#anyway this is purely for clarity sake if I don’t hear anything more in like 6 hours ur getting blocked lmao

[rainosa]

Damn anon you really think I give a fuck

[kitkatopinions]

Honestly, shooting Oscar was the closes they got to an acceptable ‘good guy does evil thing’. The key being that there’s enough interesting tragedy to explore, and since Os didn’t actually die Ironwood could be easily redeemed. We’re at the scene, as Ironwood stares at the Vault. He hears someone coming down and let’s out a painful sigh because he fully understands the pain Winter is going through (the same he is with abandoning Mantle). As he turns around to comfort her, he sees Oscar. /1

You know, I fully agree that James shooting Oscar is the most ‘good guy does bad thing’ we ever needed from James. By piling on evil thing after evil thing, not only did it take away from Ironwood’s character (and the character of everyone close to him like Winter and Qrow,) but it made it so that very little that he did actually gets any focus, including shooting Oscar. Did Ruby ever even know about it? Did we ever see Oscar grapple with the fact that James had tried to kill him? Did we ever see Ironwood even acknowledge that it happened? The moment feels entirely passed over. Then again, with Sleet, the Ace Ops are all shocked about Sleet, Winter looks hesitant, but then steely and accepting, Marrow is alarmed... But ultimately that goes nowhere. Winter having stood by Ironwood even while he murders unarmed civilians and not considering it a deal breaker, along with the other Ops (yes, even Marrow,) isn’t really gone into and is brushed under the rug, because the focus quickly changes to him working with Watts. But do we see Penny in a moment of clarity forced to grapple with the fact that a former mentor and someone she probably saw as a friend had forcibly taken control of her body? Does it even have a long term affect on the story? Considering Penny could’ve died due to Cinder trying to steal her powers just as easily as a robot as she did a flesh-person (with Pietro claiming he couldn’t restore her again,) I’d argue that Ironwood hacking Penny had zero real effect on the plot. At least our main cast freaking knew about it, though, instead of the other scenes of Ironwood’s descent being mostly for the audiences sake it feels like. We quickly move on from the emotional weight behind Penny getting hacked by a mentor/friend, because then we get some rabid fire “what the heck” moments like Ironwood being like “huh, shoulda tortured Qrow.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  And I could’ve tormented some teens.” And Winter is freaked but then we only have like a minute of sitting with that before there’s a bomb threat, and James is threatening to bomb the people of Mantle for... Reasons, standing in his backlit light with the black background so you know it’s spooky villain time. This at least gets some more focus, but even then, in the fight with Winter when she’s listing grievances, she doesn’t really get into the whole torture/bomb thing. And James is still not the focus, the primary threat of the last two episodes is Cinder. Everything in season eight was just so rushed and hurried we didn’t get a chance to focus on anything for the time that it needed with the exception of possibly Renora’s makeup/breakup? which was also badly handled, but got like, the appropriate amount of screen time imo. But we definitely didn’t have any time to get into the meat of a good hero-does-bad concept. Which is a shame, because it could’ve been good.

You’re right that shooting Oscar was all they needed. They established a really good base conflict: James believes they’re in a no-win situation and is trying to save as many people as he can while Team RWBY believes they need to come up with a plan that will save everyone all at once / because of Team RWBY’s actions, Ironwood doesn’t trust them and tries to have them arrested, Team RWBY are fugitives who no longer have Ironwood’s resources to rely on and must grapple with those consequences of their actions. Then, they want to - imo unnecessarily - drive the point that due to the terrible situation, the recent perceived betrayal of Team RWBY and co, his own deteriorating mental health, and pushed by his TOTALLY UNMENTIONED semblance, James falls into destructive actions that cause harm. Having him shoot Oscar/Oz in a moment of paranoia does this without wholly ruining his character. It breaks Oscar’s aura, but nothing worse, and one could argue James didn’t mean him to go over the side (you know, except that the writers did mean for him to mean to, but for the sake of this narrative, we’ll say it was maybe unintentional.) It could’ve been something that Oscar/Oz then have to process or struggle to understand, or forgive, while it’s something Ironwood could regret and possibly come back from while still clearly being in the wrong in that situation, and it could’ve been treated more sympathetically. We could’ve actually paid attention to that moment, rather than having it (and every single further jump into villainy) swept away. James could’ve been an antagonist for the season without being a full villain. Not everything has to be “Team RWBY against pure evil.”

We already had Cinder, Watts, Tyrian, Emerald, Mercury, Neo, Hazel, and Salem for god sakes. Most of those villains had to get taken out by fellow villains - in fact, all of the villains that we dealt with in V7 and 8 that got taken out of the picture were by the villains, including Emerald abdicating, which happened because of Salem’s motives and Tyrian confirming them and Oscar literally just said a sentence and then sat around. None of these villains were used well or got the focus they needed except for possibly Cinder, who wound up not growing at all anyway. But they could’ve been a great, compelling threat if they hadn’t gotten trounced by a fifteen year old with a magic deus ex machina after doing almost nothing this season, because they had to get pushed aside so Ironwood could have his moment as a villain. And then even Ironwood got pushed aside too. Even the built up and dreaded ridiculously stupid grudge Qrow had that made him want to kill James just up and vanished. It’s almost like James never had to be a villain at all since it amounted to nearly nothing and there was very little emotional depth tied to it. It’s almost like the writers could’ve actually made their existing large amount of villains more interesting and do something with them.

Like, don’t get me wrong, Watts was amazing. And the temporary team up of Watts, Cindy, and Neo had me thinking CRWBY would do something interesting and compelling with the villains for once (I’m putting on the appropriate clown paint for it.) They could’ve used the volume 7 momentum to go into an actually emotional arc centered around this one violent act, how people feel about it, how James might come back from it, all while giving the focus to the actual main villain of the series and presenting her as the real threat. But instead...

Anyway, this wound up being a pretty long post. Sorry about that. :P

[applekitty]

‘game dedede’ is not a good person to ship escargoon with and here’s why

im glad my escargoon analysis resonated with lots of people. i saw some comments on it, which i feel the need to reply to because they’re on my post. a small few comments have been about the main focus of this whole multi paragraph crazed yammering; game dedede

(content warning: i talk about the horror comic killing stalking for four paragraphs. wow i bet this content warning doesn’t give mood whiplash at all)

now, game dedede isn’t much of anything. he’s a non-character, as he has no discernible personality in the games that isn’t really much of anything more than a catalyst for people to project a personality onto. as are all the game characters, because kirby isn’t focused so much on plot and indepth character development as it is about the gameplay. nintendo’s always been good at gameplay,  so they have basically stuck to what they’ve known and sprinkled small plot bits around places and entirely discarded anything other than hints personalities so that way they have an excuse for pure gameplay and fun to occur. it’s the same way with mario, and zelda, and usually basically all of their properties. yes, even pokemon, though usually when pokemon gets too plot heavy we get games like sun and moon, which are basically just cutscenes upon cutsc- 

what was i talking about? oh, right, game dedede.

game dedede is usually seen by the fandom as a variety of things, but the main one is nice. and by nice i mean he is usually portrayed as someone who is typically valorous and is doing the right thing, not someone who is necessarily pleasant, though some like to make him pleasant or jolly. if you know me or have even been on my blog even once on pc you’ll notice the cool deviantart stamp i got from one of my friends. i fully agree with the things it entails; dedede not being your typical uwu ‘do nothing wrong’ monarch that he’s often now plastered as because he did the whole ‘i help this cat’ in rtdl or because he wanted to keep nightmare from coming out of the fountain in nightmare in dreamland and.. whatever the name was of the game that it was a remake of.

people usually want to be able to root for the protagonist, and since dedede was a protagonist and / or in the right in a few occasions, we want to see him as a good guy doing good guy things. and there’s plenty of different ways to take that, as there’s both evidence for and against him being a morally light character. but that’s not really the point of what i’m talking about here. regardless of your own personal opinion on how ‘game dedede’ morally is, he is not a good person for escargoon to be with. there’s a reason why i said someone should be shipping him with an oc rather than game dedede, and it’s precisely because ‘game dedede’, even if he somehow zapped into the anime verse, would not be good to ship with him.

and it’s not based on chemistry or because game dedede is secretly or openly evil or something like that. it’s purely because escargoon is still a victim of abuse. and if you’re someone with a few braincells you want him to get out of that abuse and go find a new husband who’ll love and care for him. for escargoon to get game dedede seems to make sense at first because escargoon is so devoted to the anime one, but when you look at it, it’s not healthy at all.

this is essentially taking escargoon’s old abuser, wiping away all the ‘sins’ of his character just to make it so escargoon can date him. just so he can date an idealized version of his abuser. this person is quite literally just his abuser but with a mental coat of paint. 

allow me to draw comparison.

i’m going to go off here about a comic that i warned about at the top of the post. i’m not going to go too indepth about it due to the sheer nausea i might cause people if i do. it is a rather extreme example sheerly due to the content of said comic, but i can’t think of another better one off the top of my head. there’s a comic named killing stalking which was a big note for socio-political talk i think a few years back. it was a horror comic about a killer and a stalker wherein the murderer takes the stalker in, breaks his legs, and keeps in his house. the stalker, who already had sexual interest in his kidnapper, is abused due to various here and there reasons, and then after a while the comic begins the two’s sexual-romantic yet still abusive relationship. here’s the thing. the two of the characters are both men, so the relationship is gay.

many took to tumblr and various other medias smacking the comic for the display that it created (the comic chock is full of fairly nauseating things that are worth calling disgusting, but are expected of a shock horror comic) and the association it made between gay men and murderers, as well as making gay men look predatory and dangerous. normally said comic wouldn’t have been much of a problem or very noteworthy if it were about a straight pair, but it was about this Evil Gay Murderer Pair, so it was a source of controversy like shit is an attractor of flies.

despite the controversy that the comic had gotten, and the treatment in-canon it had of its characters being very clearly evil and in the wrong and clear deservance of being detracted, something strange happened. not in the comic, but in the people who decided to support said comic. people decided to support it for a number of reasons, one being that ‘oh it’s a horror comic i like horror despite what controversy or effects it may have on people’. i remember seeing it once, on my dashboard, i think. or back in the day when i was trying to figure out what the fuck was going on with this comic that everyone on my dash was just going to town on. people were shipping the two main, gay characters with eachother. and they weren’t doing it in a way that was ‘oh the murderer is so hot look at him in all this blood’ sort of way. it was in a much more.. ‘cozy’ position. it was fluffy. it was shown as cute. at first i thought it was because people were fucking weirdos, but i remember this one caption that has been recalled in perfect paraphrased clarity to me.

‘some people make aus to make their ships more angsty, but i’m out here making mine healthy lol’

people were taking the murderer, the main person who was causing the problems in the comic, and turning him into a loving husband for the stalker (who was shown as very mentally ill and in desperate need of love and attention). people were making the pairing that the comic itself showed as horrifying and awful to be fluffy and cute and devoid of any problems. so that way the victim was no longer hurt. it was an au. the murderer had a new personality, he was a changed man who never hurt anyone, so he was perfect for the stalker. that way, the ship could be had but there would be no issue whatsoever.

and to be quite honest, that’s what we have here. we have an offshoot of that. though obviously the source material is much less dangerous in our case, we still have a victim in desperate need of love in an abusive relationship with someone who hurts them. then, we have people shipping said victim with a new version of that abuser just to wipe the slate clean. just to keep the ship going without anyone objecting to it, because it can all be explained away as an au or what have you. though, i’m sure the ship in killing stalking was very much bashed by people (at least, i hope it was), while this one isn’t.

i can hear my strawman in the replies already going ‘well thanks for the tangent. but ching, game dedede’s a different person. he is legitimately a different canon than anime dedede, meanwhile this is people making things up that the canon doesn’t support. if you dated a twin you won’t apply the sins of the twin on the other one, would you?’ and if this were a real life situation, you’d be correct. 

it’d be wrong to place the sins of one twin onto another sheerly because one was an abusive asshole. but since is a real life scenario, putting a victim of abuse back with someone who looks exactly like their abuser would most certainly create extreme fear and panic in that victim. it wouldn’t matter if one of the twins hasn’t done anything, the potential relationship would forever be ruined and it’d be out of their control. and no one, no self respecting person, should ever have a victim date them if they look exactly like said victim’s old abuser. that’s just asking for mental troubles and constant panic attacks.

but that’s if this were real. it’s not real. this is video games and cartoons. it doesn’t come down to that, it comes down to us and what we decide to do, and what we decide to ship. these are not real people. we are putting them together for our own amusement because you’d think they’d get along. and doing this with a ship like this with game dedede says, to me, "I do not care if it is abusive in canon, I want to ship it anyways without any problems or people calling me out, so I’ll make it so people can’t do that by stripping the abuser of their abusive characteristics and make it so this abusive ship is all sunshine and rainbows". this is especially poignant if escargoon is stripped of all his abuse as well, allowing for him to be shipped more easily. it is quite literally going ‘nope’ when one is confronted with the very real trauma of a character and discarding it. don’t get me wrong, some things in canon should be discarded in some sources of entertainment, but a character’s abuse being discarded entirely for the sake of shipping just does not sit well with me.

of course, people who ship it are absolutely not thinking this maliciously when they ship discountdesuka, but that’s what it is irregardless of what they are thinking.

‘game’ dedede / escargoon is a ‘what could’ve been’ situation. 

it is an idealized version of dedesuka, one which throws a key aspect of escargoon’s out the door purely for the fluff and the cute gay moments that could’ve been. and sadly enough, it’s probably what escargoon dreams and hopes could happen (which is arguable because escargoon gets suspicious whenever dedede is nice to him), but it never does.

i understand why people do it. i know they don’t have some secret plan to be evil by creating secret abusive content that has hidden messages in it so everyone will ship abusive ships or something ridiculous like that, and if you thought that i thought that you’re very wrong. 

in some’s cases (as shown by the tags on my escargoon post), they want to reclaim a relationship which was blatantly homophobic in execution and turn it into something better. others just want a cute ship because their version of ‘game’ dedede is morally better than his anime counterpart, and wouldn’t hurt escargoon. they want to make wholesome content to drown out canon’s shows of abuse and negativity. which is understandable to want, but to show respect to the concepts the show puts out, isn’t something that should be embraced with ‘game’ dedede/escargoon. 

but there is no undoing what anime dedede/escargoon is in the show, and what it means to give escargoon over to ‘game’ dedede instead. ‘game’ dedede / escargoon is not abusive by any initial means, but it is still something that should not be shipped regardless.

it is disrespect to escargoon’s status as an abuse victim to  ship him with the same exact person who abused him and say it’s okay because ‘he has a different personality’. 

i am begging you. please ship escargoon with your oc or some other game character.

[calleo-bricriu]

You’re doing it wrong.

(( Cleaned up thread with @retired-death-eater. Minor edits to fix typos or to add clarity. ))

“Is it supposed to hurt?” Calleo’s question came off as more of an incredulous laugh than something said in the aftermath of being surprised with a Cruciatus.

“Yes — yes.. YES IT IS SUPPOSED TO HURT,” Delacroix snarled irritated as he pointed his wand at Calleo. “Are you literally mocking me?” He continued with a hiss.

He was grinding his teeth while he stared down on Calleo. “I did tell you – I would crucio you,” he hissed, making a swipe with his hand in order to strengthened the spell.

“I have been getting increasingly irritated by that bloody thing you sent up to my department. It is ruining the furniture and almost ruined my wand!” Bellowed Delacroix, wide-eyed as he clenched his wand.

“It RUINED my desk – I need a new desk, Calleo. God damn it,” he waved an hand, as he swore something vulgar about Calleo in French. “WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO ABOUT YOU? I don’t even know what you do. Why do I have to suffer being chewed out by the higher ups for God knows why?”

He stopped his ranting and tried to control his breath while staring furiously at Calleo. “…For fuck sake…”

Somehow, by some often not granted grace by the universe, Calleo managed not to laugh when he asked the question. It being said in an utterly deadpan tone probably wasn’t much better, though, considering how Delacroix reacted.

“I’m not mocking you,” Calleo brushed a bit of imaginary dust off of his cardigan and smoothed it back into place, “it’s more that I’ve researched and tested that particular curse extensively and you’re doing it wrong.”

“Well–not wrong, technically, it was mostly correct, but mostly correct doesn’t make it nearly as painful as it’s capable of being. Next time, sharper movements, don’t round your corners, and at least have the courtesy to modify it enough so it does more than cause me to lose my breath for a few seconds.”

Smart. Very smart. Just encourage the already angry man to cast another Cruciatus. That’s always a good idea, no possible way it could backfire for everyone involved. Still, if he hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud, it was far too late to remedy the issue now. It most certainly did hurt, it was, after all, the Cruciatus Curse and even an unmodified one was exceptionally painful.

“Yes, well,” Calleo began as he gathered his hair to loosely tie it back. The gesture in and of itself held no hint of any potential retaliation or preparation for retaliation still, it was a rarity for Calleo to tie it back at the Ministry, “that’s the sort of thing that happens when gentle verbal reminders to not tie up other departments in your own department’s backlog go ignored, isn’t it?”

“Wands can be replaced,” he squinted a bit despite already having his glasses on, “and yours doesn’t look all that chewed anyway. As for the desk, try reparo. It’s not as though someone transfigured it into several hundred thousand spiders, all of which you need to find before you can even begin to put it back together. It’s just a bit gnawed on and maybe a tiny bit burned.”

“As for why?” Calleo smiled in an almost obnoxiously friendly manner, “I don’t like to suffer alone; misery does love company, after all, and if you don’t think I don’t hear about it from those above me–despite the fact that the situation was, in no way, any fault of my own–you’re completely out of your mind.” As opposed to just partially out of his mind, presumably.

“Now,” Calleo folded his hands on the desk in front of him, still smiling like an idiot “care to try again, or were you satisfied with how that first one went? Fair warning, though, if it’s another disappointing one, I’m going to be inclined to show you how to do it properly whether you ask me to or not.”

The corner of Delacroix’s lips twisted even more and he took a deep breath. “I bloody hate you sometimes, Calleo,” he hissed as he turned around before making a sharp move, as if performing a fencing move at Calleo.

“CRUCIO!” his dark eyes stared, making a follow up move that was sharp enough for him to add strength to the spell. “Quiet – just be quiet. By Salazar!” He kept throwing crucio at him in a pure fit of rage before eventually burning himself out.

“My wand has been with me since I started at Hogwarts. I refuse to let some stupid creature of whatever sort, eat it… Of course not. I kicked the beast out of my office.” Delacroix breathed out, leaning up against the table, clearly out of breath from swinging his arm sharply around himself. “I am not out of my mind, Calleo. If you need someone to join in your misery you should have asked rather than forced me into it!” He slammed a fist into the desk, eyebrow twisting a bit as he tried to control his breath.

“Spiders – why the fuck spiders? I would kill whoever did that if it happened.. I don’t care if my desk was burnt into a crisp. I’ll just go reparo it ….,” he rasped hoarsely before he bowed his head, shifting his weight from one foot to another. His wavy black hair hung down his face, blocking his view.

“I was not satisfied with the first, thank you very much. And I would rather not have you show me how to do a proper one,” he rasped, glancing up at Calleo with narrowed eyes that burnt with anger.

Calleo did stay quiet, at least, for the short duration of the second round of curses. If nothing else, a few years of occasionally random visitors hitting him with it only knocked him back into his chair instead of out of it.

And for a few minutes after Delacroix stopped, Calleo was quiet, more to get his breathing back into a regular pattern again than anything else and, when he spoke, it was definitely something stupid that came out of his mouth, “I’ll forward the research paper on to you. Honestly, I don’t have the time to deal with the lecture you know we’d both get if an actual fight broke out.”

“That,” he took a deep breath and leaned forward again, “and I don’t want to have to deal with everything that’d go off in this room if that happened. Most of what’s in here reacts–interestingly–to a lot of hostile magical back and forth anyway.”

“That said, you’re absolutely at least half out of your mind if you lost enough of it to come down here flinging curses that usually get you a life term in Azkaban!” He laughed, as that was evidently funny but, then, after a few repeated hits, one could hardly blame Calleo if his sense of humour went temporarily off balance.

“As for asking? We don’t have that kind of relationship and I’d venture to guess we never will. I don’t think you’d care for it anyway; I’m kind of insufferable if you haven’t already noticed that.”

“I don’t know why spiders,” now, Calleo pointed to an area of the desk that seemed to be missing random small pieces, “David used to do that; it’s why he’s in Azkaban–not for doing it to my desk, for doing it to a Muggle then hitting it with a shoe.”

And as quickly as he mentioned that, he moved on, “Well, now, is that fair? You repeatedly demonstrated it semi-competently on me, don’t you think you deserve at least a second or two of what it’s capable of in proper hands, just so you have a frame of reference the next time you decide to use it on someone?” That set of questions was rhetorical. Almost before he’d finished the last word, Calleo had his wand out and the curse cast. He was, if nothing else, true to his word of ‘a second or two’, though it likely felt as though it lasted significantly longer than the exact count of two before Calleo ripped it away rather than simply stopping the cast. Calleo then stood to peek over his desk just to make certain Delacroix was still, in fact, breathing, “All right?”

Delacroix barely got to respond to anything before he fell to the floor with a stiff face, all stretched out. He could not even blink, move or say anything. When Calleo finaly forced himself to roll around onto his stomach. “… Merde,” was the only thing he could say. He curled together onto the floor, grinding his teeth as he did so.

He laid there breathing for a while before trying to stretch out his limbs, but recoiled. “Well done…,” he rasped, still curled together, one hand stretched out. “I …. think I need to see a healer. And if I was your boss, I would fire you at the spot,” he coughed before rolling around onto his back.

“I need a priest.. I think I’m literally dying….,” he continued, eyes squeezed shut. “Big time — can you tell my family I died not so much in pain as I actually am?” He popped open an eye, looking at Calleo.

“I need go to the hospital… Not the muggle one, though… ,” he tried to move an hand, but gave up. “Merrrrrrrrrrde,” he groaned clearly distressed before he forced his hands up to his eyes. “This is worse than what I experienced during the war…. I feel like I am on the edge of passing over ….”

He took a sharp inhale before breathing out in a wheezed gasp before he slowly closed his eyes. “…. I fucking hate you… Be that my last word if I die in your office… I will fucking haunt you for the rest of your life. In hell if I get there…,” Delacroix curled together again onto the floor in a fetal position.

“And if I were your boss, I’d have sacked you and had you hauled off to Azkaban for casting it repeatedly; you probably wouldn’t even get a trial on account of that thing on your arm, so perhaps we ought to just call it even, hm?”

Calleo pushed his chair back and moved around to the other side of the desk, casually sitting next to Delacroix on the floor, “You’re being a little dramatic, and you’re not dying,” now, however, his tone was different.

A bit calmer and more even and certainly not antagonising any longer. and, as he spoke, he casually reached back and untied his hair, stuffing the tie itself back into a pocket.

“You’ll be mostly fine in about twenty minutes or so, though I wouldn’t recommend trying to move much for another five or ten. Best just to focus on keeping your breathing regular for that time span. If you like, I can switch the metronome on at a slow pace so you can keep track.”

Calleo leaned back on his hands, looking now much more like an overgrown student chatting away about a homework assignment than someone who had just done what he had knowingly done, “Four minutes and–I think it was forty-five seconds.”

“Not for you, that was exactly two seconds, but for the testing I did a few years back; I’d wanted to see how long it would take before it might actually kill me. The one doing the testing stopped at around that mark as they weren’t able to control it to the point to keep me breathing–and it was only their movements with it that let me keep breathing. Any movements made under that modification are being made by the caster, not the victim, it shuts everything down by overloading everything, including involuntary sound and movement.”

He was, now, oddly conversational, “After the first couple of minutes you go numb yet somehow still feel everything, which makes no sense but it’s about the only way I can describe it.”

Calleo grinned up at the ceiling, “Couple of weeks before I could walk again, and nearly a year before I could reliably do so without use of a cane. Couldn’t feel my fingers for almost two months and, for some reason, my left side took more damage than the right. For the longest time, that leg would just stop working without warning, or the arm would shake so badly I couldn’t do a thing with it. It’s all mostly fixed now but getting that repaired was almost worse than having it done in the first place!” Why he laughed at that was anyone’s guess.

“Some of the damage is permanent. My whole left side is still a little funny.”

“Oh! That does remind me!” Calleo stopped looking at the ceiling and looked back down at the man on the floor, “You might have a slight pins-and-needles sensation in your extremities for a few days–or a few weeks, it varies from person to person, but it shouldn’t cause any lasting damage with that quick of a hit unless it went over existing damage, in which case it might make it temporarily worse. Any numbness should clear up within a couple of hours.”

“Anything else–essential tremor, unsteadiness, headache, fatigue, those sorts of things–should clear up within a couple of days or least, at most, a week or two. You could go to St. Mungo’s if you like but, they won’t be able to do much for you apart from maybe knock you out for a couple of days–and even if you told them what it was, we both know that I would absolutely claim self-defence after you cast it at me first.”

“If you ever very quickly want to disarm and subdue anyone though–that’ll do it every time. Pity it’s not technically allowed, it’d save a lot of drawn out fights when you lot go to arrest someone who doesn’t want to go quietly.”

He smiled broadly at the declaration of hatred and intent to haunt, “See, now, that’s how I know you’re not dying; if you were dying, you wouldn’t threatening me with any of that, you’d just kind of be laying there. The fact that you can talk at all tells me you’re fine. In general. Mostly.”

[ilosttrackofthings]

If you're still taking sunday six prompts, how about 'floor' of February 22, 2018 or 'home' or 'broken' of January 21, 2018.

Good news: I actually managed to get ‘home’ going again and have what should be part one of two finished so yay!

Bad news: I think ‘broken’ was a little too ambitious so here’s what I did manage to write, along with some explanations/headcanons. (Also this is unedited so don’t judge me for stuff I’d clean up if I ever posted this for real.)

Once, after aparticularly successful mission in the Bahamas, the team spent a dayon the beach, soaking up the sun and enjoying the ocean breeze. Afterlunch, their bellies too full of food to go out into the water, Jemmaand Skye sat at its edge, near enough the surf would wash over theirlegs and around their hips. When it rolled back out, it sucked thesand from beneath them and they laughed like children every time.

That’s what thisfeels like. The monolith is the ocean, vast and unforgiving, andJemma herself is the sand, torn away from the shore no matter how shestruggles to hold on.

She’s senttwisting and turning, caught in a riptide, and when she’sthrown—gasping and aching—onto dry land, it isn’t the solidfloor of Vault E. Not that she cares about the dirt beyond that itgives when her fingers dig into it and absorbs the sounds of heragonized screams.

.

.

Pain—real,physical pain—cuts through her skull. Sunlight breaks through herfluttering eyelids, curling and twisting around her eyelashes, makingstrange patterns in the air, obscuring the faces of those around her.

Orperhaps that’s the head wound.

Handscarry her and more reach out to touch her as she passes by. Too hard,too soft. Too hot, too cold. They’re all wrong. All completelywrong. None are what she needs.

It’sthe soulbond.

Sherealizes it with a clarity that only increases the pain. The bond hasbeen severed, that’s the pain she’s feeling.

Butit can’t be like this. Millions of people outlive their soulmatesand it hurts, yes, but how can they go on if the pain is always thismuch? If Fitz is really dead-

(Oryou are, a cruel little voice inher head says. She’s the one who was swallowed by the monolith.She’s the one who disappeared. Perhaps this is the afterlife.)

-howis she meant to go on living for another fifty years or even fiftyminutes with pain like this?

Thehands holding her lose their grip on her head. It’s too heavy forher to lift on her own and it pulls her neck to a sharp angle,aggravating the blow she took earlier.

Shesinks gratefully into unconsciousness.

.

.

(She comes to himcrying, so overwhelmed by her suffering that even in sleep her tearsfall. His worshipers lay her at his feet and scamper away. What is tocome is not for them to see.

Hereaches out to her, lets his power fall on her that she might befreed of her pain. The thread of connection he anticipates does notform. Rather, he feels a sharp tug that nearly knocks him off hisfeet and the lingering ache—the one he has suffered for generationson end and has learned to pretend he does not feel—is suddenlygone.

Hebreathes, for the first time in a literal age, easily.

Hisknees hit the stone floor beside her and he pulls her to him, feelsher skin, her hair, the beat of her heart in her breast. He presseshis face to her neck, takes in the scent of her. He remembers this,the sense of completion long since lost.

Hertears have stopped falling and though she sleeps on, she turns intohis every touch, deepening the closeness. She is his. For always thistime.)

.

.

Atinkling like wind chimes eases her awakeand when she opens her eyes she sees rainbows dancing where the lightfrom an open window falls on a wall.There’s no sudden spike of the ache that’s been sitting in herbones for days or theemptiness so deep she fearedit might drown her. There is, however, a slight twinge at the base ofher skull that eases when strong fingers slide gently over it.

“You’reall right now,” a voice says. Or … doesn’t. She recognizes thewords, but she doesn’t hear any sound.

Shetwists, finds herself in the lap of a man she’s never seen before.Her heart pounds. Though not from fear.

“Whathappened?” she asks.

Helooks human enough but as she was able to determine, between bouts ofunbearable agony, that this cannot possibly be Earth, he might aslikely be a member of one of the many races Sif claimed are similarenough to pass for human. As if to prove her right, hetips his head to one side like a bird consideringa scrap of food it’s never seen before. “You don’t know,” hesays, but his mouth doesn’t move at all.

Itisn’t a question, but she shakes her head anyway, using the motionto turn more fully onto her back. She’s on stone, but the lap she’sresting on is plenty comfortable.

She’sconscious of her precarious position—of how intimately she’slying against him and how casually he draws his fingers through herhair even now she’s awake (she’s glad for that though, it feelswonderful)—but can’t find it in her to pull away. Perhaps she’sbeen drugged.

Hiseyes narrow in confusion, which he shakes off swiftly. “You areaware your soulbond was severed?” he asks, still without moving hislips. The words are in her head, some sort of telepathy which bringswith them a sense of unease and caution.

Thequestion reminds her of Fitz and of the gaping hole left where herbond to him used to be. Guilt washes over her and that, finally, hasher sitting up.

Thestone they’re on turns out to be a bench and she slides her legsover the side so that she and the man face opposite directions. Theposition allows her to somewhat face him, but she focuses on the viewout the window. It, like the bench, is stone with no glass save thedecorative pieces hanging from narrow strings. The jungle—sheimagines the same one she’s been struggling to survive in while hersoul felt like it was dying—is beneath them, stretching out like agreen carpet until it disappears in distant clouds and fog.

Shecan feel the man’s eyes on her as well as the lingering buzz of histouch on her skin and shifts slightly away. She’s always felt alittle guilty with other men even though her bond with Fitz is purelyplatonic, but ever since he confessed his own belief that it wasromantic instead… She could barely hug Trip after he rescuedher from Hydra, for heaven’s sake! Lying in the lap of a completestranger is far more than she’s done in the past year, and knowingshe’s done it while Fitz is surely suffering as deeply as she is?

Was,she realizes with a jolt. There’s a lingering tenderness when shefocuses on the bond, but no pain at all anymore.

She’snever heard of anything like this—of course she also hasn’t heardof many people separated from their soulmates by light years; perhapsthe bond simply needed time to adjust to the distance.

“Youdo not need to explain,” the man beside her says. His eyes arefixed ahead on the lights on the wall. “But you must know that myown bond was severed as well. She … feared me.”

Amillion questions buzz through her head. The bond can be severed? Wasshe brought to him because of his familiarity with the subject? Doesthat mean her bond with Fitz hasn’t adjusted at all and he’s onlyeased the pain of its loss somehow?

Butwhat she says is only, “I’m sorry.” She touches his arm andfeels a vibration down to her toes. Her breath catches and it takesmore concentrated effort than she expects to pull her hand away.

Hewatches her, eyes oddly predatory. Prudence urges her to ask whyhis soulmate feared him, but curiosity sends her another direction.

“Whatdo you mean when you say it’s been severed?” She focuses on itagain, feeling the familiar warmth. It’s there, exactly as itshould be. She must have been right and the bond only required sometime to adjust to the distance. But if that’s the case, shouldn’tshe be able to feel the distance between herself and Fitz?And-

It’snot so familiar anymore. Her bond with Fitz was like walking into awarm house at the end of a long winter day. But now the bond is warmlike a crackling fire, eating up wood and gas and whatever else fallsin its reach. She’d almost think her soul’s caught a fever.

Theman drags in a deep breath, his eyes fluttering in pleasure.

Asuspicion takes root in Jemma’s mind and she struggles to push itaway while he brings himself out of whatever that was.

“Mysoulmate turned to dark magicks. She was willing to damage her ownsoul in order to see me cut from it. Though I cannot imagine anyonegoing to such lengths to be free of you-” he reaches for her andshe wants to pull away—she does—but she can’t seem tobring herself to move- “I assumed your soulmate had done the same.”

Sheshakes her head furiously and his hand falls from her hair. “No.No, that’s not what happened. He wouldn’t-” She knows Fitz hasbeen frustrated with her, but he would never break the bond. It’snot even possible. Is it?

“Itwas the monolith,” she says firmly. “It dragged me away.”

“Monolith,”he echoes and she feels a sharp something in her skull before hisexpression clears. “In the temple.”

“Yes!”It was all carved stone like this place—but much dirtier; no onehad been there in ages—and she spent what felt like days by theside of the monolith’s twin, hoping it would take her back, beforehunger drove her to find her way out and into the surrounding jungle.

“Atoy the Kree left behind,” he says, the words in her head vibratingwith barely leashed disgust.

“TheKree?”

Henods. “They changed me, turned me into one of their weapons. Thatis why my soulmate feared me. But I would not have harmed her and Iwill not harm you. I want only to help my people.”

Shebarely hears the second half of his statement, too distracted by thefirst. “But the Kree stopped experimenting on less advanced racesages … a … go.”

Shelooks around again, taking in the primitive stone architecture, theuntamed wilderness outside, the human-looking man beside her. Whatare the odds that the Kree would pick another species so physicallysimilar to human beings? As a scientist she can reason that theymight have hoped to repeat their successes by starting with similarbase genetics, but that thought does little to stop the fear mountingin her chest as pieces slot into place.

“I’mon Earth,” she says. There’s no way to test her theory, no way toprove it’s true, but she knows it is when she says the words. Theman’s hand rests on her back, giving her support. “I never left.That’s why the bond broke, because Fitz-”

Fitzdoesn’t exist. Not even in some theoretical afterlife. He won’texist for several thousand years.

“Iam sorry.” There’s so much sympathy on the man’s face, so muchcompassion, that she allows herself to fall into his arms.

.

.

After recovering from the shock of what’s happened, Jemma eventually gets around to asking Hive all her questions and he explains that, since neither of them has a soulbond of their own, they bonded naturally when they came into contact with one another. She spends a lot of time considering how different this new bond is from her first and also coming to terms with this new world she’s found herself in. She’s not sure how she feels about Hive’s position but ultimately comes around and accepts what is definitely not a platonic bond for what it is.

Then I had some vague thoughts that, with Jemma by his side, fear of Hive would increase because now there’s the potential for a dynasty (whereas before any dissenters could simply hope to kill him alone and be done with the whole mess). So the two of them would find a way back to the future where they’d learn what became of poor Fitz.

It’s possible to survive the severing of a bond, but not easy, spiritually or physically. Hive honestly only survived as long as he did because of his powers. Fitz struggles for a while but once the ATCU shows up on the scene and they learn about the stasis pods, he starts going into one for long stretches, only being revived when the team truly needs him. This leads the team to branching out and bringing in more scientists, including Radcliffe.

Ultimately Radcliffe still builds Aida a body and the Darkhold happens and wouldn’t you know it, when Fitz is revived to help deal with the Russian’s army of robotic copies, he bonds with the newly (In)human Aida.

So everyone is happy and bonded. The end.

[imagine-lcorp]

One Full Moon is Not Enough (One Shot)

A/N: Hello again, this time I bring you the marvel of a one shot. Keeping up with the halloween season, I will be doing some more fics with monster reader so stay tuned. Also the Day of the Dead comes after it, and it makes me so happy!! :D ...And really there’s not much to say here, just that I’m excited for the next episode of Supergirl in which we finally get to see Lena again, thank goodness. Enjoy! :)

Lena Luthor x Werewolf Reader//Word Count: 1,442

Slowly, and little by little, your senses started to bring you back to reality. The full moon's nightmare was over and you needed to unchain yourself before anything else. But then your mind reacted to the sensations in your skin, letting you know something was different. You didn't remember much of last night, you never do anyway, but getting yourself in a bed with sateen sheets was not something you did in a regular basis. The air around was different too. Unlike the smell of stale humidity, the air was filled with a soft perfume. So you opened your eyes, trying to adjust to the light that poured in the bedroom, and looked around with some difficulty. It definitely wasn't yours. 

You were worried, of course. Waking up in a different place after the night you had was not something to take lightly. But you felt weak and returning to normalcy would take a while. So you decided to wait a bit longer there within soft sheets. When your body stopped hurting and your head spinning, you could be able to stand up and walk to the rest of the house. After a while, you managed to sit on the bed, noticing you were also wearing a plain white t-shirt and some shorts. Someone had clearly put you in those. 

Your whole body still ached and felt numb, making it difficult to get up but, so far, that was normal. In the back of your mind a little voice wondered if it was necessary to leave the bed. If you wanted you could return to bed and sleep until another day was over. You shook your head no. As promising as that sounded, you needed to find out how you had ended there. You took a deep breath before standing, ready for the wave of dizziness that stroked you after.

Walking out of the room was in itself a challenging task. You were surprised you didn't fall or break any of the decorations around. Your strength was returning even when it didn't feel like it. Still you had to look down, watching your every step just to be careful. 

"(Y/N), what are you doing? You should still be in bed." You almost didn't hear Lena. 

Her voice. It felt like a blast of cold water and some clarity fell upon your heavy head, letting you connect that you were, in fact, at your girlfriend's penthouse. At Lena's penthouse. How could you have missed that? You had reached the living room with her sitting in one of the couches. She had her laptop on the table and was working in some project, for what you could see once you raised you head.  

"How did I get here?" Your voice hoarse and harsh. 

"I..." Lena hesitated. You didn't mean to sound angry. "I brought you here." 

"How?" You sounded tired this time. 

"I found you. With some help." You watched her stood up and walk slowly towards you, fidgeting with her hands. She was nervous. You were making her nervous.

You tried to remember whatever you could about last night. It was still late evening when you had gone to the warehouse and had put the shackles, of welded down chains, in your legs and wrists. All you could do, after making sure they were padlocked, was to wait for the moon to rise. You had gotten so used to this it didn't bother you anymore. Not until you felt the chills crawl in your spine up to your head. Because, when it started, the fear came back, and you had to close your eyes, and lie on the floor with your body shaking violently.

A few moments more and the fear would be forgotten, replaced by the sound of cracking bones and cries of pain. You had prayed once to make this easier but every time it was the same. It started with your head, snapping abruptly from one side to the other. 

Then you heard someone scream your name and you forced yourself to open your eyes. Lena was there on the other side of the room, looking at you with an absolutely horrified expression on her face. But she ran towards you, mouthing words of comfort you couldn't understand. I'm gonna get you out of here, you thought she had said when you saw her unlock one of the padlocks in your legs. You felt you heart beat harder and faster with terror engulfing you whole. 

You had to warn her to go, run and don't look back. But you couldn't do it as much as you wanted with your jaw disjointing, tasting your own blood. The sound of your voice turned low and guttural until it was nothing but a scream of pure lunacy. Bones started to break and you felt your muscles being pulled apart. She flinched, taking a step back. You couldn't do anything but watch her there, in front of you, with glassy eyes and scared to death, unable to look away from you. Your body already in too much pain to prevent her of what was happening. 

More cries came out of your own mouth and, when the vertebrae in your spine broke to rearrange itself, you finally faded into unconsciousness.

"Y-you were there... you unchained me?...and I was..." You had to put your hand on your head, as if that could stop the throbbing ache that came with the memories. 

"Why didn't you tell me any of this, (Y/N)? I could've helped you." Lena's voice came to you filled with genuine concern and not sheer terror. 

"With what?" A dry chuckle escaping you. "Wrapping some chains around me? Cause that would come in handy." Her face fell at the remark. It wasn't your intention to discourage her but you couldn't fathom how she was being nothing but sympathetic about all this. 

"To find a solution." She said convinced. You imagined she had spent the whole night watching over you and the whole morning doing research over research about your pathology. 

"This is the only thing I can do." You shook your head.

"Have you even tried something else?" She stood in front of you, not wanting to let this go yet. There should be something else, she was sure.

"This is not seasonal flu, Lena. No matter what I do, I can't cure it and it doesn't get better." The pitch in your voice increasing. 

"You cannot keep doing this to yourself." She had never seen you in such pain. 

"For heaven's sake, Lena, you saw what happened. I could have-" killed you. You had to stop yourself. She was too much of an important person in your life to even dare to imagine it. 

Lena always took you for a great person, the best she knew. You brought her, and Jess, coffee on busy mornings and sent her cute dog pics while she was stuck on tedious meetings. She loved how you never minded her choice on kale chips for movie nights and how attentive you were when she talked about her new projects. She loved how you called her the best Luthor in town. Above all, she loved that you loved her. And that part of her, that was so enamored, told her you could never do such things. One full moon was not enough to truly change you.

"You wouldn't hurt me." Lena said so tenderly, you couldn't stand it.

"I am not that beast!" You shouted and it surprised you how much it sounded like a growl. Lena winced and held her breath. It was terrible, to make her afraid once again. 

You couldn't withstand the pain anymore, not the one your body nor the one in Lena's expression. You finally broke. Your knees went weak, your body felt heavier, and the floor vanished beneath your feet. A second later, Lena and you were sitting on the floor. Her arms holding you close, comforting you, as you tried to regain some strength.

"Whatever it does, I never know. I don't-" Your voice wavered. 

"(Y/N), please." She whispered.

"I don't want you to get hurt." I don't want' to lose you. 

"I promise I won't." Lena kissed your temple. "But you don't have to do this alone. Not anymore." 

You dared to imagine then how things would change. If you would wake up again between sateen sheets. If Lena would indeed get used to all this and if she would, hopefully not, try to make jokes about your transformation being that time of the month. Finally feeling some peace, you wrapped yourself around her tighter, with a light smile forming on your lips.

Help the Fandomentary Team! https://goo.gl/forms/wAtmk07tz3u3If7w1

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

Can you do jarchie where Archie gets jug sick bc he kissed him while he was sick?

(Comin’ at ya with some established QPR Jarchie!! First time doing something like this and I’m trying really hard to be as respectful as i can! Also sorry i took a huge break!!! trying to get back on track my dudes!!)

Jughead gently presses his body against Archie’s, wrapping an arm around his waist as he pulls him close. He’s desperate to share his warmth with his shivering, sick partner, in hopes he could take it all away.

Jughead hates it when Archie’s sick, because Archie doesn’t deserve this. Whenever he’s sick, the energetic, bright ball of sunshine that he deeply adored was reduced to an empty shell of who he truly was. If Jughead could make the sun shine for Archie every day, he would. But he can’t, because human bodies aren’t designed to stay in a constant state of health.

“Are you okay with this?” Archie croaks out, sniffling weakly.

Jughead smiles fondly, touched that even in his fevered state Archie is still looking out for him and his boundaries. Much of his life Jughead had internalised that no one would ever understand him and stick with him. He was proven very wrong.

“Yes. This is okay, anything to give you back your warmth,” Jughead coos softly, running a hand through Archie’s hair. Archie loves affection, he always has, and Jughead doesn’t mind providing. He himself doesn’t hate it, anything above the torso is cool. But Jughead is definitely very ticklish, so his answer is slightly complex.

Archie coughs weakly, the sound resonating from his chest. The other boy frowns at this, not liking this in the slightest. He’s still a little flabbergasted by it all, because Archie is never the first one sick. It’s always him, and this is a weird little surprise. But of course, Archie is much more active and sociable than he is, and Jughead supposed picking something up from one of the Bulldogs was going to happen eventually. He’s surprised it doesn’t happen more often.

Archie relaxes as Jughead wraps himself around him, a sweet and comforting sensation of warmth embracing him like a blanket. He smiles softly, his shivering beginning to subside as Jughead holds him like this. He coughs again, his body shaking with the force.

“I really appreciate you doing this for me, I..you’re being really sweet and I really like it,” Archie says quietly.

Jughead rolls his eyes fondly, “Oh really? Maybe I’m just a clone of Jughead, because Jughead can’t be sweet, he’s cold and cynical and bitter.”

Archie scoffs and lifts a hand tiredly to smack Jughead’s cheek gently and playfully, “Oh for fuck’s sake Jug, don’t ruin the pureness of this moment with your self hatred. Besides, you are a massive softie, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

“True, i do enjoy cake and marshmallows and the like, I even prefer the softer fries,” Jughead jokes, only for Archie to huff and smack him again.

Archie begins to cough violently, burying his face into his pillow as he does. His body convulses as he coughs, body racked by it. He hacks, the coughs ripping out of his throats and eyes tearing, nose running. Jughead frowns and skilfully rubs his back to soothe him and coax out the coughs, and eventually Archie finishes.

Archie whimpers as he finishes, and Jughead can feel a new wave of heat radiate off of the boy. Jughead frowns and feels at his forehead with the back of his hand, unhappy with the results.

“I’m going to get you a new towel,” Jughead announces, shifting to get up but Archie whines in misery and flips over so that he’s facing Jughead. He protectively wraps his strong arm around Jughead’s waist and pulls Jughead close to him, snuggling up against his chest miserably.

“No, please, don’t go,” Archie whines, nuzzling his nose into Jughead’s chest.

“Archie, you know I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right back, I just need to get your fever down..” Jughead insists, trying to squirm out of Archie’s tight grasp. Even when he’s sick, Archie’s football practice comes in to play.

“Noooo, cuddle me,” Archie whines again, his grip tightening around Jughead.

“Oh, for fucks sake..” Jughead sighs, and when he looks down at Archie he sighs again, because Archie looks so miserable and Jughead can’t say no to him.

“Fine,” Jughead gives in, nuzzling Archie’s cheek with his nose and gently rubs at his shoulders to comfort him.

Archie pulls away from Jughead’s chest and looks up at him with twinkling, bleary eyes. He looks extremely feverish, and miserable, and those two combined means affection for Archie Andrews. Suddenly, he’s lazily leaning in and pressing a sloppy kiss against Jughead’s lips.

Jughead is a little alarmed, freezing up for a second but when the warmth spreads throughout him he relaxes and closes his eyes and lets it happen.

Once it’s over Archie feverishly pulls away, and suddenly and a sudden clarity washes over his eyes, and they’re widening in shock and realisation.

“Oh god, Jug, I’m sorry–” Archie gasps.

Jughead chuckles lightly, “Its cool. I’m cool with it, it was nice.”

“No–but now you’re going to get sick,” Archie panics.

Jughead rolls his eyes, “Eh, it was going to happen anyway. Besides, who knows, maybe it’ll give me a pass.”

“That’s not very likely.”

“Don’t rain on my parade, asshole,” Jughead jokes and cuddles him again.

“I’m still sorry, I just..”

“You what?”

“I just love you a lot, Jug. I’m sorry,” Archie whimpers pathetically, seemingly very small.

Jughead smiles softly and closes his eyes, relaxing, “What is there to be sorry about? There’s only everything to be thankful about. I love you a lot too, and it’s really nice to have someone looking out for me..it feels..nice, I never really had a lot of that growing up and I thought I would never have anything like it, but you’ve proven me very wrong.”

“Awh, Jug..” Archie smiles fondly.

Jughead makes a face, “Eugh, okay, enough of that. That’s as much of sap you’re getting today.”

Archie laughs heartily, a little chestily and twinged with congestion. He lets out a chorus of little chesty coughs to which Jughead rubs his back soothingly for him, and when he finishes Archie is exhausted. Weakly, he relaxes and closes his eyes to recover, but his body is too weary and sends him off to sleep and to another world. Jughead chuckles at this and fondly wraps an arm around him, closing his eyes and follows suit.

A day or two later, Jughead wakes up to a light itch in his nose. He scrunches his nose sleepily, pawing at it and tries to get back to sleep. However, the itching only for worse as it tickled ferociously on the inner lining of his nose.

Suddenly the weight of the situation kicks in and Jughead widens his eyes and tries to keep his hitching as quiet as he can. He rolls off of the air mattress and tries to quickly but quietly make his way out of the room as not to wake Archie. He nearly makes it when he trips over Archie’s mess, and manages to grasp onto the handle of the door, breaking his fall, but also breaking the silence.

Jughead hopes that Archie doesn’t wake up, and makes his way into the hall before releasing a series of explosions, trying his best to restrain the sound of his sneezes. It scrapes at his throat horribly, and it inflames his sinuses.

He’s exhausted at the end of it, his nose running as he tries to sniff and pretend it didn’t happen. He drags himself back into the bedroom, flopping back against the air mattress and pulling the covers around him a little tighter this time. It’s illogical, and not very Jughead, but he hopes that an hour or two more of sleep will do just the trick and end whatever this is.

Jughead is very wrong.

He wakes up an hour or two later to Archie suddenly lunging on top of him and viciously attacking him with cuddles. Jughead jolts awake, letting out a surprised gasp as his body temporally switches into panic mode.

“Archie!” Jughead groans, trying to push Archie off of him but he can’t quite wipe the fond smile on his face. Archie continues to assault him with hugs, and starts to shake the smaller boy.

“Then wake up!” Archie presses, causing Jughead to groan and take Archie’s outstretched hand and pulls himself up into a sitting position. His feeling of warmth and happiness is immediately yanked away from him when he becomes painfully aware of a reeling headache that makes him feel like he’s just been spun around repeatedly. The world tilts, and a wave of nausea hits him hard and Jughead tilts himself with the force of it.

Archie seems to notice and frowns, “You alright, dude?”

Jughead nods feebly, and blinks hard a few times to try and regain his composure and waits for the world to steady itself, incredibly stiff as not to upset his body any more, “Yeah, just a bit of a head-rush.”

“Alright then, go get yourself ready and head down when you’re done. I’ll go make some breakfast, dad’s gone to work early,” Archie says to him casually, standing up and heading towards the door.

“Ugh, you and cooking? I’d rather not get food poisoning, thanks, and you just got better, so,” Jughead teases.

Archie laughs heartily, “Its just cereal, Jug.”

An irresistible tickle spikes at Jughead’s throat, and his eyes water as he tries to hold them back, and the second Archie exits the room he stifles the breathy, chesty coughs into his elbow. He has to grip the air mattress to maintain balance and not to be completely doubled over by them. When he’s done, Jughead groans and forces himself to stand up, tipping over slightly as the world tilts again. He catches himself, hand shooting up to his aching ahead as he groans in pain.

He can’t let Archie know.

Jughead finally makes his way down to the kitchen and squints as the bright light assaults his eyes. He winces in pain as his headache intensifies, a small grunt escaping him as he blinks repeatedly.

“Jesus, finally,” Archie teases when he hears Jughead come in, back turned to him as he pours OJ into two glasses. He turns around and looks a little surprised.

“Nice bed head, Jug,” Archie observes as he passes the glass over to Jughead’s side of the table, taking his seat shortly after Jughead does.

Jughead slumps in his seat, feeling pretty out of it and just generally unwell. There’s a sickly feeling that looks over his entire being, he feels exhausted and unrested, like the last 8 or so hours of sleep didn’t just happen. He feels heavy and warm, and also cold in the most terrible way.

“Represents the state of my mind,” Jughead jokes, but his eyes are empty of his usual mischievous light.

Archie only scoffs and dips his spoon into his bowl to eat, only to look up at the sound of a series of breathy breaths and one drawn out inhale. He frowns as Jughead’s face scrunches up and body twists away from him and the table, snapping forward into his elbow with a tired sounding sneeze.

He raises an eyebrow.

Jughead sniffles boredly, barely acknowledging it. He thinks that maybe if he doesn’t act super defensive about it, Archie might just brush it off as a morning sneeze. Archie doesn’t press further, and Jughead holds back a smirk, proud of himself for upgrading his “im not sick” skills.

“Do you want to see a movie later?” Archie asks casually before he takes a sip from his OJ.

“I’m just really excited about not being sick and I just want to get out of the house, man. Also, the Bijou is cheaper on a Wednesday, tickets are only 5 bucks!”

Jughead chuckles at that, “Yeah sure, of course. What do you want to see?”

“I don’t know, you’re the movie buff.”

Jughead clears his throat, voice slightly hinted with congestion, “Well, there are currently two prime examples of cinema out currently. We could indulge ourselves in a masterful told, skillfully, thought provoking piece of fine cinema through Detroit or a exhilarating, wonderfully styled, white knuckling experience that is Logan Lucky.”

Jughead’s nose twitches for a second, and a brief moment of panic floods throughout him but he manages to recover, smiling brightly, “What say you, Archibald?”

Archie grins widely back at him, “I just got over my cold, I’d go with Logan Lucky for now.”

Jughead nods with approval, making mental note to go see Detroit another time, preferably when he’s feeling better. Then, Jughead is hit with the realisation that going to the movies with Archie was going to make hiding this from Archie pretty difficult.

But he wasn’t giving up, he could do this. Archie was pretty happy, and he hadn’t been the past few days and Jughead didn’t want to ruin this. He couldn’t bare seeing a frown on Archie’s face any longer.

Jughead wraps his denim jacket around him tightly, hoping that it would calm down his violent shivering. He lets out a shaky breath, trying to sniffle as discreetly as he could. He continued to listen to Archie tell his story about this Away Game with the Bulldogs, and while his friend was naturally endearing as always, his mind was blurred and infested by a feverish fog that made it hard for him to listen.

“Jesus Jug, its the middle of the summer and you’re still wearing a jacket,” Archie points out, red in the face from the heat, stretching out as they near the Bijou.

Jughead laughs a little at that, cringing at how wheezy he sounds, “Y'know, being such a cold person does come with its consequences. By the way, you look like a fucking strawberry, pal.”

Archie laughs loudly, and usually this sound is music to Jughead’s ears but it stings at his head, causing him to wince ever so slightly. Archie drapes a strong arm around his shoulder and pulls Jughead close to him as they approach the Bijou entrance.

Jughead can’t help the smile that spreads across his features as he enters the cinema. His eyes light up and twinkle as he looks around at the beautifully decorated cinema, lined with homages to classic Hollywood and fine cinema. He feels at home.

Archie presses his cheek against Jughead and smiles fondly, pressing a soft kiss against his partner’s hair, “I love taking you the cinema. Your eyes light up and it’s so adorable.”

Jughead scoffs and pushes Archie off him playfully, “Eugh, disgusting.”

He softens and bats Archie fondly on the shoulder, “Its how I feel when you play music. It’s..really nice.”

Archie smiles bashfully, ruffling Jughead’s hair, and a curl falls onto Jughead’s nose delicately. He pulls his wallet out of his pocket and begins to line up.

Jughead’s throat and nose begin to itch vigorously and simultaneously, pricking at the sensitive linings, eyes watering. He swallows awkwardly, frantically panicking on the inside.

He clears his throat, trying to keep his voice slow and steady as not to raise suspicion, “You go ahead and buy the tickets, I’ve really gotta piss.”

Archie makes a face and sticks his tongue out, and laughs, “Okay fine. Nachos and cheese and strawberry liquorice with a coke, right?”

Jughead begins to wheeze, turning his back against Archie so he can’t see him succumbing to his illness, flashing him a thumbs up as he quickly rushes to the bathroom.

Once he barges in he bursts into violent coughs, a chesty ring to his forceful explosions. He can’t seem to stop, tears streaming down his eyes as he continues to hack away. His chest is on fire. He can hear a faint wheeze to his breath as he is given a small window of time to rush and unravel a roll of toilet paper and hack violently again to get the phlegm out of his chest. Once he does, he throws that tissue away, and the tickle escalates to his nose where he shoves a fistful of tissues up to his face where he sneezes harshly three times.

He’s red faced and drained when he’s finished, falling back against the wall as he wipes away at irritated tears. He sniffles weakly, breathing heavily to regain oxygen in his system so he feels less faint. Then, his vision focuses and he looks up to see the eyes of Moose, staring at him with eyes of either disgust or concern–Jughead doesn’t care–and quickly leaves the bathroom to see the new Transformers movie, probably.

Jughead feels too sick to care about what Moose thinks of him. His feverish haze can’t even decipher what emotion Moose was staring at him with. Jughead groans and quickly splashes his face with water to regain his composure and try to look a little less like a ghost. He sniffles for good measure and makes sure to stuff both the pockets of his jeans and jackets with fistfuls of tissues.

When he leaves the bathroom he is greeted with Archie’s grinning face holding all of their food, though he looks slightly weary.

“Hey, what’s bothering you bud? You look the best when you’re happy,” Jughead says gently.

Archie blushes deeply and shakes his head, ���Nah. I just saw Moose and he kinda scares me.”

“Archie, his name is ’Moose’, you’ll be okay,” Jughead jokes as he helps Archie take the food to their respective cinema.

“And your name is ’Jughead’,” Archie taunts playfully.

“Yes, and you aren’t scared of him, and he also happens to love you very much,” Jughead says, a little sluggishly and feverishly, but genuine all the same.

Archie blinked, surprised by this display of affection, but liking it all the same.

“Of course,” He smiles as they find their seats.

The movie is really good.

At least whatever the feverish haze is showing him is.

As the movie continues on a weak feeling begins to seep into Jughead’s bones and weighs down on him like a tonne of bricks. Jughead feels so heavy and sleepy and sluggish. He feels sick as a dog. He feels off, feverish and miserable.

Jughead takes his soda placed on the arm rest in between him and Archie and places it on the free one next to him and lifts the arm rest up. He snuggles next to Archie and tries to leech the warmth off of him, to soothe his trembling body. Jughead feels so miserable he wants to be held. In his feverish state the only thing he wants and needs right now is Archie Andrews.

Archie takes Jughead into his loving arms without any thought, wrapping one arm around his shoulder. He lets Jughead rest his head on his shoulder, to which he rests his head on top of Jughead’s in response. He enjoys this affection from Jughead, his viewing greatly improving. However, he suddenly frowns.

“You’re warm,” Archie whispers.

“I’m sitting next to a ray of sunshine, what did you expect?” Jughead rasps back, voice cracking, but smiling nonetheless.

Archie leaves it for the time being, although he can’t quite escape the worry brewing in his chest and Jughead can see it. They sit in silence for a while, and then suddenly Jughead is taking in a drawn out inhale, then he’s yanking a fistful of crumpled up tissues out of his pocket and shoving it against his nose. His body convulses and rattles as he stifles one, two, three sneezes into them. He lets out a breathy moan.

Archie blinks, and a clarity washes over him, then a look of uncertainty and guilt.

When the movie finishes, and the lights flicker back on Jughead stretches and grins in satisfaction.

“That was really good–I liked all the details added in, gave it a lot of depth,” He says happily, hoping to take Archie’s mind off of him.

Archie smiled and twists over to him and examines his face fondly, “I like details too. For example, the little freckles on your nose. They’re like little constellations on your face!”

Jughead flushes a little and rolls his eyes fondly, “Ugh, shut up.”

Archie runs a finger down the bridge of Jughead’s nose, and Jughead can’t resist the tickle that follows, and he pushes Archie off of him to sneeze twice into his elbow.

Archie lets out a deep sigh of guilt, “..Jug..I got you sick.”

“No you didn’t,” Jughead coughs.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice,” Archie says quietly, guiltily, unable to keep eye contact with him. He looks like a kicked puppy.

Jughead’s heart breaks, cupping Archie’s face and bringing it to him so he could look at him, “Hey, man. I don’t like this sadness thing on you. This isn’t your fault. Don’t be sad, buddy.”

Archie sighed softly, “How can I be happy when I’ve made you miserable?”

“You haven’t made me miserable. You make me so happy Archie. I’m sorry if I don’t..say it enough, but know that I’m always feeling it. Believe it or not, I love many things, Archie, but how particular my fondness of you.”

Archie can’t help but crack a smile at that, giggling softly, “Remind me to kick you in the ass if you don’t become a writer…but..I like it when you’re happy too, and you won’t be.”

Jughead gives him a reassuring smile, “This..doesn’t have to be miserable, Archie. You can take me out to ice cream and then we can watch Disney movies at home. What’s not to be happy about that? So..you in..?”

Archie grins, “Yeah, i totally am. As long as I’m with you.”