely a male figure so I believe this to stand for the man I saw in my vision. His suit and tie gave him the appearance of a businessman– there is a high chance, I believe, that he would tie into the financial hardships brought up by the first card. Now, this part is conjecture, but as I witnessed him slowly strangled from behind I do not believe him to be entirely behind this; more likely, the hag has been using him as well as you two."
Jacob moved his hand to the third space. "This part is simple. Who can fix it? Again, two cards. Justice and the Moon, for Nemesis and Morpheus respectively. You two." He continued down to the bottom left spot. "Three of pentacles for how to fix it. I'm afraid it is no simple black and white answer to solve your quest for you– the three of pentacles represents collaboration, between the two of you, and the value of different ideas. Both of you will have something to contribute, and to succeed you need to play off of each other's strengths and ideas."
"The goal came up as the Wheel of Fortune. It can stand for all kinds of things along the lines of success, which, quite obviously, is the goal– but combined with the original card, the problem, it appears as though something has fallen off balance or into excess. The Wheel of Fortune represents life cycles, so if it is the goal, I imagine you are trying to put something back on track. Restore something so it can continue on its original path."
Jacob tapped the sixth and final spot that he had originally motioned to and sat back in his chair. "And at last, the outcome. Again, two cards– a double-edged sword, if you will. The 3 of cups, standing for homecoming and celebration, and the 10 of swords, for betrayal and ruin." He tapped his fingers against his cane. "Although both could, unfortunately, be true, there is also a chance this is a glimpse into two different possible outcomes. One if you succeed, and the other should you fail."
With a sigh, he pulled his sunglasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have more interpretations, of course. A few ideas on how these different cards may come together to paint a broader picture, though I am unsure if it is wise to share these lest I put you on the wrong track."
As Jacob spoke, Ben started to look more and more haggard. He ran a hand down his face. "Ugh." There was no point in hiding his feelings if no one else in the room was, either. He turned to his roommate. "Thanks," he said to him, quietly. Then he brought his attention back to Chiron. "I don't, either."
"We can doctor them," Chiron offered. "I know it is rather, unconventional but, I think the time is of the essence. I will let you two decide but, considering the situation..." He sighed. "I think it would be better, for both of you, to solve this immediately. I will help you however I can. Funds, weapons, whatever you need."
Jacob nodded at Ben and put his hand on his roommate's arm, just briefly, before returning it to his lap.
Chase leaned back in the chair and frowned. "I can 'these are not the droids you're looking for' if we run into trouble crossing the border." He picked at a thread in his pants. "I think... we'll need a car?" He looked at Ben. "Do you know how to drive?" He looked back to Chiron once again, sitting up a bit straighter. He figured he might as well start taking this seriously as soon as he could. "I have a weapon. My father mentioned my scimitar specifically." He ran a hand through his hair. "When will have the fake passports by?"
"A day or so," Chiron replied. "You can take the RV and any additional supplies you need."
Ben waited for Chiron to finish before answering Chase. "I don't know how to drive," he mumbled. "Sorry."
"Cool." Chase exhaled a sigh. "Those funds you mentioned wouldn't happen to include plane tickets at all? Since this has to be done so quickly?"
"We don't know where exactly to go," Ben muttered. "And we'd need a car to get around once we get there." He glanced up again. "Any god that could give me the ability to drive so we could alternate?" He sighed and leaned back in the seat again.
Chiron sighed. "The flying RV was damaged in the last quest, unfortunately. And Bentley is correct, I can't say how long you'll be searching once you arrive. It would be better this way, so you don't have to pay for accommodation and leave a possible trail."
Chase stopped himself from sighing again. He nodded slowly and pressed his lips together. "Okay, yeah." He sucked his cheeks in. "Okay. I guess we'll meet back here when the passports are ready?"
Chiron nodded. "Yes, I'll let you both know. Thank you, Jacob, for your guidance. I'll do all I can to ensure a safe a speedy quest."
Ben was pretty it hadn't hit him, yet, what was being asked of them. It felt so impossible it was unreal. "Sure. Thanks," was all he said. "See you then." He turned to Jacob. "Ready to go?"
"Let me know if you need anything else," Jacob responded to Chiron as he got to his feet. He nodded at Ben. "I'll follow your lead."
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Why You Should Support Your Local Coffee Shop - Five Years of Follow Coffee Co
Ballymena is a fairly unremarkable Co. Antrim Town, better known for its dedication to the DUP than for its coffee establishments. You may know it as the town of Ian Paisley Jr. famous for his father and being the first ever MP subject to a recall petition. You may even know it as the “Drugs Capital of the North.”
Follow Coffee Co. is an independently owned café that, as far as I know, popped up on a pedestrianised shopping street in the shadow of the Tower Centre in Ballymena’s town centre at some stage in 2014. The glass shop front is framed with bright yellow paint and criss-crossed with metal panes, splitting both the sunlight in summer months and streetlights in the dark days of Christmas. To the left side of the building’s centre lies a heavy glass door, the geometric logo of the shop sitting front and centre above it, and illustrated in frosted glass to it’s side.
(Image Credit: Debbie Murray (insta @/followcoffee)
Inside, the design is fresh and modern, a stark and yet refreshing contrast to the traditional appearance of the town outside that has remained largely unchanged in my lifetime. Further contrast is shown on the very ground itself; wooden floors on one side, industrial concrete on the other. The stairs and two sides of the shop are bridged with diamond plate, further consolidating the image; and acknowledging the towns manufacturing history. The balcony of the top floor overlooks the entry way and provides the perfect spot for peoplewatching. At the far side of the café lies the counter, with pastries, buns, a giant blackboard, decorated with the ever-evolving lunch menu off to one side and a big, beautiful coffee machine there to greet you.
At some stage between Follow Coffee’s opening and today, my name has become synonymous with coffee drinking. Trust me, the word ‘coffee’ features in no less than five different people’s yearbook comments about me. It’s not that I’m blaming the place or anything, but when it opened, I didn’t even drink coffee.
SIX RECOMMENDATIONS FROM FOLLOW(one for each year hehe)
- Raspberry Hot Chocolate
- Hot Chocolate
- Mocha
- Iced Hazelnut Latte
- Hazelnut Latte
- The smoothie that has mango in it
My friends and I stumbled upon follow accidentally once when out of data and waiting for the 5.45pm 150 bus home. This was the epitome of life as a thirteen-year old in rural Ireland. The place had good, affordable hot chocolate and free wi-fi, and the girlsTM were bored. It was perfect. What more could we ever have asked for?
Before too long, I had convinced my dad and sister to ditch the usual chain coffee places and come to Follow with me. Luckily enough, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree and so they had the same love for the place that I do, the same love for independent coffee shops in general. Somewhat unsurprisingly, they fell in love. My GCSE years were upon me and I was spending more and more time in town. Honestly, I was spending more time awake and thus, the thriving caffeine dependency today was born. My Saturdays would usually involve a trip to Follow, I would bring schoolwork and stay for hours at a time, hiding myself in one of the upstairs booths and work away. The pressure of a public environment somehow always made me work harder and better.
The group of friends that I had found the place with soon imploded, as groups of young teenage girls so often do. But I didn’t mind, my newfound love for the place transcended those people, and after everything I still had so much respect for those girls. By that stage, I had befriended the Barista’s. After all, I had spent enough time bothering them at work with the intricate details of my life problems, and they were so kind and so like me that I just naturally made friends with them. Some of those friendships have even lasted to this day (more on that later).
When fifth year rolled around, I had become so disenfranchised with school, I started looking into sixth form options in town. When it became apparent that staying at my old school was no longer an option, I decided on St Louis Grammar. A brilliant school which offered me an escape from the people giving me grief, the opportunity to study the subjects I wanted and a town centre school environment, all just a twelve-minute walk away from Follow.
The winter of fifth year also was when I met my first ever boyfriend; and went on my first ever date. No prizes for guessing where that date was. Much alike the girlsTMmentioned earlier, that relationship crashed and burned. But Follow was always my place, is always going to be my place. Surely those experiences only helped to solidify it.
Sixth Form at St Louis was the best two years of my life. I have no hesitations in saying that. It was wonderful, beautiful, incredible, and yet stressful beyond belief. Because I have no common-sense AT ALL, I decided to start lower sixth off with four new a-levels, a new relationship, all these new friends … and … yet again, no surprises… a new job.
Being a Barista was always a bit of a dream of mine. I already had such a strong rapport with so many of Follow’s staff and regular customers (being one myself), from the outside, it seemed like the perfect contrast to the high stress lifestyle of sixth form at ‘’Northern Ireland’s top grammar.’’
Are you seeing a trend developing here? That plan went horribly wrong. I loved working at follow, but I was 16, a little baby. I was so stressed and had so much going on and so I only lasted a matter of months. But still; Follow had housed my first ever date and now my first ever job - Two of the most defining experiences of my teenage years. The place was becoming a second home to me. This was only further solidified by my new school, just twelve minutes away.
After quitting my job at follow, I started to study there from 3.30 to 5.30 a couple of times a week. It was a little treat, a friendly set of faces. The same people I’d been complaining to for years, but with even more substance this time. They knew all about my studies, after all, they were the reason I had left. My former colleagues had experienced the start of sixth form by my side. I studied there waiting on the same 150 bus I had been waiting on when I first found the place, all those years previously.
In lower sixth, I unsuccessfully ran for the UK Youth Parliament. The results for this came through when I was having my usual iced hazelnut latte and cry over a-levels in follow. The following summer, I sat the UKCAT, achieving a * slightly * better than average score, at the time I sat this, I didn’t know it would be better than average at all, the first people to hear all about it, and most other aspects of my University application were the staff of Follow. After passing my driving test in the winter of my Upper Sixth year, my first ever successful parallel park was on a street perpendicular to Follow, on a frosty February evening. Throughout that school year, I would consistently have to attend various mandatory revision classes for my three-surviving a-level subjects and the many resits I had reluctantly gotten myself into. Follow became a solace. The calm in the midst of the seemingly constant storm of a-levels. My former best work friend, simply became a best friend of mine. She got herself a house, became a real adult right in front of me. She was pursuing her passion for photography, doing incredibly well for herself. Then I got into medical school. Eventually.
In September 2019, I moved away. All I had ever wanted was right in front of me, a one-way plane ticket out of Northern Ireland and a place to study medicine.
For three months, I’ve been carving out a little life for myself in Lancaster. I have my own place, I am, slowly but surely, becoming a real adult. I am a far cry from the scared thirteen-year old that landed in that coffee shop desperately seeking wi-fi. Though somehow, almost a year after passing my driving test, I’m right back waiting for somewhat questionable bus services again. The 150 has turned into the dreaded 100. St Louis’ is but a happy-rose tinted memory. Lancaster Medical School has replaced the dreaded long days and mandatory revision classes with -perhaps- even more dreaded 6.30pm lectures and mandatory Problem Based Learning presentations.
Oddly enough, I am very single, and very unemployed, and truly very happy about it. This time in my life is as formative as those times I’ve been reflecting on. Even more so maybe.
But I’d be lying if I said everything in my new life in England is perfect. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and the latest development in me and Follow Coffee Co’s story is our long-distance phase. I miss it dearly, the familiarity it gave me throughout sixth form, the distinctive abrupt yet friendly nature of its Ballymena clientele. But it will always be there to welcome me home. It better be.
It took leaving for me to realise that you rarely find a place that means as much to you as Follow means to me, and that Starbucks and Costa rarely can give you the wealth of life experience of your favourite independent coffee shop. I have sat at every table in the place. Cried at most of them, over anything and everything from University rejections, to tiny irrelevant fights with strangers on the internet. I know every crevice of the tables, floors and skirting boards. I’ve even accidentally mopped the concrete floor and faceplanted it in my time.
Ballymena has many flaws, but it’s character and community is unmatched. No place illustrates that better to me than this. Go, visit your local independent coffee establishment. Maybe even get a job. You never know who you’ll meet, or what you’ll learn. This world is a beautiful place. Hell - Even Ballymena is.
#coffee#follow#northernireland#ballymena#modern#independent#independent coffee#jobs for teens#barista
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So I recently moved cross-country
I did this with the help of my family and partners, but I moved by myself. Or, well, just me and my cat. All for the sake of some dumb graduate program, I moved three thousand miles from New York City to San Francisco.
I knew almost no one here when I arrived. Finding housing caused multiple breakdowns and a loss of faith in humanity. Furnishing my new apartment seemed a monumental task on its own. And then I started classes.
Graduate school, if you’re wondering, is incredibly hard. I’ve had weeks where I had almost a thousand pages of reading. I have projects worth 20% of my grade that make no fucking sense. Even if the standard weren’t so high already, my own standards for myself already are.
Some days I was so homesick I felt like I might puke. Some days I wanted to give up entirely. Most days I’m so lonely my mind is like a dark echo chamber.
I struggled through, and was finally convinced to find a therapist. The process took nearly six weeks. And in that time, something worse happened.
My cousin killed himself. And yes. We were close.
There was no immediate funeral and plane tickets were expensive. So I stayed. I stayed and grieved alone. I stayed and swung half-heartedly at my mountain of homework. I got lots of support from some people who love me, but others showed how little they really cared.
I’m telling you, the vast expanse of the internet, all of this, because almost none of you know me personally, and I’m tired of keeping things to myself. I kept trying to push through. I kept thinking I was exaggerating the difficulty and the pain. Tried to convince myself that the pain didn’t matter because I had things to do. Belittled myself and what I was going through.
It has come to my attention recently that those three things: moving a great distance (alone), beginning higher education, and losing a loved one, are all, by themselves, major uhpeaval events in a person’s life. Each is unimaginably challenging on its own. And that I’ve gone through them all in the space of four months and I’m not calling it quits says quite a lot.
We are, very often, stronger than we believe. More resilient than we imagine. More resourceful and intelligent and determined than perhaps many people have told us we are.
Anyway, if you are also struggling or also lonely or just want to say hi, I would love a few extra friends. I’m trying to remember to reach out to people.
And if I start using my tumblr as a diary, then who the fuck is gonna stop me?
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House Of Spirits: A Haunted Cocktail Soirée is a true original, unlike anything else we have experienced in Halloween 2019. Though the name would suggest a themed popup bar, House of Spirits is quite a bit more than that. It incorporates eclectic elements: performance, immersive experience, interactive costume party, and even haunted house walk-through. However, in the end, House of Spirits is none of those things but rather its own unique combination.
The premise is that you are attending a party in a house cursed by the macabre art of a grieving painter, created in the final desperate days of his life, which opened a portal not to his lost love but to dark realms whose denizens now haunt the premises, blighting all who live there. How closely you encounter these beings depends on which activities you choose to participate in, the sheer variety of which is guaranteed to satisfy the cravings of even the most omnivorous Halloween enthusiasts.
House Of Spirits Halloween Review: Ghost Ship on Land?
House of Spirits is set in the mansion that used to house Delusion Interactive Theatre.
House Of Spirits: A Haunted Cocktail Soirée is the creation of Meyer 2 Meyer Entertainment, whose personnel formerly ran the Los Angeles Haunted Hayride and currently produce Rated R: A Horror Speakeasy. House of Spirits might sound like juiced-up version of the latter, rebranded and moved to a new location for Halloween, but it actually has more in common with a nearly forgotten one-shot that the Haunted Hayride creators produced in 2011: Ghost Ship.
Ghost Ship was not a hit with the public; it was a great idea that failed to live up to its potential, offering a three-level experience – one for each deck aboard harbor cruise yacht, with ghostly hosts and entertainers on the main deck, a show on the upper deck, and a scary maze on the lower deck. The problem was twofold: the yacht did not provide a sufficiently spooky setting, and it was impossible to fit enough entertainment into its hull to fill the ninety-minute cruise.
House of Spirits takes this clever template and ingeniously applies it to an ominous mansion* in the West Adams neighborhood of Los Angeles, bringing to fruition everything that Ghost Ship sought to achieve. With the atmosphere and square footage Ghost Ship lacked, this magnificent venue houses an amazing three-level event in and around the building. On the ground floor, guests can mingle with their ghoulish host and hostess, listen to music, watch a puppet show, and imbibe a half-dozen cocktails (included with the price of admission). Upstairs, there is a strange sort of scavenger hunt of a most morbid nature. And in the basement are not one but two scare experiences. Additionally, there are gathering places outdoors, along with a strange little hovel where you will learn the secret responsible for the curse upon the haunted house.
Add it all up, and House of Spirits provides multifarious forms of malevolent entertainment nook and cranny of its haunted house – more than enough to justify the recommended two-hour stay.
House Of Spirits Halloween Review: Arrival
An outdoor lounge where guests relax before their appointed entrance time.
House Of Spirits: A Haunted Cocktail Soirée offers two arrival times on weeknights and three on weekends: 6:30pm, 9pm, and 11:30pm. It is not necessary to arrive precisely on time, but it’s a good idea if you want to see everything. The event can be crowded, with a line on the sidewalk to get through the security search and another line in the front yard to validate tickets.
If you happen to get in before your appointed time, there is a “lounge” (a small mobile bar beneath an awning, with some limited seating), where you can wait. This is one of two cash bars on the outside grounds, where you can pay for drinks above and beyond the half-dozen that come included with admission.
Eventually, you ghoulish host, Raul, shows up and fills you in on whatever details you need to know about the “party” he is throwing inside the house, whetting your anticipation with a promise of drunken revelry on the main floor and terrifying demonic encounters in the basement.
Perhaps most important, you receive a punch card for the six bars inside the house, where you will spend most of the ensuing two hours. Though it is easy to overlook in the excitement of the night’s debauchery, this card includes suggestions and questions that will assist your exploration of the mysteries haunting the House of Spirits.
House Of Spirits Halloween Review: Ground Floor
On this level, spirits both ectoplasmic and alcoholic flow freely, creating a gay and magnificent revel, with the help of six bars offering free drinks. Both Raul’s wife and his mistress float about, engaging their party guests in conversation and dropping suggestions about what parts of the house they may wish to explore. There is no preferred order to the evening’s diversions and delights, but there are lines to get both upstairs and downstairs, so it’s a good idea to divide your time wisely.
An invisible hand answers your questions.
Pastimes on the ground floor include a giant ouija board, with a planchette moved by an invisible hand spelling out answers in responses to spoken questions. (Sadly, the ghost’s identify seems to be that of Anton, the hosts’ recently deceased child.) There is an out-of-tune piano, but we wouldn’t recommend playing it, since there is entertaining live music in the next room from a variety of performers, on electric guitar or accordion.
Best of all is the macabre puppet show, in a small room just off the main entrance. While a ghoul-faced narrator recites grim and grisly ghost stories, two sinister puppeteers – their dark, skull-like visages almost invisible against the black backdrop behind them – enact the action, the movement of the puppets enhanced with novel sound effects: liquid poured from a cocktail shaker to simulate vomit, a plastic bottle crushed to simulate broken bones. Don’t miss your chance to enjoy at least one of these short performances.
This malevolent mistress of the house invites you inside.
Party Guests
Great party, isn’t it?
House Of Spirits: A Haunted Cocktail Soirée Halloween Review
Out of tune piano
Your Ghostly Hostess
Ghostly Accordion Player
Your Ghostly Hostess
House Of Spirits Halloween Review: Macabre Artists Named Francisco
Goya’s Saturn Devours His Son
There is one more important element of the ground floor presentation. In the gruesome Goya Gallery, art lovers may peruse a handful of disturbing canvases, such as Saturn Devouring His Son, one of fourteen “Black Paintings” created by Francisco Goya (1746-1828) during the final years of his life – a series which also included “Witches’ Sabbath.”
Though not on display here, one of Goya’s most famous works is The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters (1799), which depicts a sleeping artist tormented tormented by nightmarish visions of bats and owls, as if these apparitions will soon enter our world via the medium of the artist – a theme evoked in the back story of House of Spirits, which seems loosely inspired by Goya’s “Black Paintings.”
However, when you leave the ground floor to explore upstairs, you will learn that the artist whose work doomed the House of Spirits is Francisco Vega – not the renowned Spanish painter Francisco Preciado de la Vega (1713-1789) but a fictional character whose work was even more demented than that of Goya.
House Of Spirits Halloween Review: Upstairs
The staircase leads to a bizarre scavenger hunt.
On the second floor, a servant will inform you of the final, fateful days of Francisco Vega, who crafted six ghastly canvases shortly before his death. These Spirit Paintings, on display, contain clues to Six Keys, which may unlock the mystery of the House of Spirits.
After perusing the small gallery of horrors, you explore six rooms, each inhabited by someone or something depicted by the artist. These spectral phantoms (including a ghastly pregnant woman hoovering over crib containing a tiny skeleton- presumably Anton) may aid your in your search, but they will demand that you perform unpleasant actions to retrieve the keyes (reaching into bathwater for a rib bone is the least of it).
Some keys may not be easy to find, but if you persist in your quest, you will succeed, whereupon you deliver them to a strange character who marks you with a cryptic insignia on your hand or forehead, initiating you into the elite of the households inhabitants. Exactly what “benefits” accrue from this are unclear, but you may be sure they are of a nefarious nature.
Vega’s paintings hold clues to the Six Keys.
Expect to meet this creature in the flesh.
House Of Spirits Halloween Review: The Basement
After the upstairs scavenger hunt, there is nowhere to go but down – into the basement – where the true terrors lurk.
There are two attractions in the basement, each with its own entrance. One is a brief and eerie pantomime performance depicting Vega – deranged and eventually nude – creating his final work, a life-sized painting that opens a portal enabling a visitor from the other side to enter the earthly plane. Is this being angel or demon or neither? The answer to that question can be found elsewhere.
The second descent into darkness is the closest House of Spirits comes to offering a haunted house walk-through. Groups of half-a-dozen or so party guests are given mirrors and instructions to stand in pools of dim light, chanting “Molly Magpie, Molly Magpie, how did you die?”
This ritual extinguishes the light, allowing some denizen of darkness to manifest; then another pool of light appears, farther along, drawing your group deeper into the basement, where the ritual is repeated, again and again, each time with nightmarish results. There terrors invoked are all the more disturbing because they have materialized at your bidding, and the demons are not necessarily happy to answer your call.
Both experiences are delicious creepy, evincing the sort of demented artistry one used to see at the L.A. Haunted Hayride – less crude shock than carefully choreographed grotesquerie.
House Of Spirits Halloween Review: Exterior
The Mystery Solved
Exiting either basement attraction leads to the outside grounds, where you will find a second cash bar, a food vendor, and the Garden of Anguish, where you can relax among strange flora before reentering the House of Spirits.
Most important is a small hovel, easy to overlook in the darkness. An attendant should be outside to explain why you should explore its interior.
The entrance leads down to a confined space where you will see the pages of Francisco Vega’s diary projected on the wall, detailing the anguish that drove him to create his final sextet of uncanny masterworks and revealing the true nature of the being he inadvertently unleashed upon our world, dooming all future inhabitants of the House of Spirits.
House Of Spirits Halloween Review: Cocktails
Great party, isn’t it?
Six Spirit Paintings, Six Keys, Six Cocktails.
A key ingredient to the success of House of Spirits is the half-dozen miniature drinks included with admission. Guests receive one free drink at each bar inside the house, a bartender punching your card at each stop.
Offerings range from Goya’s Ghost (ginger, black currant, fire bitters, orange bitters) to Magpie (passion fruit puree, lime, agave, grapefruit, bitters. Each drink features a product by Don Julio, with guests choosing one of two options, such as tequila or vodka.
Though individually small, the creepy cocktails are collectively intoxicating, altering human consciousness to a level where it is more open to the contact with the spirit realm. By the end of the evening, contact with ghosts will seem like the norm.
Creepy Cocktails
Creepy Cocktails
Creepy Cocktails
Creepy Cocktails
House Of Spirits Halloween Review: conclusion
In case you have yet to unravel the mystery at the heart of this review, we had a supernaturally grand experience at House Of Spirits: A Haunted Cocktail Soirée. The $65 price tag may seem steep, but it is actually a bargain in terms of cost-benefit ratio. The myriad elements excel on their own terms, combining to form an amazing Halloween event unlike any other.
Footnote:
This is the same location used by Delusion Interactive Theatre on several occasions.
House Of Spirits: A Haunted Cocktail Soirée (Review) House Of Spirits: A Haunted Cocktail Soirée is a true original, unlike anything else we have experienced in Halloween 2019.
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Six of the best museums in the USA to celebrate Veteran's Day
When it comes to honoring the men and women who have served in the United States military, there's no better way than learning some of the history and their stories.
The U.S. has a wealth of incredible history museums, but I've chosen these six that I've personally visited within the last few years, to recommend as top places to immerse yourself in military/war history, learn their stories and commemorate our veterans.
The National WWII Museum - New Orleans, Louisiana
I just visited this incredible museum earlier this week. Since its opening in 1991, this has been the preeminent collection focusing on World War II history; in fact, it's been designated by Congress as the official WWII museum of the United States. Located in downtown New Orleans on a six-acre campus, five soaring pavilions house historical exhibits, on-site restoration work, a period dinner theater, and restaurants. The museum tells the story of the American experience in the war that changed the world—why it was fought, how it was won, and what it means today—so that all generations will understand the price of freedom and be inspired by what they learn. They do this through immersive exhibits, multimedia experiences, and an expansive collection of artifacts and first-person oral histories, taking visitors inside the story of the war that changed the world. If you go, do not miss the film Beyond All Boundaries. Narrated by Tom Hanks, this is a 4D experience that fully engages all your senses and emotions through the United States' participation in the war. INFO: 945 Magazine Street, New Orleans, LA 70130 www.nationalww2museum.org/visit [email protected] 504-528-1944
National Museum of the Pacific War - Fredericksburg, Texas
Just an hour and a half west of Austin, this recently expanded museum in the charming town of Fredericksburg (a great place to spend a fun weekend!) extensively covers everything to do with the Pacific Theater of World War II. Discover the human story of WWII in the Pacific in more than 55,000 square feet of exhibit space spread over three galleries located on six acres in the heart of Fredericksburg, Texas. The National Museum of the Pacific War is the only museum in the continental U.S. solely dedicated to telling the story of WWII in the Pacific. Spanning six acres and more than 55,000 square feet, the National Museum of the Pacific War through multiple galleries, Nimitz Education & Research Center, Plaza of Presidents, Japanese Garden of Peace and a memorial courtyard. There's also an incredible outdoor live-action living history amphitheater, where reenactments take place seven times a year (tickets are separate from the museum and are recommended to be purchased online ahead of time, as they often sell out). I just visited this museum a couple of weeks ago for the third time, and got a tour of the living history theater and its educational program, which is quite impressive. INFO: 340 E Main St, Fredericksburg, TX 78624 www.pacificwarmuseum.org/visit/ (830) 997-8600
Pearl Harbor National Memorial - Honolulu, Hawaii
If you find yourself on the beautiful island of Oahu, you won't want to miss a visit to the Pearl Harbor memorial, which commemorates the attack by the Japanese on December 7, 1941 that launched the United States into WWII. I visited this site last year, and here you can not only learn of the history of Pearl Harbor, the invasion and the war; but you can even take a boat tour that departs from the site and takes visitors out into the harbor to view some of the sunken battleships and memorial markers for the ships that were sank, and the thousands of lives lost, on that fateful morning. View my full post about Pearl Harbor here. INFO: 1845 Wasp Blvd. Bldg. 176 Honolulu, HI 96818 www.nps.gov/valr/planyourvisit/index.htm (808) 422-3399
The National D-Day Memorial - Bedford, Virginia
This museum and memorial is dedicated entirely to D-Day, the June 6, 1944 Allied invasion of Germany-occupied France along the Normandy coast that was the largest amphibious military operation in history. It also was the turning point in the war for Germany's ultimate defeat. This memorial is especially meaningful to me because of a personal connection; my grandfather, E.F. Smith, Jr, was one of those soldiers in Operation Overlord (as the D-Day series of invasions was called). His unit went on to liberate St-Lo, and then to the famous Battle of Mortain, where my grandfather was captured by the Germans. He spent the rest of the war in a POW camp in East Germany until the Russians liberated it.
One incredible local story, and why the memorial is located where in this town, is that of the "Bedford Boys." They consisted of 30 National Guard soldiers from Bedford who landed on the shores of Normandy on D-Day. By day's end, 19 Bedford soldiers were dead. Four more died later in the Normandy campaign. Proportionately, the town of Bedford, then about 3,200 residents, suffered the nation's most severe D-day losses. I actually wrote a story about this for the LA Times, which you can read here. INFO: 816 Burks Hill Road, Bedford, VA www.dday.org/visiting-info/ 800-351-DDAY
Yankee Air Museum - Belleville, Michigan
This Smithsonian-affiliated aerospace and science museum with rare historical aircraft ranging from World War I to the Vietnam era. The exhibits include hands-on interactive STEM exhibits, science-based camps, educational tours, unique aviation artifacts, and more. For me, this museum had two really unique, cool aspects that I particularly enjoyed.
First of all, this is home of the Willow Run bomber plant, built by Ford Motor Company to produce fighter planes for the Allies' war efforts. The factory was three-and-a-half million square feet — the largest factory under one roof in the world — and the assembly line was over a mile long. Willow Run began producing B-24 Liberator bomber planes, making one every 55 minutes. By the time the Allies declared victory on May 8, 1945 more than 86,000 airplanes had rolled off the assembly line. It's also the place where the iconic Rosie the Riveter worked — read my story about that here. Second, you can actually take a ride in an original WWII-era plane! This was one of my most thrilling visits to a museum anywhere in the world, and the only place where you can do something like this. INFO: 47884 D St. Belleville, MI 48111-1126 yankeeairmuseum.org/tickets-hours/ 734.483.4030
Smithsonian - Washington, D.C.
Last, but certainly not least, is the extensive collection of Smithsonian museums and institutes in our nation's capital. Particularly the National Air & Space Museum is great for Veterans Day and war history visitation, with its one-of-a-kind artifacts such as Flak-Bait, the only World War II bomber of its kind to retain the original insulating fabric panels lining the interior of the forward fuselage. They also pay homage to units like the 320th Barrage Balloon Battalion, the only unit that stormed the beach at Normandy on June 6, 1944, and was comprised entirely of African American soldiers.
The National Museum of American History also has exhibits about military history. INFO: 655 Jefferson Drive, SW Washington, DC 20560 https://airandspace.si.edu/visit 202-633-2214 Read the full article
#history#military#MuseumofthePacificWar#museums#NationalD-DayMemorial#NationalWWIIMuseum#PearlHarbor#Smithsonian#veteransday#worldwartwo#WWII#YankeeAirMuseum
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China Story Time II: Learn Programming and Epidemiology the Very Hard Way
I haven’t posted more than two installments of my promised series on Chinese historical linguistics and dialectology. In lieu of progress on it, please gather round the campfire and enjoy this entirely unrelated story about the time I taught the summer camp from hell in Shenzhen. (Dialectology tie-in: we once had a cabbie who only [?] spoke Canto.)
I wish to emphasize that this story has not been embellished.
Summer in China is a sultry and slow-paced affair for the private-school English teacher--you stop teaching seriously in late May, school gets out in late June, and you don’t have to be back until early September. Your pay is good enough that you’ve got savings to last you the summer, but you could always use a bit of spare cash. Unless your social situation is good, your isolation (and the weather) doesn’t help your work ethic too much. Your life is lived at tea houses, reading thinkpieces and books and procrastinating on writing more thinkpieces and working on your Mandarin and getting around to that damned monograph. (Alternative English-teacher mode: hit the bars prowling for locals who may or may not fit within the (n/2)+7 rule, demolish a couple of six-packs’ worth of alcohol, hit the hay at 2:30 in the morning, wake up at noon, repeat. I was luckily never this much of a degenerate.)
As in the US, the affluent Chinese parent often sends their offspring to summer camp for some educational enrichment and peace and quiet at home. So it was that a recruiter offered me, and another English teacher (we’ll call him...Nick) in Chengdu, the chance to earn 7000 kuai (~$1050) each teaching programming in Shenzhen. A class in the morning from 9-12, repeated from Monday to Friday, with a chance for a second week in Lu’an, Anhui. Plane tickets and accommodation included, other details vague. Technically illegal--you’re not supposed to do any work outside of the job sponsoring your visa--but nobody cares about summer camps.
To learn programming, the students (and we) are provided with little inch-by-inch-by-inch plastic cubes with wheels called “Pocket-bots” or something of the sort. These are actually rather nifty little gadgets. You connect to them with your phone or computer in a spacious computer lab (or so the brochures say) and click and drag instructions to create and run programs. E.g., you might tell the bot to go forward for 10 seconds at speed 10, then check to see if it was on white (rather than black) paper, and sing a little song if it is, then turn left and repeat. The software allowed you to do if-loops, for-loops, and while-loops at the very least, which is pretty good for small kids. Satisfied that we would have the equipment needed to teach the class, we packed our Pocket-bots and arrived in Shenzhen on a sticky, hot, sunny July morning.
Now, a word on Shenzhen. In 1978 when Deng took the wheel, Shenzhen was a sleepy little fishing village of thirty thousand people whose only interesting feature was that it was right next to Hong Kong. This made it perfect for the early-80s experiments in capitalism, and over the next four decades it exploded (it now has 12 million people and a standard of living on par with Western Europe). As a result of its early rise to wealth and power, it’s home to the first private school in China, founded 1994. However, private schools in China tend to be boarding schools, and boarding schools tend to be out away from the city center where land is cheap and distractions are relatively few.
So this place is in the middle of nowhere, or as close to the middle of nowhere as it’s possible to get in the Pearl River Delta. It’s surrounded by forested mountains (Guangdong is surprisingly hilly). It’s about 95 (35) degrees, humid as hell, and in direct sunlight--July, south of the Tropic of Cancer. We’re in the kids’ dorm rooms (luckily we each get our own private dorm room with a private, cold-running shower.) We drop our bags, wash up, and go meet the kids.
And it turns out that a fifth of them are Americans! You see, this wasn’t just a programming camp--it was also an English and cross-cultural experience camp. Approximately 15 high-school kids from Florida and California were being flown out, all expenses paid, to be big-brother/big-sister with the Chinese kids, who were in late elementary school. The chaperone (we’ll call her Margaret; in fact I can’t actually remember her name, but it definitely wasn’t Margaret), the mother of one of the kids, was thoroughly perplexed--but, hey, a free trip to China.
So Nick and I go and look at the teaching rooms (this is about one in the afternoon). These aren’t the sparkling, spacious computer labs we saw on the website, oh no. We have a couple of primary school classrooms no more than about five meters by six, with laughably tiny kindergartner-sized chairs and tables. There’s a smartboard, which we can barely get to run and which we can’t connect to our computers to show the programs the kids are supposed to run. There’s no free access to the wifi. Instead, we have to get our teaching assistants to put their login credentials on every single device that needs to connect to the wifi--and since you have to have wifi to connect to the robots, well. In other words, it’s going to be a s***show, and we’ve got five mornings of it ahead of us.
We know the inevitable talk/confrontation with our boss/program coordinator is going to be a disaster, so we leave for a few hours to try and find a six-pack of Tsingtao. Remember how I said this was in the middle of nowhere? It was in the middle of nowhere. We walk out of the gates for a full kilometer (possibly more; the road meandered, and the terrain was by no means flat) past construction sites and dense forest bordering on jungle until we finally, finally reach an air-conditioned convenience store nestled between auto-repair shops, low-rise tile-walled tenements, light industry and eight-kuai noodle parlors. (Those of you who have been outside of a major city center in China will know the kind of neighborhood I’m talking about--not dangerous, by any means (except for the traffic), but boring, sprawling and not overly prosperous.) But they have beer, and we knock back two each along with a good liter of water.
We have a chat with the supervisor at about 9 o’clock that evening while the kids are engaging in...god, I don’t even recall. I think the Chinese kids were in bed, while the Americans were playing cards and vidya. Now readers who have spent much time in China or with Chinese organizations will know that it is a faux pas in China to admit fault, and an even bigger faux pas to play hardball to get somebody to admit fault. The result, usually, is deflection--our supervisor didn’t know about any of this, it wasn’t her fault, she would ask her boss to try and improve things.
(I don’t wish to come across as too hard on Chinese culture here. I think this is really a situation where American and Chinese culture are doomed to clash, and clash badly. If you fuck up in the US, you’re supposed to admit fault and apologize, at least theoretically--deflection and white lies are infuriating on the receiving end and the natural reaction is to start tearing them apart to get an admission of contrition. In China, the convention is often that you tell a white lie or deflect to save face--and if the other person you’re talking to is Chinese, they’ll often accept that even if it’s not really believed. The result in Chinese-American communication can be an arms race, where the American will get ticked off at the deflection and perceived dishonesty and start playing hardball, which prompts more deflection. Looking back on it now, it was clear that trying to play hardball with our supervisor was pointless--we were never going to get good computer labs or WiFi, and the only thing to do was to figure out something to do. But knowing that we’d at least theoretically been hired to teach programming, we endeavoured to do our best. (Remember, between flying all the Americans over and the company’s profit, the Chinese parents were getting fleeced.) Nick had recently discovered the stern precepts of Jordan Peterson after catching herpes-type-2 (that’s the bad kind) of the mouth from a liaison with his dermatologist, and reminded me that it was our duty to do the best we could by the students.
Day one: Monday.
There are about 70-75 kids in the program between the Chinese and the Americans, so we have about 35 each at least in classrooms of about fifteen square meters, sitting on tiny little kindergarten chairs at tiny little kindergarten desks (not so much of a problem for the Chinese elementary-schoolers, much more uncomfortable for the American high-schoolers). Our teaching assistants spend most of their time in the back playing on their phones after they’ve set the WiFi on each device, which takes about an hour to get worked out. (Remember, three-hour class with a fifteen-minute break). Each room has an underpowered air conditioner which succeeds in reducing the temperature from the mid-30s C to the upper 20s (from about 92 to 78 in freedom degrees) if the windows are closed, at the cost of any breezes.
And we run into the first problem. Your device uses WiFi to connect automatically and effortlessly to a nearby Pocketbot. That’s not a problem when you’re in a spacious computer lab with ten other people and a strong signal. When you’re in a tiny little room with thirty-five other people and a network that wouldn’t have been out of place in the last years of the Clinton administration, well.
Some kids couldn’t connect to their bot at all. Others were controlling four robots at once with a single device. Some were able to stay connected through the session, others’ internet kept crapping out every ten minutes.
After an hour and twenty minutes of this, we call a twenty-minute break.
easternestablishmentarian: “What the fuck do we even do?”
Nick: “No idea. Start in on the basic ideas of programming. Have the teaching assistants translate.”
We do. The teaching assistants are not all that happy about having to play translator, particularly since their English isn’t very good and the concepts are, well, complicated! I had some success in doing the teacher-as-robot routine you see in intro programming classes, where you have to tell the teacher exactly what to do (Keep going! *teacher-bot crashes into wall*), and extended this up to about half past eleven by making it a group activity where the Chinese kids had to direct their American big-sibling robots around the room. We spent about another fifteen minutes trying to do something, anything, with the robots--remember, we couldn’t show our laptop screens on the smartboard, which didn’t work, so we had to draw the program with chalk. At about 11:45 we just call it quits and let them leave for lunch early.
Right after lunch (which, incidentally, was extremely strange--the cafeteria staff had been instructed to try to make some sort of Chinese-Western fusion, with results like spaghetti with both tomato and soy sauce. If only they’d just stuck to good local dishes, of which there are hundreds, but oh well...) we call an emergency meeting with Margaret.
Margaret: You guys aren’t going to bail on us, are you? I have no clue what’s going on.
Me: No, but it’s clear that there’s no way to do programming and the kids’ll hate it. Let’s just do a regular summer camp.
Later that day we go back out for more beer and sketch out a plan. We don’t have WiFi or devices worth a damn, so electronics are off. However, we do have a campus of at least twenty or thirty acres filled with small fields and six-story dorms and classrooms connected by a labyrinth of walkways. (During the school year, the school is home to about three thousand students, all boarding, so it’s the size of a couple city blocks at least.)
We call a meeting with our supervisor.
Nick: This isn’t working. We can’t do programming.
Supervisor: Well, do you have any other ideas?
Nick: We could do sports and games.
Supervisor: Oh, I think that will be wonderful!
(Nick, later: “How much are these parents paying again?”)
Day two: Tuesday.
We start with Sardines, which degenerates into chaotic hide-and-seek but keeps them occupied for a good hour and a half. The teaching assistants are sent to look for athletic equipment like basketballs, which they’re not too happy about. Midway through break we run out of cups.
Us: “It’s 35 degrees outside and we don’t have enough water. There are only two water dispensers for 80 people and no more cups.”
Teaching assistant: “Oh, well, we didn’t know we would run out. I don’t know where the water is, maybe they can bring some tomorrow.”
Us: *sigh*
We discover that some air-conditioned buses (dlory! dlory! hallelujah!) stop right in front of the school and run towards a major commercial center. We go out for hotpot.
Nick: “So, fun fact--I’m actually on a spousal visa. I married a local chick for visa purposes.”
Me: “Huh.”
Nick: “Yeah, we divorced, but the immigration department doesn’t have access to divorce records and my visas’s still valid. Can’t technically work on it, though.”
Day three: Wednesday.
Capture the Flag, followed by semi-structured time in which the Americans are divided into groups, assigned Chinese students, and instructed to create activities. We run out of cups again.
Nick: *drinking straight from the water dispenser tap*
Me: “Didn’t you say you caught...”
Nick: “Shut up, easternestablishmentarian.”
Me: “...”
Me: “There are seventy-five kids here.”
Nick: “Just shut up.”
I buy my own personal supply of bottled water that afternoon. He did agree to only fill up a bottle from that point onwards.
Us: “Supervisor, please tell us--will there be WiFi when one of us teaches programming with the robots in Lu’an in Anhui?”
Supervisor: “Oh, uh, I don’t know, I am not going to Anhui.”
Us: “Please find out.”
Day four: Thursday.
It being sunny and slightly cooler, we take the kids on a hike through a back trail that goes by a farm and into the woods. Guangdong proves to be home to some terrifyingly large arthropods, none of which are aggressive.
After lunch, we debate who will go on to Lu’an. Nick makes a good case for needing the money, so I cede it (in part because Anhui is a notoriously boring and underdeveloped province, and Lu’an is only its second- or third-biggest city).
Us: “So, supervisor, please tell us.”
Supervisor: “Oh, yes, there is no WiFi for the summer camp in Anhui, I asked.”
Us: “But Nick’s going to be teaching robots again?”
Supervisor: “Well, maybe he can also teach something else, like English, but yes, it’s a robot camp.”
Us: “But you need WiFi to work with the robots.”
Supervisor: “Oh, I’m not the supervisor in Anhui, just here in Shenzhen, so I didn’t know.”
Day five: Friday.
After a laughably pointless closing ceremony, we collect our paychecks (in cash) and head into Shenzhen, where Nick tries to send it out.
Bank teller: “So, uh, what are you doing in China?”
Nick: “I’m visiting family, it’s a spousal visa.”
Bank teller: “OK, so I don’t think this is possible, you have the tax form?” (note: this is quite common for foreigners, even those on legal visas--foreigners’ money has all sorts of systems and regulations surrounding it that most bank tellers don’t know how to handle (because there are so few foreigners), and to avoid losing face they will often just tell you that it’s not possible to do what you want to do.)
At this point, I’m starting to shake my head furiously in Nick’s direction--get us out of here before they start asking questions about where this money came from and call immigration. After two hours, we give up.
Me: “You could have gotten us deported.”
Nick: “Nah, man, they’re just clueless bank tellers.”
I fly back to Chengdu the following day seven thousand kuai richer, while Nick hangs on until Sunday and then flies to Lu’an with the Americans, where another group of Chinese kids get their parents fleeced for robots that don’t work (though, as he told it, things worked out fine, kind of.) The kids, incidentally, were great about the whole incident--the Chinese kids I think in part because their lives are so structured that just getting to run around was a breath of fresh air for them. The Americans were fairly willing to work around the absurdity. Nobody got deported and nothing’s appeared in the news about an epidemic of the sort of disease that schoolchildren aren’t supposed to get.
So we come to the moral of the story, children: all’s well that ends well, and buy your own water.
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Wanderlust: Castle on the Hill -- Bughead (Chapter 9)
Word Count: 6,322
Rated: E
A/N: Approaching the final few chapters, I really hope you enjoy this chapter because I know I enjoyed writing it! In another post I want to talk more about my time in Alnwick and post more pictures. I really felt a strong connection to this chapter. It’s also the longest chapter of the series! Enjoy! (Read on AO3)
(Previous Chapter) (Next Chapter Coming Soon)
Church bells chimed through Edinburgh when they stepped off the bus that Sunday morning. All six of the weary travelers shuffled along quietly toward yet another hostel. What's really only been a few weeks feels like a year after all of the planes and trains they've been on.
Veronica's phone was shouting out directions as they zigzagged through the hilly streets of the Scottish city. Finally they passed a row of blue residences, with a sign for the Cowgate Hostel hanging above the lobby. Again, Veronica handled checking in, offering up her passport as her ID.
"Okay, so you're in apartment ninety-two, just two doors down on your left when you go outside." The front deskperson pointed in that general direction. Flat number three is on the first floor and you are in room two. This code will get you into the apartment, the round key into your flat, and the square key will go directly to your room. How many keys?"
"Three will be fine." Veronica tucked her passport back into her purse.
"That will be thirty pounds deposit that will be returned upon the checkout when you turn in your keys."
"Shit, does anyone have cash?" Veronica looked helplessly back at Betty.
Betty rolled her eyes, but pulled the money from her purse and passed it along.
"I am going to sleep for hours. Might as well just write today off completely…" Jughead mumbled so only Betty could hear him. Veronica led them to the small room lined with six bunks. A few of them were occupied by various individuals. "You didn't have anything planned, right?"
"Just general wandering that can be squeezed in over the next day and a half after today. But I'm warning you, my Harry Potter tour starts here."
"Here, in this dingy hostel?"
"Here, as in, in Edinburgh. You know J.K. Rowling wrote the books here."
"Save the podcast lecture you're about to give me for tomorrow. I'm too tired to fully absorb the knowledge right now."
"Did you just imply that I lecture you?" Betty scowled as Jughead claimed the top bunk for his suitcase. He gestured for Betty's bags as well and set them up alongside his.
"Forgive me if my lack of sleep last night has made me grumpy."
Jughead sat heavily on the lower bunk and discarded his shoes almost immediately. He had tucked himself under the covers before Betty could even reach up to remove her ponytail.
"Are you gonna come cuddle me, or am I gonna have to beg?"
"Hold your horses, drama queen…" Betty tossed her shoes next to Jughead's and sat down. She pulled the curtain that hung across the bunk before letting Jughead pull her to his side. She allowed her head to rest over his heart. His fingers found her hair, tugging slightly so her chin tipped up toward him.
"I love you." Jughead whispered against her lips.
"I love you, too."
"Goodnight." His lips moved to her hair when Betty cuddled against his shoulder.
"It's still morning."
"Semantics…" He yawned. He didn't elaborate and in only a few moments his breathing slowed and his grip relaxed. Betty found herself drifting off as well, falling into the rhythm of his breaths.
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"So what's the significance of this café?" Cheryl asked. "I do love the color though."
The sign read "The Elephant Café" and was painted bright red. On a Monday morning, there was a line of tourists and locals in front of the glass pastry cases, ordering up coffees for the start of the work week or a day of sightseeing.
"This is where J.K. Rowling wrote much of Harry Potter." Betty replied.
"Today isn't going to be some Harry Potter fangirl tour, is it?" Cheryl fixed Betty with a withering look.
"No, in fact this is the only Harry Potter related place that I know of in Edinburgh."
"Oh, thank God."
Betty bought their morning coffees with two crisp twenty pound notes. From the table they were given at the back of the café, they could see Edinburgh Castle perched precariously on top of a cliff. Large and imposing, Jughead already had his camera out before they were even seated.
Betty laid out her phone with the notes screen open for her friends to see. Listed in bullet points, she showed them their tentative itinerary for the day. Elephant House, check. Next up, a walk up Princes Street to Edinburgh castle.
"And then we've got tickets for the theater tonight at seven and you'll be happy to know that we'll have time to go to the club across the street from the hostel when we get back."
"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Reggie exclaimed. "I mean I'm down for the play or whatever, but a club just a few steps from where I'm sleeping will be such a life saver."
"And we're lucky there are no canals for you to jump into this time, buddy." Jughead supplied, patting him on the back. "And damn I wish I'd been there to see that."
"Hey man, you were too busy getting frisky with Betty." Reggie punched his shoulder. "I can respect that."
"For your information, we only kissed that night. You and that dirty canal water passed more bases that night."
Reggie shrugged, but threw a wink in Betty's direction. Her cheeks flared up of their own accord, wondering what Reggie saw when he saw the two of them together. Then, Jughead put his hand on her knee and she realized that she didn't care what he thought.
"Somehow this conversation is both sappy and dirty." Veronica set her empty mug on the table top and dabbed the whipped cream from her lip. "Let's continue this conversation on the way to the castle. I want Jughead's magical camera on me when we get there."
"I think Betty's got that position taken." Archie nudged her, taking her hand as they made their way out of the café toward Princes Street.
"I don't mind sharing the camera if Jughead doesn't." Betty replied.
"Just answer me one thing, if the camera is magical does that make me a wizard?" Jughead teased.
Veronica glanced over her should at him as they passed a street performer. "I feel like if I say no you're going to revoke your agreement to be my personal photographer so I'm going to say yes. Grand Wizard Jughead Jones!"
"That's what I like to hear." Jughead grinned.
It was a sunny day, hardly a cloud in sight. Those that did cross the sky were like cotton balls, carefully placed there by a higher power. If there was one thing other than Betty that Jughead's camera was drawn to, it was a good set of fluffy clouds. In the foreground the Scottish flag and the Union Jack fluttered in the wind. Further on, a church steeple took the place of the flags, then finally… the castle itself at the top of the hill.
When they'd passed the ticket gate, Betty ran ahead. She was practically prancing when she reached the waist height wall separating them from a deadly drop. She threw her head back over her shoulder, her ponytail flying out. Jughead didn't see anything else. He saw nothing but the grin on her face. Click.
Overcome with a sudden urge, he reached out for her waist and pulled her into his chest. His lips found hers in a warm, wet, passionate kiss. He felt completely overwhelmed with the intense love he felt for this woman who, only a month ago, he hadn't even met yet.
"What was that for?" Betty asked, breathless, when he finally pulled away.
"I just love you…" He took her hand and brought it to his lips. "…like a lot. Yeah, I love you a lot."
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Hours later, after exploring the cobblestone courtyards of the Edinburgh Castle and the Crown Jewels of Scotland locked up in a tower, they left the extravagant Festival Theatre. Betty was still humming along to "Chitty chitty bang bang" as they walked back to their hostel. Even on a Monday, the music from the club was still loud enough for them to hear in their room. They stayed only long enough to change out of their theater clothes and into more club appropriate garb.
Cheryl hiked up a red mini skirt before pulling off the black dress she'd been wearing that day. This left her with only a bandeau covering her chest. Veronica's outfit had more fabric but was no less revealing. A lace crop over dark, purple bralette. Archie and Reggie, from their respective spots on their beds, watched the girls with interest.
Betty, however, pulled her hair out of its ponytail and ditched her light cardigan, knowing the heat and sweat that waited inside the club.
" Okay, Betty my darling…" Veronica slung her purse over her shoulder and snatched Betty's hand. "Tonight, we are getting you wasted."
"Oh, I don’t think…"
"And therein lies the problem." Cheryl took her other hand and all but yanked her out the door. "You think too much. Jughead, we're relying on you to get her to loosen up."
Jughead took over Cheryl and Veronica's spot, holding her waist as he walked close behind her. "We'll get something loosened up."
They could hardly hear their own voices when they entered the club. Jughead ordered something pink and bubbly for her, and a glass of dark liquor for himself. There was a large, cushioned booth in the corner where the girls dropped their purses. Cheryl and Veronica already on the dance floor. Betty dropped into the seat with her drink, taking a long sip.
The booze went down hot, the burn making her cough. "What is this?"
Jughead sat down next to her. "Vodka cran… double shot."
"Double?"
"You said order whatever." Jughead smirked. "And I may have been hoping you'd, how did Reggie put it… get a little frisky tonight."
Slowly, she let her hand move from his knee to his thigh. Lips moved to his so she could be sure that he would hear every word she said.
"You don't have to get me drunk to get me frisky." She slid her hand up further. "You just have to kiss me like you did this morning."
That was all the invitation he needed. Jughead pressed Betty back into the seat, his hands coming up to her neck. He loved the skin there, soft and smooth… he could feel her heartbeat quicken when he deepened the kiss.
Reluctantly, Jughead pulled back.
"Why?" Betty breathed.
"I just want to finish my drink… so we can dance and not worry about leaving them behind."
"And here I thought you didn't dance." Betty teased. She took a long swig of her drink, almost emptying the glass.
"With you, I'll dance."
Betty and Jughead both finished their drinks in record time and Jughead pulled her by the waist onto the dance floor. Their bodies moved in sync to the music, pressed so close together that Betty could feel every part of her boyfriend pressed against her back.
Betty spun swiftly in his arms, wrapping hers around his torso. Her lips found his neck, sucking a mark on his salty skin. Hands exploring his toned back and fingers tangling with the hair at the nape of his neck.
Jughead's hand was at her lower back, the other reached to grab her hand. Suddenly, he was pulling her off the dance floor and toward the exit. The night air was cool against her skin, but nothing else mattered except for Jughead pulling her into a dark corner at the front of the club.
"I wish we had our own room." He growled, his hands dipping under the waistband of her skirt.
"Who says we need a room?" She wanted so badly to rip his shirt off right there, but was still vaguely aware of the few patrons still milling around the front of the building.
"What, you want to go back to the club bathroom?"
Betty hooked her fingers through his belt loops and started pulling him toward the crosswalk and the hostel.
"I have a better idea." Betty stopped just long enough outside their building to catch Jughead's lips once again. She whispered next right against his lips. "I bet there's no one using the showers right now."
"Good idea," Jughead grinned. "I am feeling a little dirty."
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The next morning they sped across the countryside on the ten o'clock train. With the fields of sheep and crops, and not a mountain in sight, Jughead could almost pretend he was back in the small town where he grew up. The few stone towers built on the rolling hills were the only sign that they were, in fact, still roaming through a country where medieval castles still existed.
Betty stared out the window the for the entire hour that they were on the train. Jughead spent that hour looking at Betty. Occasionally through the lens of his camera, but mostly through the shaded lenses of his sunglasses.
Alnmouth station was small, in the middle of nowhere, but one of the workers pointed them to a nearby bus stop.
"Are we sure we're in the right place?" Archie asked as they stood under the cover of the plexiglass bus shelter.
"Yes, Archiekins." Veronica showed him the map on her phone for the third time. "The bus should be here within ten minutes or so."
"Okay, I get that, but I thought we were going to some huge British castle, but there isn't a city for miles. This place feels more like a village." He gestured to the few houses around them.
"Alnwick is just a few miles away." Betty supplied. "And the castle is the largest remaining castle in Northern England. It just so happens that it's a pretty rural area up here, but the castle really is a huge tourist attraction."
"Has anyone ever told you that you should be a teacher?" Reggie said. "I mean, that was actually kind of interesting for a minute."
"It was two sentences, Reg. Don't strain yourself." Jughead sighed. "Here's the bus."
Another short jaunt across the English countryside brought them right into the heart of Alnwick. The bus stop was set right in the shopping district, in front of a grocery store that was similarly sized to one he might see back home.
The Black Swan Inn was just down the block and quiet at this time of day. Downstairs was a traditional British pub with old woodwork and charming architecture where a few patrons sat eating lunch. The woman behind the bar was able to quickly check them in to their rooms. They were lucky in making their reservation that all of the three rooms provided by The Black Swan were vacant and available for them.
Jughead was quick to fall onto the bed in the small, but quaint room.
"Our own room, thank God." He groaned, sinking into the pillows.
"Don't get too comfy, Jug, I want to see the castle."
"But we have our own room…" Jughead said slowly. He said up long enough to grab her waist and pull her down on top of him. "Surely, we have some time to waste."
"Tempting…" She whispered, fingers grazing up his side. "But it can wait until tonight."
"You drive a hard bargain, Cooper… but I accept your deal on one condition."
"Yeah, what's that?"
"I'm gonna need the greatest kiss you can muster to tide me over."
"Now that, I can do."
They met their friends downstairs ten minutes later. The castle was situated just behind the pub, but they had to walk around the outer wall of the castle before the castle really came into view. Betty insisted they continue past the castle to the pasture covered the massive expanse of land on the other side of the castle.
The view literally knocked Betty off her feet, either that or it was the patch of mud that she slid on before falling on her ass.
"Shit, are you okay?" Jughead was trying to be serious, but couldn't help laughing at the splotch of mud on the back of her jeans.
"Fine…" She held her hand out for Jughead to lift her off the ground. "Just remind me to change when we get back."
"No need, I'll handle it." Jughead grinned and winked before he started to attempt to wipe the mud off the back of her pants.
"Very funny, Jug, but that's not helping." She pulled his hands off her ass and leaned in close. "You can have some quality time with my body later, but for now your hands are banned from boobs and butt, got it?"
"I like it when you're bossy." His body really had flushed with the implication, but he raised his hands in surrender when she scowled at him. "I mean, yes ma'am."
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They decided to hit up the Alnwick garden next, opting to give the castle its own day. It was a massive expanse of trees, flowers, fountains and shrubbery. A huge water feature greeted them when they walked through the gate, and a full color map to show them each of the different gardens within the stone walls.
They started at the right side of the garden, where the labyrinth led them through a tunnel of shrubs led them around to a cluster of modern, artistic fountains. Families with small children crowded around this area, with the kids in their bathing suits waiting for the fountain to spray. When the geyser finally shot a shower of cold water into the air, the kids squealed from the cold and excitement that Betty remembers feeling running through the sprinkler as a kid.
They continued on, through a long tunneled arch of ivy.
"I feel like I'm in a real fairytale, Jug." She spun in a circle ahead of him, willing him to pick her up and spin her himself.
"As well you should." He caught up and took her hand in his.
"Especially with that silly hat of yours…" She said, tugging on the fabric of his beanie.
"Excuse me, it is not silly. It's called fashion… you might've heard of it."
"Whatever you say, darling." Betty patted his cheek adoringly. "All I know is that it hides your perfect hair from me, but it does make you look like my prince charming."
"Aha, so you like it then." They emerged on into the rose garden, where other fairytale icons were immortalized in statue form.
"If I didn't like it, I would have tried before now to get you to take it off." Betty rolled her eyes and left the conversation at that when she saw the rose from Beauty and the Beast on a stone pedestal. Then Cinderella's shoe and the Frog Prince… it really was more of a fairytale garden than a rose garden.
A forest of cherry blossom trees covered another corner of the garden, rows and rows of bench swings lined up and perfect for photographing. Betty heard Jughead's camera click three times before she'd even sat down in the swing.
"Perfection."
The sun was beginning to set when they left the garden and began the walk back to their room. They planned to grab dinner downstairs and the head back to their room for an early night, but one pint of cider turned into three and Reggie throwing back beer like it was water. They all found the conversation with the locals to be more rewarding than a night of watching the BBC would be.
Veronica and Cheryl were talking to some of the locals bellied up to the bar, leaving Archie scowling jealously over his beer every time Veronica laughed at something the guy said.
"Poor sap." Jughead said, nodding in Archie's direction. "He's like a puppy… if he's not getting attention, he thinks he's done something wrong."
"He'll get over it." Betty drank down the last bit of her cider, feeling a bit sluggish if not craving Jughead's touch on her body. "You ready to head up?"
Jughead glanced to his drink, then at the look in Betty's eyes. He chugged down the last of his drink and pulled Betty from her seat and toward the stairs to their room.
As soon as the door shut behind them Jughead pressed her against it, his fingers going first under her shirt and unhooking her bra, then to the button of her jeans. All the while, his lips were against hers, tongues dancing blissfully together.
Betty did the same, pulling his jeans down before pushing him back onto the bed. She yanked off his beanie, finally being allowed to fully run her fingers through his hair. Jughead was attempting to pull Betty's shirt over her head, but stopped suddenly when Betty's lips moved down… down… to the elastic of his boxers. She pulled the fabric between her teeth, letting it slap back down against his skin. Then her tongue was trailing up his stomach as she pushed his T-shirt toward his head.
And suddenly all of her warmth was gone, Betty stood up and turned her back to Jughead.
He whimpered, annoyed.
"You just get the rest of your clothes off, and I'll give you a little show." She kept her back to him as she pulled her blouse off and then the straps of her already unlatched bra. Jughead said nothing, even when she pulled down her jeans and turned back to face him.
Jughead was laying flat on his back, his shirt off but his jeans still stuck around his ankles where he hadn't yet managed to get his boots off his feet. Light snores snuck out between his lips.
"Jug?" Betty crawled over the bed until she was laying next to him. She rolled her eyes and sighed when she realized he wasn't faking it. She pecked him lightly on the lips. "Tomorrow then."
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Jughead woke up with a half naked woman in his bed. That was a bit generous, he thought, when she was completely naked aside from the panties she wore. Jughead was in a similar position, his pants mysteriously missing when he distinctly remembered having them on when he fell asleep.
Betty stirred when Jughead stretched his free arm over his head, the other arm stuck snugly between Betty's shoulders and the bed. She nuzzled further into the crook of his shoulder, her legs sneaking through his. Jughead hissed when her cold toes hit his thigh.
"Sorry…" She grumbled, but Jughead could feel the curl of her smirk against his skin.
"Liar."
"Love you." She finally lifted her head and let her chin rest on his shoulder as she looked up into his eyes.
Jughead shook his head at her, a strand of hair falling over his eye as he did so. "Love you more."
"Impossible." Betty pressed an eager kiss to his lips before disentangling herself and walking to the en suite bathroom. She dropped her panties on the floor before she got there, but didn't turn to give Jughead the view. "You missed a fun time last night."
The night before came flooding back to him. Three beers, Betty was horny, warm lips and cold fingers… and the intoxication finally pulling him into sleep.
"Shit." He pulled Betty's pillow over his eyes to hide his shame. "I'm sorry… I blame the beer."
"No need to apologize to me… you were the one practically begging for it all day yesterday."
"I was not begging…" He argued. Jughead followed her into the bathroom to fix the nest of hair on his head.
"Keep telling yourself that, but you have to wait until tonight to try again."
"I'm literally never drinking again."
"That's a bold statement…" Betty finally stepped into the shower. "We'll see how you feel about that at the pub quiz tonight. Liquor makes the brain move quicker."
"I'm pretty sure that is one hundred person incorrect."
"Points for rhyming though?"
"I'd give it a solid eight of ten." The wet smack of a washcloth hit Jughead in the back of the head. He turned to see Betty scowling, peeking from behind the shower curtain.
"It was at least eight and a half."
"I'll let you have that." He left the bathroom to wait at the small desk near the window. His laptop had been neglected for much of the trip, but now he had at least thirty minutes uninterrupted to continue his account of the trip so far.
He opened up the document aptly titled "Europe." He hadn't yet come up with some clever title, preferring to wait until the end. The last he'd written was during their time in Greece, so he had a few cities to catch up on. He pointed his cursor at the end of the last sentence he wrote, thinking back fondly to only a few weeks ago.
/Golden blonde hair falls over her face, obscuring those features he's come to love. This sleeping beauty doesn't know it yet, but she will soon. He loves her, after only two weeks he found that he could not imagine life without her. He would tell her soon, in Italy. Betty Cooper, the woman he loves./
He thought of all the time and moments that had passed between them. Exchanging 'I love yous', making love for the first time, and the second and the third… he had a lot to catch up on, but maybe he'd keep some of those personal moments in a private folder.
"Haven't seen you do any writing in a while, what's it about?" Betty emerged from the bathroom with her hair thrown up in a ponytail and lips glossed pink.
"I'll let you read it when it's finished, but until then it remains a secret."
"You sure know how to keep a girl in suspense." She grabbed her purse from where it hung on the corner of the footboard. "Ready to see another castle?"
"Always."
They enjoyed another sunny day, the sun bouncing off the stone walls that surrounded the town. Jughead could see every single crack in the mortar, every detail of the stonework standing out in sharp lines. The grass lawn of the outer bailey within the castle grounds was as bright as that of a golf course.
He couldn't quite put into words the simplistic beauty of the castle in front of him. It wasn't as grand as Neuschwanstein, nor as intricate in detail as Prague Castle, but the simple beauty was enough. A court jester was finishing his set on the lawn to the right of the cobblestone path. Flaming batons flew through the air, coming to a final stop in his hands.
"We missed the show…" Betty pouted.
Jughead nudged her shoulder, pointing to a sign set up in front of the performer. Next show: 3:00.
"So only two hours to explore? I think we can make that work."
"Guys! Broomstick flying lessons!" Archie bounded up out of nowhere and grabbed Jughead around the shoulders.
"Oh yeah!" Betty followed along excitedly. "I forgot to mention they filmed some of Harry Potter here… the broomstick flying lessons in particular."
"Damn, this place has pizzazz." Jughead grinned, snatching his camera to get a picture of the twig brooms brought out by the actors playing the instructors. "Can't wait to see the rest of it… like the actual inside of the castle."
"We have plenty of time."
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After prancing in the grass like a bunch of kids, with brooms held between their knees, they moved on to the sophistication waiting inside. The state rooms were ornately furnished, gold accents on the walls, furniture, and doors. Cheryl walked around like she owned the place, only stopping herself from picking up a candelabra when Betty pulled her back.
"Cheryl, this isn't Thornhill… an actual Duke lives here with his family." Betty led her to the library, where most of the room was thankfully roped off. "No touching."
"I can't help that it reminds me of home."
Betty rolled her eyes, but trusted that Cheryl would keep her hands to herself and moved back to Jughead's side.
"What do you say we hit up the fish and chip shop?" She asked, already knowing what his answer would be. "By the time we're done eating we can see the jester and then the rest of the castle grounds."
He smirked, pulling her into his side with a kiss to her temple. "You are almost painfully organized, you know that?"
Betty shrugged. "You'll get used to it."
"I think I already am. Come on, I'm starving."
Betty ordered fish bites, while Jughead got a full serving of fish and chips, reluctantly allowing Betty to sneak a few chips off of his plate. They continued, hands intertwined, for the rest of the day… up until they were back at the pub for quiz night.
The pub was packed with locals and tourists alike from what Betty could tell. Groups of four and five were given quiz papers and a pencil, blank lines listed numbers one to thirty for the answers to be written. More than half the pub was already on the way to being drunk, so Betty thought they stood a decent chance.
"Well, we all know I have the lowest IQ in the group," Reggie said, returning to their table with two beers. "So I'll sit out on this one."
"Great job taking one for the team, Reg." Archie clapped him on the shoulder and took the second beer from him.
"Hey, those were both for me." He made a move to snatch it back from him.
"Chill, I got the next round."
Betty tucked her head against Jughead's shoulder with a happy sigh. Her two best friends, two new friends, her boyfriend… she couldn't be happier with where their adventure had taken them. It was nearing the end, though. There was only a week and a half left in their trip and they hadn't discussed what happened when they went home.
"Hey," Jughead whispered, close enough that only she could hear. "You want to head back to the room? We've already answered twenty of thirty questions… I think they can handle the rest. Plus, the award for winning is just another round of drinks."
Betty nodded. "Let's go."
Jughead moved purposefully through the crowd and up the stairs to their room. As soon as he'd stepped through the door he threw his beanie on the desk. Betty pulled out her ponytail, sighing gratefully when Jughead slipped his fingers through her hair.
His lips moved languidly over her own, taking his time. Every movement was slow but meaningful. Hands moved to her hips, teasing under her blouse and moving up. Their lips only parted for a moment when Jughead pulled her shirt off. He pushed her down on the bed, smoothly pushing down her short skirt.
"Juggie…" She breathed. Her head pressed back against the pillow when Jughead started to work on her neck, leaving bites all over. "I want to see more of you. Get your fucking shirt off."
Betty was already halfway there when Jughead decided to spare one hand to finish pulling his shirt off. His lips moved from her neck to her chest to her stomach to…
"Oh…" Her breath hitched when his fingers hooked under her panties. His lips moved as he pulled the fabric down, until his tongue met her wet center. Betty kicked off her panties and let her legs move over Jughead's shoulders, keeping him close.
She fisted her fingers in his hair and his eyes snapped up to meet hers. She could see the devilish smirk in his eyes. Betty was already flushed and writhing under his touch, and he hadn't even entered her yet. Jughead slipped two fingers in to where his tongue had just been, watching with a playful smirk when his girl's stomach clenched.
She wanted to hold on, wanted to see him come when she did, but he was doing too much. His thumb moved to rub her clit while his fingers pumped in and out. His lips moved to any bit of skin he could reach, licking the sheen of sweat forming on her skin.
As her climax drew closer she could hardly even feel the hickey Jughead was leaving inside her thigh. Waves of pleasure rolled over her as she came on Jughead's fingers. Her whole body reacted, eyes pinched closed and back arched. Jughead pulled his fingers back and climbed up to lay next to her as Betty came down from her high.
"Jug, that was…" She grinned, letting him decipher the rest. She moved her hands to his jeans, which she hadn't even realized where still on until just now. She shifted down in the bed. "Can I return the favor?"
Jughead stopped her from crawling over his legs, instead pressing her back against the bed again. "Not tonight. Betts, I wanna make you come again."
"What are you waiting for?"
He moved faster now, discarding his jeans and pulling the duvet over their bodies. He captured her lips once more as he moved inside of her. She felt so over stimulated, having only just come down from her first orgasm, but soon she felt even better than the first time around. Jughead was moving in just the right way, his hips snapping against hers.
Betty would worship every part of him if she could, but for now she settle for his collarbone. She nipped at the skin around his neck, leaving marks that would match her own. She tried to distract herself from her own body by focusing on his. She was close to her second climax when Jughead hadn't come once.
"Oh fuck… Betty." He groaned particularly loudly when she bit down hard on his shoulder.
"Don't stop, Jug. Fuck, please don't stop." He was moving almost too slow, trying to hold on to the moment as long as possible. "Fuck me, Juggie… faster."
He did as he was told, his only goal to make Betty feel as good as possible. As he thrust faster, his orgasm crept up on him. Betty's fingernails scratched against his bare back. The sound of their skin slapping together finally making him come undone.
"Shit, oh my God…"
"Don't stop… just a little longer." Betty pulled his lips to her chest, allowing the stimulation to make her finally come.
Jughead rolled beside her, Betty's body fitting perfectly against his when he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She curled up against his side, one leg coming up to rest over his own.
They lay in silence for a while, listening to each other's heartbeats slow to their normal pace. Betty was the first to speak.
"We haven't talked about the future…" She said, her middle finger moving in circles on his chest.
"What about it?"
"This trip is almost over, so what does that mean when we have to go home? What happens?"
Jughead stared down into her eyes. "You're really worried about this, aren't you?"
She simply nodded.
"Well, what happens is… we decide where we want to live. I've got a studio apartment waiting in a shitty neighborhood in New York. I have this feeling you probably live somewhere too?"
"I live with my parents." She slapped a hand over her face, embarrassed. Jughead pulled it away.
"So it's settled. We move in to my apartment."
"Then what?"
Jughead pressed a kiss to her hand, holding it tight in his. "Well, we'll get a dog eventually, get some great jobs so we can move to a better place, get married, have a few wild little children."
"You've thought about this?" Betty sat up straight, pulling back a little so she could see him perfectly. Jughead groaned at the loss of contact.
"Of course I've thought about it, Betty. I love you. How could I not think about it?"
She shrugged. "You really want to marry me?"
"I'd marry you right now if I could."
Betty laughed, not because of how crazy that sounded, but because she agreed. She threw a leg over Jughead to straddle his waist. "I'd marry you right now too."
She leaned in, capturing his lips. When she pulled back, Jughead was staring into her eyes, his eyebrows tense in thought.
"Why don't we?"
"Why don't we what?" Betty's fingers were in his hair again.
"Why don't we get married now? Well, not right now, but this week. We can have a little ceremony with our friends on Saturday and make it official when we get back to New York."
"Are you proposing to me?"
"It feels like we proposed to each other… but yeah. Will you marry me?"
Her smile threatened to split open her cheeks. "Yes, Jughead. Yes, I'll marry you."
Their lips crashed together once more, passion flowing through their veins. Betty lifted her hips, lowering herself onto Jughead's cock.
"Can't get enough of me, can you?" Jughead teased, massaging her ass.
"Don’t pretend you don't want it too. Your dick is hard."
"Thanks, Captain Obvious."
Jughead let his hands rest on her hips as Betty fucked herself on his cock.
"Oh my God, I just thought of something." Betty stopped, eyes widened at Jughead. "My mom is going to disown me."
"You were thinking about your mom while riding me? Christ…"
"No! Oh my God, no. I was thinking about getting married and that led to thinking about how I'm going to tell my mom and how she is going to be so mad."
"Can we stop talking about your mom? Or wait until later?"
"Jug, pissing of my mom just makes this all even better." She started rocking against him again. "I'm being a very bad girl, don't you think?"
"With the likes of me?" He reached around again to grab her ass. "I'd say you are downright naughty."
#bughead#bughead fanfic#bughead fanfiction#betty x jughead#betty cooper#jughead jones#bughead au#riverdale#riverdale fanfic#riverdale au#riverdale fanfiction#edit#bughead smut#wanderlust fic
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Just for that, you answer all of them as well James Isaac. -SM-H
.....You are not supposed to be as evil as me. -JM-H
1. What have you eaten today? - Sushi! (Lunch meeting)2. Who was your last kiss with? Was it pleasant?- You, so of course yes.3. What color shoes did you last wear?-My red ones :))4. Who has made you laugh the hardest in the last week?-Tie between you and the man asking me for mercy.... 5. What is your favorite scent?-You just out of the shower or fresh blood6. What is your favorite season? Why?- Autmn, bugs go back to hell! Also the leaves are pretty7. Can you do a handstand or cartwheel?-No.8. What color are your nails?-Natural9. If you had to get a tattoo on your face to save your life, what would it be?-Miss me?10. What is something you find romantic?-You11. Are you happy?-Very....until I had to do this whole thing....12. Is there anything in particular making you happy or sad?-I have to do this whole thing, missing you.13. Dogs or Cats?-Cats15. Which do you prefer:a museum, a night club, the forest or a library?-Any of them as long as you are there.15. What is your style?-Expensive, designer suits, Devil in a Westwood16. If you could be doing anything you like right now, what would it be?-That’s easy, you ;)17. Are you in a relationship or single?-Very Married.18. What makes you attracted to the person you like right now?-Their wicked mind, quick wit, those curllllllls, eyes, just everything....19. If you could replace your partner/best friend with a celebrity of your choice, would you? Who with?-Benadryl Cumbersnatch or whatever comes to mind, no not really, there is no replacing him.20. Are you holding on to something you need to let go of? If so then what?-Nothing comes to mind.21. How did you celebrate last Halloween?-Scary movie marathon and used poprocks on my husband. Good times. 22. Have you recently made any big decisions? -Ooooooobviously, hello, do you know what I do?23. Were you ever in a school play?-Maaaaaaybe24. What movie would you use to describe your life?No idea? The hobbit?25. Is there something you have dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?-I dream something, I bloody do it.26. Complete this sentence, “I wish I had someone with whom I could share…”-This giant bag of popcorn?27. What are two things that irritate you about the same sex?-Ego and lack of recognizing I am the leader28. What are two things that irritate you about the opposite sex?-Flirting and lack of a penis? I dunno29. What is the best thing that has happened to you this week?-You came home early yay!30. What is something that makes you sad when you think about it?-You leaving31. How long was your longest relationship?-Ongoing32. Have you ever been in love?-You yes.33. Are you currently in love?-Very much so.34. Why did your last relationship end?-Overdose35. What jewelry are you wearing right now, and where did you get it?-wedding ring, my husband36. When was the last time you cried and why?-This morning, nightmare37. Name someone pretty.-Sherlock38. What did you receive last Valentines Day?-a blowjob....and um....I think was it flowers love?39. Do you get jealous easily?-its not jealousy if you belong with them darling40. Have you ever been cheated on?-once41. Do you trust your partner/best friend?-explicitly42. Ever had detention?-Hahaha yes43. Would you rather live in the countryside or the city?-Anywhere you want to go44. What do people call you?-Jim, Boss, Moriarty 45. What was the last book you read? - The Hobbit46. How big of a nerd/dork are you? -Dude, you have no idea47. What kind of music do you listen to?-Anything48. How tall are you?-....Next question!49. Do you like kids?-want one, but we have to do it by legal means....spoil sport50. Favorite fruits?-My husband and I? Um, strawberries?51. Do you wear jeans or sweats more?-Jeans but designer only52. What’s your earliest memory?-Getting a black eye from my mother for asking her for lunch after she had failed to feed me for three days straight. She hit me and threw a glass of jam on the floor which shattered, I remember picking the glass out and eating it off the floor.53. Ever had a poem or song written about you or to you?-I have no idea?54. Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?-My selfie game is on point as the kids say, but behind.55. Do you have a collection of anything? -space related things, comic books, dr who merch, hobbit and lotr things56. Do you save money or spend it?-Sssssssspend it 57. What would your dream house be like?-I have like six dream houses58. What top 5 things make you the angriest?-1.When you get hurt, 2. When people don’t listen to me, 3.Jokes about my height, 4. Reminders of my parents, 5.Attempts on my life 59. What top 5 things always brings a smile to your face? 1-4 You and most everything you do. 5. Sales on suits60. You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do?- I am the boss, I rescue the dog.61. 72: You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid?-My reaction: Hmm, time to call Mori :)62. Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word; heart.-Attack63. You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?-Italy64. Do you like the beach?-Yes, but the beach does not like me.65. Ever sleep on the couch or a bed with someone special?-All the time.66. Do you have a middle name? If so what is it!-I do, you know it, Issac67. Do you talk to yourself?-Often68. Describe your hair.-Dark?69. What is the meaning of life.-4270. What is your ideal partner like?-Sherlock Holmes71. Do you want to get married?-I am.72. Do you want to have kids?-Yes!73. Like or dislike your family?-Fuck my family.74. Are you Chunky or Slim?-Slim75. Would you consider yourself smart?-Very 76. What would you change about your life?-A few more inches77. Religious or Not?-Does Our Lady Toast count? Then no.78. You’re drunk and yelling at hot guys/girls out of your car window, you’re with?-I never catcall when drunk, have some respect, they are people too!79. You’re locked in a room with the last person you kissed, is that a problem?-mmm, not a problem at all80. Does anyone regularly (other than family) tell you they love you?-You do.81. If the person you wish to be with were with you, what would you be doing right now?-Well.......get here and find out82. So, the last person you kissed just happens to arrive at your door at 3AM; do you let them in?-They live here too so yes83. Do you like when people play with your hair? -ONLY when you do84. Do you like bubble baths?-decadent goodness85. Have you ever been pulled over by a cop?-Haha, they wouldn’t dare86. Have you ever danced in the rain?-Yes87. Do you trust anyone with your life?-You88. What was your first thought when you woke up this morning?-Fucking nightmare89. If money wasn’t an issue, what top 10 places would you travel to? (You get to stay at each place for a week) -Its not an issue? Italy, Ireland, Spain, France, Greece, Africa, Austrailia, Amsterdam, Canada90. How was your day today?-Decent91. Play an instrument?-piano92. Describe the what you think of the ocean.-its blue and big and wet93. Do you believe in aliens or ghosts?-ghosts yes94. Honestly, are things how you wanted them to be? -Getting to be yes95. Do you have a mean bitchy scary side?-hahahah yep96. When are you vulnerable?-Around you97. How much free time do you have?-As much as i allow myself to have, it varies98. Do you like to go hiking?-No99. Odd or Even Numbers?-Odd100. Would you ever go sky diving, bungee jumping , cliff diving, wing suit gliding, parasailing, snorkeling, or other extreme activities? No, not one for jumping off things.
-JM-H
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