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ciggylungz · 4 years ago

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Miss Ginger

Miss ginger

Blurb night- 2.5k

(request: can you plz do something about Harry being all soft with his kids?)

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Harry had always been a family man. Ever since he was a little boy he dreamed of having his own family, couple of kids, a nice family home with a big back garden for the little ones to run around in and him and his wife to attempt to grow some fruits and veg and maybe a few sunflowers or daisies. Simple, modest, pure and quaint but most of all, happy.

The day Harry met Y/n he knew she was special. She had this aura that he wanted to wrap himself in like a blanket. A laugh as pretty as song birds in the morning, a heart of gold, quick wit and full of talent. He knew she was going to be his wife someday, and he swears the day she said yes when he got down on one knee his heart grew 3 times its size.

The pair planned their wedding to be an intimate, beautiful event and with the help of Harry’s lovely mother Anne and Y/n’s combined work they were able to pull it off. They had decided to invite their parents and siblings, their closest friends- which included Harry’s former bandmates who made sure to embarrass the newly wed man during their best man speech- and all of Harry’s god children as well as their parents.

Harry wasn’t shy about crying when he saw his bride walk down the isle towards him, her dress was a simple silk fitted gown with delicate trimming of lace. Y/n chose to wear the same pearl earrings her mother had worn at her own wedding and a diamond necklace Anne had gifted her for the occasion. He really couldn’t help the waterworks making their way down his face as he took in her beauty, he stayed weepy through the entirety of their vows a huge smile across his dimpled face when he finally lifted the vail over her head giving her the first kiss as a married couple. She was his, and he was hers and the pair couldn’t be more smitten for each other even as they stand where they are now nearly 4 years into their marriage.

Over the last 4 glorious, joyful years of being fully committed to each other, sharing a surname and living as a unite the pair had welcomed 2 beautiful children into the world. Alfie who was nearly 3, he was conceived only around 6 months into their marriage yet they couldn’t have been more elated to find out they were expecting. The second was their little girl Rosana that they affectionally called by her nickname ‘Rosie’ and she was now coming up on 10 months old, she was starting to become increasingly mobile already such a bubbly happy little girl who had her dad wrapped around her tiny chubby finger.

Harry was currently on a break, just finishing his first solo tour finally getting some downtime to be home with his family and he couldn’t be happier. He loved every part of fatherhood, he enjoyed getting up in the morning and starting the little ones routines. First Harry would go downstairs, putting a kettle on while taking some breastmilk y/n had pumped from the fridge to warm up, when both of those were taken care of he’d migrate back upstairs into his sons room where he’d usually find his little guy sitting up in his new big boy toddler bed playing with one of the various stuffed toys on his bed as he waited patiently to be gotten up. Harry adored the way his son would perk up when he walked in, opening the toddlers curtains to let the sunshine in giving him a nice morning cuddle before taking him to the bathroom to change out of his pullup into his new big boy underwear since y/n and Harry are finally reaching the tail end of potty training their first born. It had been a struggle, yet every time their little boy danced around with a sticker on his shirt for going on the potty it was worth every bed wetting incident, and all the terrible two’s tears that came with the teaching. After he had him changed, he tried his best to tame the boys hair. The little tyke inherited his fathers chocolate curls unlike his sister who wore a head full of ginger ringlets.

After all of the hygiene tasks were complete, he’d serve the boy his breakfast, steeping his wife and him a cup of tea using the remaining warm water to heat the breastmilk in for when Rosie decided to greet the day. Harry didn’t mind giving his girl a bottle feed so his wife could get a little extra sleep in the mornings, opting to nurse during the day and before bed pumping whatever’s left to hold Rosie over till her mother wakes up.

Unlike some people, when Harry heard the baby monitor start to go off with the cries Rosie gives when she first wakes up he smiles instead of groans. He didn’t get angry when his kids cried, he was actually good at reading the cry’s instead of getting frustrated which always helped calm it down quickly and his little girl would always have a little cry when she’d wake up and think she’s all alone.

As soon as her daddy opened her nursery door the little girl stood up in her cot, balancing herself by gripping the railing to get a good look at who was coming towards her. once the morning light was shining in from Harry opening her curtains the tears stopped and a sniffling nose and big gummy grin was shining on her face, a contagious smile at that.

“Good morning sunshine!” the man raised his voice a few octaves, a big grin on his face as he picked her up from her bed giving her a nice hug as he swayed back and forth. “Did yeh have a good sleep, miss ginger? You look very beautiful this morning my girl, always take your shirt off when yeh sleep don’t ya’ silly girl? I get it girlfriend, sometimes you gotta let it breathe babe. C’mon think it’s time for a nappy change and a bottle hmm?” the little girl giggled at her father, bouncing in his arms and babbling incoherently whilst her dad cleaned her up and got her ready for her morning feed.

Harry set the baby in her bouncer, putting the milk into her bottle checking the temperature on his wrist before giving it to the still topless baby. It was easier to just leave it off during the morning snack, she was a rather messy little girl since she always wanted to hold her own bottle now often letting it dribble onto her tummy as she removed the nipple from her mouth to babble at her father. She always had a lot to say, even if no one but her knew what she was on about, no one had created a baby talk translation app yet so until then her passionate rants wouldn’t be understood.

Alfie was at an age where he wanted to be independent more, he reminds everyone how he’s a big boy, whenever he puts his own dish in the washer or screws the top onto his sippy cup by himself. Both his parents found it absolutely adorable and humorous as well.

When Harry heard the pitter patter of his wife coming down the stairs around 45 minutes after he’d got the kids up, a soft smile etched itself onto his face. He swears every time he sees her, no matter what state she’s in he still finds her breathtakingly gorgeous. Angelic even. Even when he had pulled Alfie out of her as she pushed, he still found her beautiful. Nothing would ever change the love and attraction he felt for his wife.

“Mornin’ love, sleep well?” the man brought his wife into his arms, giving her a warm hug and a kiss on the crown of her head. “Mhm, thank you for gettin’ up with the kids so I could get a few extra minutes of rest. Love yeh h.” she stood on her toes to peck his lips, this far into a relationship and being parents a slightly morning breathy kiss didn’t bother them in the slightest. After you’ve changed some ungodly diapers, smells don’t affect you the same anymore.

“no problem, had an easy morning Alfie was good about brushing his teeth and me and Rosie had a nice cuddle. She woke up shirtless again, I’m starting to get her vibe think I might start just being half naked all the time.” Y/n chuckled at her husband, sipping her tea slowly before responding. “At least it was just her top this time, last week when I got her up she had taken everything off. Had to do an extra load of wash after that one. Silly little girl.”

The couple could fawn over their kids for an infinite amount of time, but a thud from the living room disrupted their banter. The two wore matching raised eyebrows while venturing into the room, being met with the sight of Rosie’s bottle tossed at the wall and the girl herself holding her feet up with her little hands in a split position while still strapped into her bouncer chair.

“Hey missy, throwing things isn’t nice. C’mon time to get dressed, can’t have nakey babies crawling in the garden can we? Neighbors might think we aren’t watchin’ after yeh well enough.” Her mother unstrapped her, bringing her to her chest to kiss her cheeks, her father deciding to chime in, “I think with that chubby tummy and those chunky thighs they’ll know our girl is more than taken care of.”

y/n bounced the baby in her arms, cooing at her and mocking Harry’s words with a baby voiced ‘is that true?! Rosie are you a chunky lady?’ which got them a chorus of baby laughs from the infant.

Once y/n got both of her little ones changed as well as herself cleaned up and changed for the day, she took them back downstairs where their father was sitting on the couch glancing between his phone and the tv screen as he shoveled some cereal into his mouth.

Alfie made a b-line for his dad, excited to show him the outfit his mother had dressed him in for the day.

“Daddy! Daddy look! I got clothes on, mummy says I look handsome! Look I got turtles on my socks, daddy look!” the little boy was over the moon about his clothes. Y/n had chosen some toddler size sweatpants, Alfies favorite t-shirt- a Gucci one Harry had got him which his wife thought was insane to dress a messy 3 year old in a 250 pound shirt, but their son loved it because his father wore the same brand- and some socks with little turtles as the print on them. It was going to be a pretty chill day at home so there was no need for fancy clothes.

“Oh my gosh! Bud you look very handsome, look at my dapper boy! Gimme five, big guy” Harry held his palm in the air, his son jumping to smack his much smaller one to his fathers, beaming from all the praise he’d gotten from his doting parents.

When Harry looked over at his wife holding his daughter his smile got even bigger. There stood his beautiful bride, clad in a pair of his black socks she liked to steal, some comfy adidas sweats and a t-shirt Harry had given her years ago. Her hair was in a sloppy bun, lips slightly shiny with some lip balm and only one earring in since Rosie had snatched the other stud from her right ear and tossed it somewhere Y/n too caught up in her children to even remember to take the second one out even after 2 weeks going by now.

His daughter was in a yellow polka dot onesie and her hair was in a little whale spout on the top of her head. His girl’s looked stunning in even the simplest of clothes, they were his angels and he adored them.

“And look at you girls! Little red head, you look dashing in that onesie! Red carpet ready my girl. And you miss yummy mummy, are stunning today. C’mere I want kisses from my ladies don’t be stingy.”

Y/n couldn’t help but laugh at her husband, even when she looked like she lived in a alley behind a gas station he still made a point to make her feel beautiful. Of course, she adored the way her husband talked to their baby girl too, they had a long talk while she was pregnant with her where Harry vowed to always build up their daughter from infancy till the day he died. No matter how old she is, what she was wearing, if she was covered in gunk from the sandbox or in her future prom dress, he promised to always let her know she was beautiful and loved. Harry never wanted his kids to feel any less than supported, validated and loved.

It was around 1 in the afternoon when Rosie woke up from her first nap, nursing while Y/n and Harry sat together on the couch playing with Alfie and his blocks. The family had a quick bite to eat, hanging out just enjoying each other’s company. Y/n handed their daughter to Harry for him to burp her so she could refill Alfie’s sippy cup and grab both her and Harry some water.

After distributing the beverages she sat on the floor, playing with both her kids and holding Rosie up by her hands so she could dance around in her mothers grip. She loved to dance, she was always on the move crawling full speed everywhere and always squirming whenever she heard her fathers music.

Today the little girl had more in store for her parents, taking them both of them by surprise when she hoisted herself up to cruse holding onto the couch before looking right at her mother suddenly taking her first steps towards her.

Harry and Y/n both gasped, eyes wide and mouths showing huge grins while starting to cheer their baby on waving their hands and praising her whilst the baby took wobbly steps to her mom flopping into her chest before she was lifted in the air and spun around, excited cheers from the entire family as they celebrated her milestone.

“You’re walkin’ now Rosie! My big girl! Oh my gosh I’m so proud of you princess!”

Y/n tossed her into the air gently, catching her then setting her back on her feet letting her walk to her dad who was now in full blown celebration mode hands waving in the air while he cheered. His little girl toddled towards him, squealing as he scooped her up and kissed all over her face.

These were the moments he dreamed about his whole life, and he swears the dream didn’t even compare to the reality now. He’s never been happier.

#harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #dad!harry #harry styles daddy #harry styles dad #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles x yn #harry styles x reader #harry styles concept #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut #harry styles blog #harry styles angst

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shadow-djinni · 3 years ago

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finding one wearing the other's clothes for the apocalypse bisexuals 😌😌

uhhhh this one got a little bit away from me, folks. we're over 1k for a prompt lmao. under the cut for length

“Put that on before you catch your death,” Aldin said.

That was all the warning Cal got before a heap of woolen fabric dropped into his lap. He started, looking up from the rocky floor at her. Aldin was crouched just inside the overhang they’d taken shelter beneath, peering out into the torrential Akkalan thunderstorm outside as if it had personally slighted her.

“Where are you going?” Cal asked, straightening himself and adjusting the woolen bundle to inspect it, then looked up at her again. Aldin’s crouch spoke of readiness to action, even with the ginger way she held her right leg.

“Scouting,” Aldin said, glancing back over her shoulder at him. Her green-gold eyes gleamed despite the darkness. “If the moblins fucked off and the path to the road is clear, we’re getting the hell out as soon as the rain eases up.” He moved to stand, and she held up a hand at him. “Nope. You’re gonna stay right here and put that on. I saw you shivering.”

Cal opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again, scowling at her. Aldin arched a brow at him, her lips quirking up in a grin.

“Shut up,” he snapped. “I’m not cold.”

“Whatever you say, sunshine,” Aldin retorted.

And then she was gone, ducking out from beneath the overhang and darting out into the woods. The rain obscured her passage in minutes, leaving Cal entirely alone. He glared after her.

“Fucking asshole,” he muttered, then began unfolding the heap of cloth she’d dropped on him.

Really, scouting ahead had been a mistake. Word at the citadel, on their approach to the Spring of Power, was that a troop of monsters had settled into the valley that led to the sacred spring. He and Aldin had come to a pretty quick conclusion— taking Landy and Na’ila, not to mention the cart and horses, into that kind of mess would be a bad idea— and fucked it up almost as quickly.

They’d handled the bokoblins squatting in a camp halfway down the valley with ease.

The moblin reinforcements that had come rampaging down the hillside had forced them to beat a hasty retreat, him in the lead with Aldin covering them from behind, a red-gold shield of magical force up to deflect the hail of arrows and spears.

The rain was just insult on top of injury.

The bundle proved to be Aldin’s spare kurta, the blue-grey woolen one he’d seen her wear once the entire trip, probably fished out of the bottom of the battered leather rucksack she insisted on carrying everywhere. Cal scowled out at the rain again— trust that asshole to dump the warmest article of clothing she had on him.

Then, guiltily, he lifted it to his nose and breathed deeply. There was something in her pack that smelled of cloves and sandalwood, orange and cinnamon and hints of musk. Her bedroll sat next to it, and the smell had permeated the woolen blankets she never slept under; it permeated her clothes, too, and the spare kurta was no different. It smelled like her.

He stripped himself of his sodden steathsuit, shuddering at the shock of cold air on his exposed skin— it should be illegal, for Akkala to be so cold even in late spring— and yanked the kurta on over his head, curling his legs to tuck his knees beneath the garment as well, trapping as much of his body heat as he could inside. Her kurta felt massive, the sleeves long enough to trap his hands, and the neck slipped down off one of his shoulders. He shivered again and pulled it back up, huddling down to bury his face in the fabric. The smell was everywhere like that, flooding his senses, and he sank down a little further, wrapping his arms around himself for warmth. It was almost enough to pretend she hadn’t left, that she’d stuck around to keep him warm herself.

The tramp of boots in the mud jolted him out of his reverie, and he picked his head up just as Aldin ducked back under the overhang. She looked even messier than she had before, and that was saying something— sand-gold hair dark with rain, boots and sirwal splattered with mud halfway up the thighs, her green linen kurta hanging heavily from her powerful frame. Her eyes flashed; she’d done some spellcasting, for them to shine like that.

Disheveled and glorious. Cal was already kicking himself for wanting her.

Aldin dropped with a huff, reaching up to untie the leather thong holding her hair back and wringing the water out of it. “Road’s clear,” she said brusquely. “Guess the moblins don’t like it either.”

“No shit,” he retorted. “Don’t come over here until you’re dry.”

Aldin blew a raspberry at him, shaking out her hair. She was beginning to steam ever so gently in the cool air, and as he watched she unbuckled her belt and pulled her drenched kurta off over her head. The thin, undyed linen shirt beneath came off as well, and he had to avert his eyes— it was too much, looking at her with only her breastband on.

The sound of her kicking out of her sirwal told him he’d made the right decision.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he demanded.

Aldin laughed, and when he peeked at her through his fingers she had her back to him, crouched awkwardly to pull on her woolen sirwal without bumping her head on the low ceiling. He couldn’t help the way his eyes tracked up the powerful musculature of her back, the breadth of her shoulders, the curve of her waist. The upper end of her old Malice scar curled above the waistband of her sirwal, black and deep violet against her dark skin.

“Just don’t look and you’ll be fine,” she said, turning back to face him. He buried his face in her spare kurta again to hide his burning cheeks.

Not that it did much, he realized, as one of her fingers brushed his ear. Her very warm fingers. How the fuck was she so warm?

“Fuck off,” he muttered.

Aldin snorted. There was a shuffle, and then the warm weight of her settled against his side, an arm draping over his back. Cal stifled a gasp and did his level best not to just melt against her, not to sink into that heat. He lifted his head, trying to shoot her a dirty look, and met warm green eyes instead. Aldin’s expression was fond, heavy brows tilted up gently.

Her hair, he noted, was already halfway dry. Completely fucking unfair of her, the stupid sorcerer.

He buried the crown of his head, drenched mane and all, against her bare shoulder. Aldin gave a shocked yelp, her arm tightening around him to pull him closer.

“You alright there, sunshine?” she asked gently.

“Fine,” he muttered. “...Cold.”

Aldin sighed quietly, and a moment later her cheek settled against the top of his head. Her other arm folded around him, her fingers carding through his hair, detangling it tenderly. “Alright, alright. I’ve got you. Don’t worry.”

And, damn her, he wanted to believe it.

#prompt memes #my fic #microfiction #apocalypse bisexuals #the prompt: wearing each others clothes #me: what if i also throw in cuddling for warmth...and hair-petting....and cal's semi-canonical scent kink...#the context for that is that aldin is a dirty perfume thief who forgets she has it in her bag #and cal finds the smell of it comforting #bc aldin is a cuddly asshole and cal definitely needs it and he associates the smell of that perfume with being comforted

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general-mahamatra · 4 years ago

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Visus Cæcus

Focus: Eret

Genre: Spooky Season

TW: Blood and injuries

Pairing: Platonic Fundy and Eret

Wordcount: 6283

Read it on AO3 here

Note: This is part of a trade with the glorious @strawberry10 !! They have my whole heart and this piece has been a work in progress for maybe a month now. It’s only fitting I post it so close to Halloween :)

The crunch of decaying leaves and broken twigs mixes with the soft chirping of birds. Sunlight peeks through the leaves, sending shadows across the path and illuminating the forest and accentuating the vibrant green of the foliage. On such a perfect afternoon, the forest is lovely. Tranquil and perfect--almost too good to be real.

A soft breeze rustles the canopy followed by the scutter of a squirrel climbing a nearby tree. Everything is serene… virtually untouched by humans despite the man-made path twisting through the forest.

It goes for ages, disappearing through the trees. Where it goes is impossible to tell with the way it turns. Undergrowth stretches over the brown trail, small bushes encroaching as young saplings reach across--a strain for sunlight.

Laughter breaks through the peace and the crunch grows louder. Shoes tread along the footpath, ignorant of the bugs that scuttle out of the way. Two people walk along the trail, bags on their backs, and dressed for a hike. They were chatting, entertaining each other as they made their way down the path.

One of them nudges the other, grinning as if they had just said the most clever thing. The other, a brunette, rolls their eyes with a small smile.

“C’mon Eret, you know I’m right!”

The brunette--Eret--scoffs. They shove the man back, just enough to make him stumble. “You are not. There’s no way that’s even possible!”

“What do you mean?!” He exclaims, eyes wide with shock. "I'm always right! I'm literally always right!"

"Fundy," Eret deadpans.

"Yeah?"

They stare at each other, quiet for a moment.

"How the fuck are peanuts meat?"

Fundy can barely contain his laughter as he tries to explain, “but they are! They’re literally meat, they’re with meat on the food pyramid. And, AND! They basically have the same protein. SO,” he points at Eret, “checkmate.”

“That’s not how that works!” Eret protests. “That’s not how that works at all! Just because they’re with the meat doesn’t mean shit!”

Fundy hums. “Uh-huh, sure.”

“They’re a nut!” the brunette whines. “They have nut in their name, they’re not ‘pea-meat’!”

The ginger chuckles, covering his mouth as the other tries to argue. It was clear Fundy wasn’t going to back down from the dispute, he had no intention to let Eret win, even when they had a point. Besides, he’s not dumb, he knows they aren’t meat. It’s just fucking hilarious.

After calming down enough to talk, the points to Eret’s pocket. “Get your phone out, prove to me they aren’t meat!”

“Fine! I will!” Eret fumbles with their shorts and pulls out their phone. A couple of seconds pass followed by an “aha! They aren’t meat!” They began to triumphantly read the blurb, far too confident over the fact that they won the debate. “Peanuts do not come from animals. So they are not meat. Although they are called a nut, they are not... a nut…” they trail off, a small frown appearing. “The peanut is a legume, related to the pea family.” Eret huffs and turns off their phone, shoving it in their pocket.

Fundy cackles, the sound disturbing a nearby bird. With a flurry of black feathers, it flutters off.

“It’s still not a meat,” they grumble.

Fundy steps closer to them, grinning as he pokes their shoulder. “But they’re not a nut~” he coos, clearly proud of his victory. If it could even be called that.

Eret rolls their eyes and shrugs the man off but the upturn of their lips is a hint of their amusement. They were enjoying the back and forth--it was far better than the two walking in silence. After all, they weren’t too sure they’d last a week in the woods if they didn’t have the sort of chemistry for lighthearted banter.

The two found the forest a week ago just driving around town and immediately decided to explore it, especially since they’re visiting Fundy for a couple of weeks. What could go wrong anyway? It’s just a forest in the middle of nowhere.

Though there were times as they were getting ready that Eret thought about some of the… warnings they’ve seen. They never took them seriously, but they always found the posts interesting.

They were warnings about going to certain places in the dark or at night--warnings about the things that stalk the cornfields of the Midwest or the forests around the world. Hell, even the creatures that lurk beneath the surface, just waiting for a ship to pass by to take without a warning.

As the two continue, Eret’s mind wanders. It drifts to the text posts they’ve seen and just how serious they seem. They were so detailed and specific, it made them start to wonder if maybe there was something behind them. There’s no way someone could come up with those warnings and make them so realistic without having something to back them on.

One that won’t leave them alone is a caution about the forests. The number of times they read it… they had it memorized at this point.

Start traveling during the day, it is always asleep by dawn and it will leave you be.

Never move at night.

Stay on the path at all times.

Never set a campfire outside of a designated area. It can smell the smoke and it will find you.

Always travel with a group. Never go solo. If someone gets injured, never leave them alone.

When the forest goes silent, stop moving immediately.

If you don’t, the crowns will come. When you see the crows, it sees you. Stop talking immediately, find a different way to communicate. It can mimic your voice.

When the crows swarm, run. Do not let them injure you. It can smell the blood.

If you stray from the path, find it again as soon as possible. The longer you are off the path, the more likely it will find you.

If you can't find the path, never stop moving at night. Rest during the day, run during the night. It hunts at night and if you stop, it will attack.

Keep anyone injured close, never leave them alone.

If you hear someone call for help, do not go to it. It’s a trap.

Eret shakes their head to clear the thoughts. There was no reason to be thinking about the list. The paranoia is stupid. It was made to scare people--a short thing for the niche group of people addicted to horror.

They're on a hike with their best friend, not on an exploration trip to try and get murdered by some forest monster. Whatever that forest monster is.

The thing is only ever referred to as "it".

But the reassurance that it's fake doesn't do much to calm Eret's nerves. If anything, it leaves them anxious--wondering if maybe… just maybe it isn't fake.

No, stop. It's fake, it's literally fake. Why the fuck would this stuff be real?? They think. It's just a forest.

The absence of their friend next to them is what makes Eret pause and look around. So caught up in their thoughts, they didn't even realize Fundy stopped walking. Turning, they find the ginger frowning, brown eyes staring at something obscured by the trees.

"Fundy?"

The man raises a finger to his lips, shushing Eret. Slowly, he points to his ear and glances at the brunette. "Do you hear that?"

Confused, Eret looks the same way Fundy is. When greeted by nothing but trees and chirping, they shake their head.

"Listen closer," Fundy insists.

Eret glances at Fundy, slightly concerned but curious nonetheless. They fall silent, this time trying to focus on the noises around them.

At first, there is nothing but the regular ambiance of the forest. Nothing out of the ordinary.

A few more seconds pass before they finally notice it. A rustling--faint and distant. It only grows louder, almost as if it’s approaching. It puzzles Eret, making them frown slightly as they comment, “What… is that?”

Fundy steps closer and squints into the trees. His hands wrap around the straps of his bag, his quizzical expression mirroring Eret’s feelings.

“I have no idea.”

The two stand there, watching. Maybe if they were thinking straight, they would’ve continued. But not everyone is bright, are they?

It’s the first crow darting out of the dense tree line that makes them jump, the bird squawking and frantically flapping its wings. Eret watches it, mouth agape as they stare. Confused, they can’t pull their gaze off the struggling bird.

They don’t even realize the shuffling is still getting louder.

Eret points at the bird and turns to Fundy. “You’re telling me we got scared by that?” There’s a slight smile on their face that only falters when they realize Fundy isn’t smiling and is instead still looking at the trees. “Fundy?”

The ginger doesn’t respond and instead backs up. Slow at first, speeding up within seconds as he grabs Eret. “Move, MOVE!”

Eret doesn’t get a chance to react before more birds burst from the trees. Their screeching is quick to overwhelm the two as a couple of birds turn into ten, then twenty, then a giant shrieking mass.

Feathers are everywhere, flying around as the crows swarm. They twist and turn, diving around as they grab each other with their talons. They rip each other apart, spraying blood and guts everywhere. The cawing never stops as bodies drop to the hiking trail, the hot crimson liquid misting the two humans as they try to get away.

And then the birds turn their attention elsewhere: right on the two.

“GO GO GO!” Eret cries, throwing their hands in Fundy’s direction. They make contact and manage to shove the man, forcing him to turn around and book it to the trees. He’s able to get his arms over his head to protect him from the birds. Eret, though?

They weren’t fast enough.

Crows latch onto them. Peck them, claw them. Their clothing tears under the sharp talons as Eret tries to swat the frenzied animals away. Panic gripped them and completely emptied their mind of conscious thought. It left them running off instinct, and it’s their downfall.

It only takes a couple of heartbeats for the crows to start digging into their skin. They shred the brunette’s shoulders, drawing blood under their sharp claws. Eret cries out and frantically tries to rip the birds off.

But a slash to their cheek is what utterly terrifies them.

They don’t even hear Fundy shouting at them to run.

Some of the birds stick to their upper body, but others go for Eret’s head. More specifically their face.

Razor-sharp claws do their work. They make the brunette finally start to try and cover their face. Even with the birds in the way, Eret did what they could, trying to force the animals away. But not before the most excruciating pain they’ve ever been in radiates from their face.

A blood-curdling scream tears through their throat. High--full of terror and agony. Their hands were on their face as the birds kept coming. But the simple touch only makes it worse, stinging every open wound they touched. Made Eret lower their hands only for them to come away hot and sticky. Bloody.

Eret stumbles back, shaking and terrified as the birds keep coming. They’re quiet, trying to back away…

Another slash to their face.

The world goes black.

They can't stop screaming.

Hands grab their shoulders and drag them back. Eret struggles to stay upright, feet catching on roots and bushes. They fumble around, frightened. They can’t tell where they’re going or who’s holding him or what’s going on. Their hands shoot out and grab onto a tree. Nails dig into the bark, break under the pressure.

A whimper falls from their lips as they continue to be pulled along.

But the birds are gone.

Eret’s pulled along for a few more paces before they’re stopped. They stumble, lightheaded and sick for reasons they don’t understand. All they know is the feeling of something trailing down their cheeks. Blood… tears… a mix? It’s everywhere.

Arms wrap around them, stabilizing them. A soothing voice follows the action.

“Eret… Eret listen to me, I need you to listen to me.” Fundy. Their friend. “Eret please, look at me.”

They turn slightly, blindly following the man’s voice. It’s dark… Why is the forest so dark…

A hand guides their head, making them turn a bit more.

“Open your eyes,” Fundy says.

It’s then Eret realizes they’ve been squeezing their eyes shut the entire time. It hurt so much to open them. Like something is stuck in them, stabbing their eyes every time they try to look around. They reach up, pressing their hands to their eyes only to gasp. The shock of pain that rushes through them is enough to make them let out another small whimper.

The hand never leaves their face and Fundy tries again. “Eret, don’t- stop. Don’t touch them just open them, please.”

Eret shakes their head.

The pain…

It’s horrible.

They’re shaking at this point, arms now wrapped around themselves as they lower their head. They don’t pull away from the touch… instead, they lean into it a bit.

The only soothing thing in the world of agony Eret’s living in.

“Eret… please,” Fundy begs.

A shaky breath. They look up and open their eyes. The sound that comes out of their friend is nearly lost to Eret as they immediately close them again. It hurt… so much. More of whatever was in their eyes fell down their face, wet and sticky. It trails into the corners of their mouth, leaving a salty… coppery tang on their tongue.

Blood and tears.

Fundy starts mumbling. Eret doesn’t understand him. Everything around them fades out, sounds becoming muffled as if their head had been dunked underwater. Their stomach knots and their body sways. A dizziness takes hold, making their breathing short and head spin. They can’t seem to catch their breath, every inhale shorter than the last as they struggle to breathe.

Eret digs their nails into their arms. They couldn’t focus. Couldn’t think.

The bag on their back is really heavy, teetering their balance.

Take it off…

Cold, clammy, unsteady.

So much is overwhelming and yet there’s nothing at all. The world is dark and quiet but the pain in their eyes reminds them they’re still awake. The feeling of Fundy’s hands on Eret’s elbows trying to keep them upright…

They open their mouth as if to talk but all they can do is wheeze.

Breathe breathe breathe…

A second passes and their knees buckle. Eret collapses against the ginger and before they even drop that far, they fall unconscious.

Eret moans as they wake up, body sore. Their head is fuzzy, mind vacant of thoughts. Everything is black and their awareness of their surroundings is gone. The only things they can tell are they’re lying down, the bag is gone, and there’s a weird pressure on their face. It rubs weird and keeps their eyes shut when Eret tries to open them.

The pain that follows only makes them whimper.

But then a voice… someone is talking to them. It’s inaudible. Can’t tell who’s talking.

Shuffling followed by someone’s hand on their shoulder.

They nod off as the person tries to get their attention.

The next time they wake up their arm is slung around someone’s shoulder. An arm around Eret’s waist is what’s keeping them upright as they’re being partially carried, partially dragged through the forest.

Their foot catches on a root, causing them to stumble. Eret’s reaction is delayed to the point they’re guided by the man carrying them, only barely managing to pull their foot away with the man’s help.

“Come on… ..almost… ..got this.” Fundy. It’s Fundy carrying them.

Eret doesn’t catch much of what the ginger says, only nodding in reply, hoping that it’s the right answer.

Fundy’s hold on them tightens.

Time passes as a blur. Unable to see, Eret is barely able to tell how long they’re awake. Sometimes they fade to unconsciousness, sometimes they’re aware and helping walk around. Their sense of direction has long since vanished as well, the brunette completely relying on the man carrying him.

Eret trips; their legs come out from under them. Fundy catches them, a death grip on the brunette.

“I gotcha.”

Fundy’s mumbling under his breath. They’re still moving, only much slower. He’s messing with something at the same time, Eret can tell from the way the man is struggling to hold them up with one arm.

“Come on… Turn on…”

“Where the fuck is the path?” Fundy mutters.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Don’t die, come on!”

Eret gets tugged along, Fundy seemingly more frantic than before. He’s moving fast, trying to get the taller one around obstacles with less care than before. Panicked, almost.

Both hands are on Eret now. Tight, nails digging into their wrist.

The ginger breathes heavily and Eret can feel him shifting around, constantly looking back.

“Eret, Eret wake up. Wake up right now.”

They lift their head, dazed and confused as they once again become aware. Their face scrunches up as they turn their head towards Fundy.

“We gotta go, you gotta move,” Fundy hisses. He sounds freaked out… Eret can’t figure out why. “You gotta move.” He starts to pull them along, forcing them to get their feet going.

Caught off guard, they lose their balance. Fundy doesn’t wait, not this time. He continues to tug Eret along, set on wherever their destination was. Forces Eret to get their act together and stay upright. They try their best, struggling quite a bit to keep up.

Eret manages to hold their own despite being unable to see. With their feet on the ground and the ginger guiding him around trees and undergrowth, the rush becomes easier. It gives them a chance to finally talk. “Why are we-?”

Fundy shushes them. Pulls them along faster. “Stop talking, just keep moving.”

They fall silent.

Eret didn’t even realize they passed out again until they’re suddenly being dragged along the forest floor. Arms wrap under their shoulders and around their chest; their feet trail through the brush and debris.

They lift their head. Barely moves much else, lulling in a fit of exhaustion.

Breathing is hard… really hard. Short, rapid, erratic. Can’t get enough in can’t take a deep breath why is it so hard to breathe?

They start to move but it’s sluggish. Weak hands reach up and try to pry the arms off.

Breathe… need to breathe…

Fundy is quick to try and get them to stop. "Stop- stop it! Quit moving, you're only going to slow us down more!" His voice is low and hurried. It seems strained and distant…

...is he running from something?

The brunette wakes up to being propped up against a tree. The two had stopped moving at some point. When, Eret wasn't entirely sure.

With Fundy no longer holding them up in some way, Eret assumes the guy had finally found them a place to stop so he could sleep. It only makes sense.

Rubbing their eyes, they come to find their face covered in bandages. The rough cloth was stark compared to the smooth skin they expected to feel. Carefully, they run their fingers along with the bandages. They're wrapped around most of the upper half of their head, concealing their eyes and ears.

Covering the horrible wounds that mar their face.

Lowering their hands, they find more haphazardly wrapped gauze around their shoulders. It pokes through their shredded shirt.

Makes them wonder just how bad it was.

Their hands shake as Eret pulls them away from their chest. So much so fast…

The two just wanted to hike, to explore. And yet within hours, everything had gone to shit.

And now they have no idea what time it is or where they are or where Fundy is.

"Fundy?" They try to sit up further, looking around despite being unable to see. Somehow the darkness only makes the world lonely.

There's shuffling nearby followed by the crunch of leaves. "You're awake!" More movement and then a hand is on Eret's shoulder. "How are you feeling? You alright?"

A stupid question really.

Eret feels like shit. Constantly being jostled around while unconscious, waking up over and over and being forced to run… it's hard to feel alright after all of that. And yet, at the same time, they were in considerably less pain than before.

"I'm… okay?" They sound uncertain. "What happened?"

Fundy doesn't say anything at first. He seems lenient to explain and the silence has a weird air to it. It doesn't sit well with Eret.

Soon enough, the ginger says, "a lot. So much.” There’s a pause. “After we got thrown off the path by those birds we got lost and… and I tried to get back to the trail.” The hand falls away, fingers trailing along Eret’s shoulder before dropping entirely. “I couldn’t find it. But! You slept pretty hard I’m glad you’re alright.”

Eret frowns. That… That’s not…

That didn’t explain what happened every time Eret woke up. The carrying, the running, the dragging, none of it.

“What else?” they press, tone skeptical. “We were running, right? Why did we run?”

And there’s the hesitation again. Almost like Fundy doesn’t want to answer him. “Uh- It- It was nothing! Nothing really!” The man spoke quickly, voice pitching up at the same time. “Just thought I saw the path!”

Odd.

“Where are we?” Eret asks.

Leaves crunch as Fundy moves. “Somewhere in the forest. I don’t fucking know where.” He sighs. “I got lost last night… I have no fucking clue which way is what.”

Night.

“You mean it’s morning now?”

“Well, yeah.”

< If you can't find the path, never stop moving at night. Rest during the day, run during the night. It hunts at night and if you stop, it will attack. >

The thoughts come back, whispering in their ears and latching on to Eret’s conscious mind. Paranoia and anxiety refuse to leave them alone, pushing for them to think about the short list. That horrid, horrid list.

< When the crows swarm, run. Do not let them injure you. It can smell the blood. >

Eret froze, their entire body growing tense. It's just a list, it can't be real. Some stupid post they saw one day that happened to stick with them. They're just paranoid.

< “We gotta go, you gotta move,” Fundy hisses. He sounds freaked out… Eret can’t figure out why. “You gotta move.” He starts to pull them along, forcing them to get their feet going. >

They reach out, shaking hand finding itself on Fundy's shoulder. "Fundy," Eret says slowly. It earns a small hum. "What did you see?"

The voice that answers is quieter than usual. Small, frail almost. Vulnerable in a way Eret has never remembered Fundy being.

"I- I don't know."

The two ended up sleeping, exhaustion overtaking their need to stay awake and leaving them napping throughout the day. Though, more often than not, Eret finds themselves awake. Sitting propped against the tree, head resting against the truck as they stare up into the black expanse that is their vision.

They never were claustrophobic. Small spaces didn't make them feel too bad despite their height. Busses, trains, rooms… they were always fine. But the inky darkness that became their reality is constricting. It wraps around their body, suffocating them and leaving them to writhe and struggle in isolation.

But it's all mental. Up in their head in a world only they know; a world they'll never escape. The only signs of the toll the blindness takes on the man are the faint, quick breaths in and out. And with Fundy asleep somewhere nearby, there's no one there to see Eret holding themselves, lips pressed in a line as they try and stay calm.

If there weren't bandages over their face, maybe a trail of tears would adorn either cheek.

Shuffling makes them perk up. Drags them out of their head and forces them to pay attention to their surroundings. Something was moving nearby.

“Fundy?” Eret calls quietly, just in case the man was still sleeping. The lack of a response is enough of an answer. “Hello?” Now it was more directed to whoever or whatever was moving around.

Not like an animal could reply to them, but maybe someone was wandering off the path. Someone who could get them out of the damned forest. It was worth the shot.

When nothing answers them, Eret sighs and leans back against the tree. The small flicker of hope that ignited in their chest dwindles, snuffed out by the silence.

How far from the path are they anyway?

For all Eret knew, they could be ten feet away. Move around a couple of trees and there it would be. The man-made trail hikers travel on every day covered in sticks and decaying leaves, surrounded by beautiful plants and scenery and just… perfect.

But they’ll never know. They’ll never know just how close they are to the stupid path because those fucking birds STOLE THEIR SIGHT.

They take a deep breath, nostrils flaring as their hands ball into tight fists. A second passes and they slam the side of their hand against the cold hard ground. Frustration and anger isn’t a common emotion for Eret, it never has been. But sitting there with one of the most important senses ripped away from them, drowning them in a world of perpetual darkness… it’s starting to get hard to keep their emotions in check.

Sighing, they force themselves to relax, fingers uncurling and shoulders slouching. There’s no way the two of them are gonna be able to get out if they can’t stay calm. With so little experience getting mad, there’s no telling what could happen.

Tilting their head back, Eret stares up towards the sky. Wonders what it looks like… how the canopy must look with the yellow leaves dispersing the golden rays from the sun across the forest floor.

Shifting grass right next to Eret startles them. It’s faint, only audible because of the silence that hovers in the clearing, and it confuses them. Sitting back up, they carefully reach their hand towards the sound.

They lower their hand, fingers outstretched as they try to touch whatever is there. It could be a rabbit. A fuzzy little animal just hopping around trying to find something to eat or somewhere to sleep…

What they feel is not a bunny.

Slimy and boney, gnarled like a tree root but warm like a living creature. It writhes beneath their hand, moving around like a… a finger.

The sound that comes out of Eret is one of disgust and horror. A distorted scream rips through their throat as they try to pull their hand back only for whatever it was they touched to grab their wrist. A strong, wretched hand tightens its grip. Larger than a human’s, nails sharper than should be possible. Digging into their wrist, slicing up the delicate skin.

They kick out, squirming in the thing’s hold as they try to shove it away.

“Let GO of me!” they shriek.

Their foot makes contact with something solid. A grunt follows and the grip loosens.

THUD.

The thing lets go, a warbled cry following suit. Heavy breathing can be heard above Eret before something heavy is dropped on the ground. Barely even a second passes before Fundy speaks, the man on the ground next to Eret with his hands on their shoulders.

He sounds breathless as he talks. “Hey, hey it’s alright. Eret. Eret, look at me.”

Probably the worst thing someone could say to a blind man but it got the brit to react anyways. They turned their head slightly, hoping they were facing the right direction. They reach out, trembling hand finding a perch on Fundy’s arm. Once certain they were holding the ginger, their grasp tightens. A grounding.

“Breathe,” Fundy directs. “For the love of God, please calm down. It’s gone, you’re alright- we’re alright.” The reassurance is partnered with the gentle pull into a hug. Arms--human arms--wrap tenderly around their body. The ginger stays there despite the tension in the brunette, refusing to pull away until Eret finally melts, burying their head against Fundy’s shoulder as they return the gesture.

Fists ball into Fundy’s shirt and a choked sob rattles through the brit’s body. The slow-motion of the ginger rubbing their back is joined by what sounds like his own struggle to keep from crying. Hiccuped inhales and steady exhales… Fundy was... Trying…

Eventually, Fundy whispers, “it’s evening, we need to keep moving.”

Walking with the guidance of someone with sight is more off-putting than trying to learn a new language. At least, that’s what Eret would compare it to. It’s like relearning how to walk. Their perception of reality permanently altered, sense of balance destroyed, and their ability to perceive their surroundings forced to rely on their hearing and touch. But surrounded by a thick forest, they’re more than thankful for how accommodating their friend is.

Fundy laughs quietly. “Come on, you know it’s true.”

Eret scoffs, wishing they could roll their eyes at the man’s stupidity. “I can’t believe this is your focus right now.”

“Would you rather me talk about the fact we’re lost in a forest nearly out of food traveling in the middle of the night with no service, a dead phone, and your severe lack of a phone?” Fundy asks, voice deadpan. “Personally, I think my Minecraft boyfriend is far more important.”

Using their free hand that’s not wrapped around Fundy’s shoulder, the brit lightly punches the ginger’s side. “You proposed to him with a diamond only for him to get possessed! And then he had a fucking baby and George claimed to be the father!”

“WELL,” Fundy started, “that’s beside the point. Fuck you.”

Eret chuckles with a fond grin. It’s nice, being able to have a normal conversation despite the impending doom of whatever the hell went after the brit back where they were resting.

A slight discomfort is felt on the back of their head, making them shiver. A weird feeling. One that sets them on edge and spikes their anxiety. But they ignore it, preferring to focus on Fundy.

"Can't believe you got engaged and your man had-"

"Help!" The distance cry of what sounds like a young child can barely be heard. At first, Eret thinks it may be a trick of the ears, the wind whistling just right through the leaves. But Fundy stops walking.

He heard it too.

The child calls out again and it sets in stone the reality of the situation. "Please! Help!"

The two adjust their course and start to make their way towards the voice. Stumbling through the undergrowth, tripping on loose plants, and smacking against low hanging branches.

< If you hear someone call for help, do not go to it. It’s a trap. >

The wails grow louder but so does a weird smell. It makes Eret scrunch their nose, face contorting to one of disgust when they're first hit by the scent. "What the fu-"

Fundy shushes them, shutting them up. He doesn't clarify why, simply pulling the brit further along. Closer and closer to the cries of the young child.

"I want my mommy!" The kid cries, voice cracking with sadness.

The two come to an abrupt halt and the horrendous stench assaults Eret's senses. Malodorous and foul, it makes them gag as the smell becomes unbearable and so fucking strong they can taste it.

Eret covers their mouth, biting the inside of their cheek to keep from vomiting right then and there. Nothing could describe what they were experiencing. Nothing would ever be able to describe it. From everything they’ve dealt with in their lives, nothing prepared them for the sheer revulsion they were feeling

Something they vaguely remember their mother telling them creeps into their mind.

< “You never forget the smell of rotten human flesh or burning flesh. People say it haunts them for years.” >

They blocked that memory out years ago but now that they’re standing there, struggling to keep their head clear because of the stench, they can’t help but think about it again. Their head spins, dizziness growing as they reach up to cover their mouth.

Buzzing… Is that buzzing? Is all Eret can hear now that the child has gone silent. Loud and annoying, way too similar to the sound of a fly.

The tickling feeling of a bug landing on their hand is what confirms their suspicion. Shaking the bug off, they go to grumble a complaint but it’s drowned out by Fundy’s panic-stricken commands as the ginger drags them back.

“Come on- Eret work with me we need to fucking move right now.” He lets go of the brit, instead of focusing on grabbing their shoulders and spinning them around, shoving them back the way they came. Forces them to run--to get their legs moving.

The young child calls out again. “No- wait- please! Come back! Where’s my mommy?”

Fundy’s grip moves from Eret’s shoulders to their wrist, now pulling them along. Weaving between trees, ignoring their protests as they stumble around and run into branches. The two don’t stop moving and soon enough, Eret figures out why.

Crashing follows them. Plants being trampled and branches being ripped apart. Distorted voices begging for the two to come back. Children, adults, boys, girls… all warping and twisting like a broken record.

“Please, come back-”

“-not scary-”

“Hurt you! We won’t!”

“Come back…”

“I wanna go home.”

Heavy breathing… feet slamming against the hard ground… being yanked around every which way as Fundy navigates the forest. Getting them away from the thing chasing them, away from the horrible image Eret can only imagine had been laid out before them.

Their shoulder rams into a tree and the brit gasps and trips up, feet catching against the roots and making them stagger, nearly falling right then and there. The shocking pain that shoots down their arm disorients them. Hit right on the bandaged gashes from the birds’ sharp talons.

It makes Fundy grab them by their upper arm, becoming a better support as their fleeing continues. “Come on, keep moving. We gotta keep going.”

Eret’s only response is a nod.

Move.

Keep moving.

A warbled shriek from behind makes them cringe. Panic and adrenaline. A rush to run. Get away.

Run.

It’s the motivator that gets Eret to finally match Fundy’s pace, finally managing to ignore the obstacles in their way as best as they can. Trying to get away from the creature right on their tail.

“I think-” Fundy pauses for a moment. “I think I see something!”

A small spark of hope ignites in Eret. What the ginger sees, they have no idea, but that doesn’t stop them from hoping. Maybe, just maybe-

An excited cheer comes from the ginger. “Yes! YES! LIGHTS!”

Safety.

The two continue their push forward, exhaustion starting to set in and nearly making the brit slow down. But they can’t. They can’t. They’re so close…

Something grabs their ankle and tugs. Pulls their foot out from under them and sends Eret flying to the ground. They slip from Fundy's hold, falling into the dirt with a cry cut off by the wind being knocked out of them. They reach out, scrambling for purchase as the thing pulls them back. Nails did into the dirt, rip up small shrubs…

They finally get their hands on something. A tree root. Rough bark digging into their skin, leaving small cuts as it scraped against their palms. "FUNDY-"

They kick, doing everything they can to hold onto the roots while trying to dislodge the creature. It’s to no avail, the thing tugging and nearly making Eret let go. The bark shreds their hands and rips their nails. Makes them scream. Makes them almost lose their hold.

The ginger says something. What it is, Eret can't tell, but it vaguely sounded like "hold on."

No shit.

A pained, gargled cry, and then the creature let's go.

Fundy's helping them up now, getting Eret to their feet so they can keep running towards the lights. "They're so close, we're almost there!"

Breathing ragged, the brit does what they can to stay upright and focused on moving. It burns…

Their breath hitches when they run into another tree and it takes Fundy guiding Eret to put their arm around his shoulders for support to get them to ignore it.

It hurts…

Eret flinches when the ginger starts shouting. Presumably at whoever had the lights. They can’t process the words but from what registers, the man seems just as hopeful as the brit.

The two slow down, finally done running. More hands find themselves on Eret’s shoulders and arms, more voices speaking up and talking all at once. The touch makes them snap into reality--makes them listen to what’s going on.

The first thing they hear is Fundy. Breathless, happy, relieved. And a hand on their cheek as Fundy lets go of them… then they’re pulled into a tight hug. A head buried against the crook of their neck, cold, shaking hands wrapped around their shirt…

“We did it,” Fundy whispers. “We’re out…”

Eret returns the embrace, limbs weak and movements slow. They refuse to let go. Even when the ginger begins to profusely apologize. On and on… and Eret refuses to listen.

They’re safe.

#eret #the eret #fundy #itsfundy #dream team rpf #rpf #prince's writing #horror #halloween #spooky szn :)#l'manberg #dream smp #dream smp rpf #fanfic #platonic

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conaionaru · 4 years ago

Text

Honor and Blood (Ivar the Boneless)

You are my everything

Synopsis: Some pregnancy fluff, cute Ivar and good future grandma Aslaug.

Warnings: fluff, angst, cute Ivar

Tags

@youbloodymadgenius @shannygoatgruff @xbellaxcarolinax @heavenly1927 @queenbeeta @lol-haha-joke @didiintheblog

P.S. Everything in cursive is in Old Norse. Flashback are in bold and cursive.

I don’t own the gifs. Also, thank you for your support. I really appreciate it.

Vanya walked the streets with Aslaug by her side, as Brynja was off today cause her father grew sick. The two women walked by the forge where Ivar hammered steel and watched them pass by. Aslaug chuckled at his antics and apologized on his behalf. Vanya liked this side of Aslaug.

Mostly when she saw the Queen, she had a cup in hand or asked her intrusive questions. But ever since her belly grew bigger, Aslaug held back on the alcohol. She spent more time with Vanya and shared tales from her own pregnancies. The Queen of Kattegat also told her of Ragnar. Vanya decided she wasn't that fond of the man who left his infant son in the woods to die. What kind of monster would do that? He didn't raise any of his sons properly; Bjorn left with his mother, and Ragnar abandoned his other sons. Vanya may not know his motives or him, but she felt for the Ragnarssons.

"When you are more along, we can find out if it will be a girl or boy. Or do you want it to be a surprise?" Aslaug questioned curiously, looking down at the cheerful redhead.

Vanya pursed her lips in thought before smiling. "I think I want it to be a surprise. Did you know they would be all boys?"

Aslaug nodded, seeing Hvitserk walking with Ubbe while stuffing his face till he looked like a squirrel. Ubbe shook his head at his brother's antics and lightly his him over his head, and Hvitserk hit him back. "The Seer told Ragnar he would have many sons, and they told me I would bear them. I would have like a daughter too, but the gods didn't grant me that. But now I have you, Love."

Vanya smiled proudly at the praise, feeling like she finally belonged somewhere. The Queen was more of a mother than Siflæd ever was, the Ragnarssons were like brothers to her who teased and supported her, and Helga and Floki were like an uncle and aunt. The people loved and greeted her every time they saw her, congratulating her on her baby and wishing her luck. Vanya found a home.

A child ran up to the two and held up a bunch of flowers for Vanya. The ginger beamed at the little girl and carefully took the flowers from her. "Thank you very much, Selby. They are beautiful. How are you?" She slowly crouched down to the girl's height as the cute three-year-old told her how they played at the beach, and she fell into the water. Vanya laughed at the girl's expressions and hand motions before the other children run to them too.

"Princess!" They screamed happily, asking her if the baby was ok if it kicked and if it would look like her or Ivar. "I hope it will be kissed by fire like you. I like red hair!" Vanya agreed with the seven-year-old boy with a wooden sword thinking of little Ivar's with red hair. It was a funny sight, indeed.

The children felt afterward, and Aslaug helped Vanya stand, smirking at the lively Princess. "You are already great with children. You will be a good mother, no problem."

They continued on their walk, walking by the shore in silence, both content with the calm atmosphere. "I would like to visit some farmers soon, thank them for all their hard work. Brynja mentioned a few farmers were having trouble with crops; I would like to see them and help them if needed."

"It is still baffling to me how much you interact with the people. Your King and Queens are not known for their kindness. At least not here." Aslaug's voice was so flat and calm; it surprised Vanya.

"That is true, not many care about anything but the crown. But were are not in England. Here you don't sit on a throne and look down on them. You are amongst them, see them, hear them. It is only right we help them, show them we are not so different, and I am hoping it will make them forget I was a Christian once." Vanya confessed embarrassed about the last bit. She wanted to fit in with the Northmen, not be a foreigner who they have to respect cause she married their prince.

Aslaug chuckled at the confession and took Vanya's hand in hers. "I came here pregnant while Ragnar was still married to Lagertha. She left, and Ragnar married me to legitimize Ubbe and all our other sons. I was a foreign Princess with nothing but a child in my belly, and yet, now I am the Queen of the trading center of Norway. You may be a foreign Princess, but that will change one day. The Gods always smile on brave women."

Vanya's smile was one of joy and pride; even her eyes reflected her emotions, exposing them for all to see. Aslaug was right, back home, Vanya was just a sheltered sister to the King; here she could be amongst the people, help them, find a place in the world for herself. Vanya wouldn't remain a foreigner for long; she could feel it in her bones.

The Princess returned to her chamber when the moon was high up in the sky, and one could hardly see in front of them. She and Aslaug got carried away talking and forgot to return sooner. They spoke of Aslaug's home, Götaland, of Harbard, who took away Ivar's pain and the Ragnarssons childhoods. Vanya told her about her father, negligent mother, cruel brother, and all he put her through. They comforted each other till the sun went down, and the winds grew colder.

Ivar sat at the table with his back to her, pouring a cup of mead to calm his nerves with his missing mother and wife. Vanya crept up to him and put her hands around his neck, startling him. "What are you doing?" He asked his shoulders tense coldly.

"My hands are cold." Vanya whined, grinning cheekily at his discomfort.

"I can feel that." Ivar pulled Vanya's hands away and sent her to sit down on her chair near the fire. He took her small hands into his and rubbed them hoping to warm them up faster. "How was your walk with mother?"

Vanya gave him a smile that just seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through him. He loved whenever she smiled at him, especially if she smiled because of him. It made him feel loved. "She is a great woman. A little bit pushy, but at least I know where you get it from."

"I am not pushy." He grumbled, pouting as Vanya giggled at his expression.

"Of course not." The ginger teased, standing up from the chair and walking to the bed. Ivar watched her go, putting his cup down he followed her. He untied his legs and took off his shirt while Vanya changed into a nightgown. It was no wonder that she got cold; her dress was warm. It was pink with long white sleeves and a belt tied around her waist. He complained about the last part this morning, but his mother reassured him it didn't matter. She said the babe would be fine.

Yet Ivar still feared for the babe, what if something happened? What if Vanya lost it? Or worse, what if it was born like him? He didn't want his son or daughter to know what the life of a cripple might be like. The laughter, the loneliness, the hate you feel towards yourself. Ivar's child should be healthy, run, and play with the other children, like Ivar himself never could. So he worried, not only for the child but for Vanya herself. Aslaug was in incredible pain giving birth to him; he was the worst of the pregnancies and births she had. He didn't wish that kind of pain upon his wife. What if she didn't survive that kind of pain, bled too much, and lost her life? He couldn't carry on without her. Ivar depended upon her love, touch, smiles; he couldn't lose either of them.

A hand on his cheek snapped him out of his thoughts; his wife stood before him in a white spotted nightgown, looking worried. "I am fine. Get in bed, let's warm you two up." So Vanya slowly crawled into bed, her back against the headboard. She moved awkwardly, not used to the growing bump. Her back and breast ached sometimes, but at least she no longer vomited, which she was very happy about. His loving wife had a way of finding the silver lining within everything, no matter what, everything had a bright side.

She put her hand on her belly and smiled at Ivar with her brows furrowed. "Come feel." The ginger whispered, pulling his hand towards her stomach. Ivar's shaky hand moved over the bump as the babe moved, while Vanya watched his face. His mouth twitched, and she was pretty sure he was fighting a smile.

"It's so exciting, Aslaug said it will kick next month." She beamed her hand on top of his caressing one. He looked so content sitting there next to her, feeling the life they created together move inside her. He allowed the smile to be visible, or maybe he wasn't even aware that he was smiling at all. Vanya watched him in his content state; he looked so at peace, relaxed, and calm. Her own eyes were dropping sleepily, so she laid down and fell asleep.

Ivar couldn't sleep just yet. The babe still moved inside, and he couldn't help but feel it move. It reassured him their child was alive and alright. "You will be glorious, my child. I can feel it. You better take after your mother, her smile, her mind, and heart." He laid his head next to Vanya's stomach and watched the bump as the child stilled.

"No one will hurt either of you. You are safe here, with your family. You will be loved and protected, like no other child in history." He laid his forehead against his sleeping wife's belly and closed his eyes. "You and your mother are my everything. All I have and all I am is yours."

A hand tangled itself into his hair as he sobs shook his body. "I love you, Ivar Ragnarsson." The sixteen-year-old Viking looked up at his smiling wife, who also held tears in her eyes. He crawled up to her side and connected their lips in a sweet kiss. They rest their foreheads against each other, looking into their eyes. A sea at storm meets the sky in the spring. One corner of Vanya's lips lifts as Ivar whispers the words back to her with sincerity and vulnerability. She snorts out a laugh that Ivar mirrors. It took four months, but they finally know the truth. They love each other, and nothing can or will change that. Not Sigurd, not Silas, not their faith or anybody. They are both whole.

#vikings #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar x oc #original character #original female character

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legumelupin · 4 years ago

Text

Cake Week!

here it is! the first chapter of this story that i love so much but is ruining my life! and here it is on ao3! it’s over 11k so please enjoy

WEEK 1 — CAKE

“It’s the moment every dessert lover, every pastry lover, really any kind of bake lover has been waiting for. The tent is staked and there are 12 new bright-eyed and bushy-tailed amateur bakers ready to battle it out. These bakers are some of the finest in the United Kingdom and were hand-selected out of thousands of applicants.

“They practiced for months and months to perfect new and old skills to take on a new set of challenges. Original signatures, grueling technicals, and spectacular showstoppers that are all made to push the baker's creativity and determination to the edge. Who will come out victorious? And who will collapse under a soggy bottom?

“This season, the bakers will be judged by none other than the lovely baking queen of Scotland, Minerva McGonagall. She’s hard to impress and incredibly blunt but boy does she make spectacular ginger biscuits. Her co-judge is the man who looks great for his age and who’s palate ranges from lemon sherbert to cockroach cookies. That’s right, it’s the ever-serene Albus Dumbledore. But the bakers had better watch out, our dear Dumbly isn’t afraid to shatter hopes and dreams. And as always, this season will be hosted by myself, Horace “Sluggy” Slughorn, and the large and in charge, Rubeus Hagrid.

“For their first week, our brand new bakers will have to overcome the woes of cake week. That means avoiding dry sponges, merengues that aren’t whipped properly, and batter that is over’werked’ as our dear Minerva would say.

“Welcome to Season 7 of the Great British Bake Off!”

Remus tied the apron around his waist, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he was still processing where exactly he was. He was in The Tent! The people in charge of the Great British Bake Off chose his application as one of the ones to be a part of the next season. Him! Remus John Lupin! What the fuck? What were they thinking? What was he thinking? He had let his mother convince him into applying, citing his bread and his knack for precision as qualities that could help him. He just never thought he would be here, ever. But he was!

He took a look around, noting all the cameras and feeling his stomach start to twist itself into a knot a bit. Oh gods, what in the world was he thinking? He’d be on TV and chances are he’d make a fool of himself for everyone to see! He thought of the day the camera crew had shown up to his family’s small cottage just outside of Cardiff. He had been maybe even more nervous then than he was now considering how intimate the whole ordeal was. They just followed him around for a few hours and had him hang in the kitchen with his mother while his father sat at the counter reading the paper. They followed him to his job at a bookshop just inside of town and he talked about his dream to go to university to study literature. If he didn’t think too hard about it, being in The Tent didn’t seem so bad anymore.

And then one of the Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore walked in. Gods, he wished he packed a joint in his bag for after. Or even his pack of cigs. He was going to need it afterward judging by how hard his legs were shaking. He looked to the workstation across from him and found a woman with long, red hair and he remembered her vaguely from the little mingling session the producers of the show hosted for contestants the day before. Remus did his best to socialize but he mostly kept to himself, thinking about the book that was waiting for him on his train ride home. But looking at her now, she was hard not to remember with hair like that and green eyes that pierce him even from the distance he’s at.

She caught his eye and offered him a kind smile that he returned easily, feeling a bit better. He could see the worry lines etched on the side of her mouth. Honestly, Remus should have been paying more attention to the competition if he wanted to win but he’d been so inside his head that he didn’t even remember any of their names let alone what they looked like. All he remembered from the night before was the piercing blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore and the raucous laughter of Rubeus Hagrid. He was so shell-shocked that all he could do was tell himself not to panic and have a drink with a few of the other contestants that he didn’t remember the names of.

But now, here he was, smiling at the girl with flaming red hair, waiting for the camera crew to give the cue for them to start. They’d gotten the opening shots with all the new bakers lined up outside the tent and all of them walking into the tent for the first time. Remus was almost positive that his gaze was downcast the entire time. It was almost like he was asking to leave on the first episode but in reality, he did really want to win. He was terrified and an anxious disaster. But he was a terrified and anxious disaster with a passion to win.

“Psst, hey!” a voice whispered behind him and Remus raised an eyebrow, turning his head to find the most gorgeous man his bisexual eyes have ever seen. Remus suppresses a groan. Why did Gorgeous-Man have to get his attention before the first task? As if it wasn’t going to be hard enough before, all Remus would be able to think about now were those stormy grey eyes and long, very soft-looking black hair. He would definitely overbake his sponge.

Sirius Black was very nervous. He was incredibly proud of himself for making it onto the show but he was also still in disbelief. Even when he was standing at his workstation for their first bake of cake week, he didn’t believe he was actually going to be on his favorite TV show. The night before hadn’t done anything to soothe his nerves or let him know that this was actually real but he did meet a really wonderful bloke by the name of James Potter who was also a contestant on the show. They hit off on their first interaction and hit the pub right after the little event had ended. Sirius felt he’d made a friend forever in the guy.

“Hey man, this is crazy right?” a brown-skinned guy with unruly black hair and kind, hazel eyes said, gesturing to the large white tent that was just down the hill from the little area of the grounds the newest contestants were all gathered in. He looked to be around Sirius’s age. “Never thought I’d be here but I guess they liked my application enough even though I made a complete fool of myself,” the guy snorted and Sirius raised an eyebrow.

“I suppose they just wanted a village fool and they thought you’d do the best job,” Sirius snarked and the guy looked affronted but to the point of mocking him.

“You say that as if it isn’t a high honor, young sir!” the man proclaimed and Sirius cracked a grin.

“I have to say, kind fellow, I’m going to put up a hell of a fight to be crowned the title of fool before you,” Sirius jested back and the guy laughed heartily.

“I’m James Potter,” he extended his hand and Sirius took it in his own.

“Sirius,” the pale male answered and James quirked an eyebrow but didn’t let go of his hand.

“Course I’m serious, why would I lie about my name?” James asked and Sirius snorted.

“No, I’m Sirius,” he replied and James just leveled him with a small glare.

“About what, mate? You haven’t even said anything,” James shot back and Sirius rolled his eyes.

“No, you oaf. My fucking name is Sirius,” he laughed and James’s face fell for a second before it broke out into a large grin.

“That’s right funny, Sirius. You can make a lot of jokes with that,” James smiled and Sirius laughed.

“Just did, mate,” Sirius remarked and James didn’t stop grinning.

“Wanna grab a pint after this?” James asked and Sirius knew. He just knew. This guy was gonna be his best friend after this night.

“Sounds like a plan to me. I’d get out of here right now if it weren’t the set of fucking Bake Off,” Sirius murmured and James grinned at him again.

“Is someone nervous?”

“As if you aren’t. Or I suppose you’re too daft to feel nervous.”

“Oi! Now that’s just rude!”

“You didn’t even understand when I introduced myself!”

“Your name is fucking Sirius! Pardon me for not knowing very many people named after celestial bodies!”

“Well, you’re pardoned! Happy?”

“Incredibly, good sir!”

They hit the pub together after the party as promised and got properly shitfaced and Sirius was sure that he would want to remember that night forever. Bake Off was already getting his mind off his shit life but this bloke, this James Potter, seemed to be a forever friend.

James was sat at the station on Sirius’s right and they kept glancing at each other. Both would be lying if they said they weren’t nursing a bit of a hangover which is not ideal considering it was their first day on the set of a baking TV show that would be broadcasted all over England. James pointed to the woman who sat in front of him and made a face at Sirius that indicated that he was absolutely smitten with this woman. He’d never even talked to her. Sirius rolled his eyes and shook his head. James glared at him and stuck out his tongue, and then feigned absolute hurt when Sirius didn’t change the look on his face.

Sirius could only roll his eyes again but with a smile this time. He turned his attention to the guy sitting in front of him who was wearing a sweater that was definitely not appropriate for this fucking disgusting weather. Sirius knew it wasn’t his place to say shit to the guy but holy fucking hell it was as hot as Satan’s balls out! So, like a typical Black (and he was well aware of his cousin’s presence in the tent which was kind of crazy but he tried not to think too hard about it), he said something.

“Psst, hey!” he whispered loudly and thankfully, the guy heard him and turned around briefly. Sirius’s gay panic went haywire at that moment. He forgot about the sweater all at once and was stuck between a sea of honey brown and a forest of glorious summer green and freckled cheeks with a couple of faint scars running across a beautiful nose. He had fucking freckles and heterochromia. Oh gods, he was toast. Pun intended.

“Yeah?” the guy asked, his voice sounded strained. How had Sirius not seen him last night? Or this morning? Was he seriously so far up James’s ass and happy to have a friend that he didn’t even notice this hot string bean amongst the ten other contestants? Yes, yes he was. But that wasn’t an excuse!

“Oh, um, I was just… Mate, how the hell are you wearing that thing right now?” Sirius asked incredulously and the man’s face fell to be quickly unimpressed.

“I've been cold on the inside since I’ve been ten,” he deadpanned and Sirius raised an eyebrow at him. “Basically I’m depressed,” he continued after before making to turn back front.

“Wait, you’re not even gonna tell me your name Mr. I- Wear -a -Sweater -in -the -Dead -of -Summer?” Sirius quipped and the guy actually managed a smile. Sirius groaned internally. No one should be allowed to look that hot!! And he was just fucking smiling!! At this rate, Sirius couldn’t even bring himself to think about fucking cake (unless it was this guy’s cake, if you know what he’s saying. Wink wink).

“Remus Lupin. Care to tell me yours? Mr. I-Have-No-Manners-and-Can’t-Recognized-a-Depressed-Bastard?” the guy snarked back, not losing the amused look on his beautiful face.

Sirius barked out a laugh causing the other contestants to look over to them and Sirius feared of being shushed so he quickly said, “Sirius Black.”

Remus nodded at him, a small smile still piquing on his lips before turning back around. And finally, the set fucking called for action. Now, what was the cake he’d been practicing for weeks?

Marlene McKinnon was an absolute ball of nerves and it was obvious to everyone around them, too. They couldn’t sit still. One minute they were bouncing their leg up and down, another they were wringing their hands, another their fingers were twisting around their long chestnut brown ponytail, and another minute they were braiding that ponytail. But before they knew it, Sluggy and Hagrid were welcoming all of them to Cake Week and giving the prompt, which they already knew, before the legendary send-off:

“On your marks,” said Hagrid.

“Get set!” Sluggy cheered.

“BAKE!” they both rang out together and it was like Marlene blacked out.

Their adrenaline took over and they raced around her work station, grabbing sugar, eggs, and flour for their orange zest angel food cake. Their workstation was one of the first two from the tent’s entrance which they were honestly thankful for because that meant the judging and hosting teams came to them first. And they wanted as little distractions as possible.

“Marlene, what kind of angel food cake are you making for us today?” Sluggy asked, peering around her workstation. They looked up and saw the calculating gaze of Albus Dumbledore on their batter in the mixer and the stern eyes of Minerva McGonagall boring into their own. Their knees wobbled and they fought to keep themself upright. Minerva was an inspiration for them and now the woman was going to be judging their bakes.

“Oh, um.. I’m going to be making an orange zest angel food cake with chocolate glaze and fresh whipped cream,” they said while trying to keep their voice from shaking.

“Sounds quite lovely,” Albus said serenely.

“Yes, I expect a strong orange flavor in your cake,” Minerva insisted curtly but with a small peak of a smile.

“Of course! I hope it comes through,” Marlene smiled and they knew that this was where her little introduction would be placed in post-production of the show. The production crew followed them around Cambridge and talked about how they worked as a physician's assistant for a nephrologist and lived with their two cats.

They were quite happy with their life at the moment, they kept up with their family who didn’t live that far away and their job was fulfilling. But they were a hopeless romantic and were on the lookout for a lovely lady to woo or for one to woo them.

They glanced around their station once the judges and hosts moved on and caught the eye of a dark-skinned girl named Dorcas Meadowes that they met yesterday along with a red-head named Lily Evans and another woman with mousy brown hair named Alice. Dorcas gave them a small smile before turning back to her own bake and Marlene felt their cheeks heat up a bit and really hoped no cameras were pointed at them.

The bakers had two hours for the first bake of the season and Marlene thought everything was going well. Their egg whites whipped up well, they zested many oranges, everything seemed to be going alright. They couldn’t say the same for the man across from them. He had long blond hair and a permanent sneer on his face that said he thought he was better than everyone. Marlene remembered him from the night before and rolled their eyes then just like they were rolling them now.

He fucked up his egg whites it seemed like and was obviously disgruntled as the camera crew moved to his station for what kind of angel cake he was making. Marlene marked him as a weak link in their head but they didn’t dwell on it too long as their egg whites weren’t yet stiff peaks. They kept beating them.

Marlene was a whirlwind of movements for the next hour and a half until Hagrid announced they all had a half-hour left and they felt absolutely overwhelmed despite actually being in a pretty good place in their bake. Their sponge was cooling and it looked well-baked but not over baked, their chocolate glaze was almost ready and all they had left was their whipped cream and to slice some oranges as a garnish.

“Looks like he broke your focus,” the woman behind Marlene’s station smirked but not unkindly.

“Oh, uh yeah,” Marlene answered with a breathy laugh.

“Sorry if that was weird, you’re just in front of me and you’ve been in the zone the entire time. It’s admirable, I hope it’s all going well for you,” the woman smiled sweetly and Marlene smiled back at her. They noticed all around the tent, bakers were conserving and bantering with each other and they hadn’t said a word since the very beginning.

“No, it’s not weird and thank you. I hope it’s going well for you too, this is all so scary,” Marlene answered and the woman smiled at them more. She didn’t seem too much older but she was definitely on the older side of the contestants. Almost everyone else looked to be Marlene’s age.

“Yeah but think about it, if you didn’t deserve to be here, you wouldn’t be,” she reminded Marlene and the person nodded. “I’m Andromeda, by the way. It’s nice to meet you and hopefully, there’ll be a friendly face around here over the next few weeks, assuming I make it through,” she said softly and Marlene nodded again.

“I’m Marlene, it’s good to meet you too,” they answered before turning back to their bake, making sure their chocolate glaze wasn’t burning or anything.

There was a minute left before they could even realize and their cake was glazed, their whipped cream was cold and sitting like a cloud atop the cake, and they were just finishing slicing their oranges. They chanced a glance up and around and saw the blond man across from them struggling. His sponge looked overdone and his lemon glazed looked too runny. They could only hope that the orange was strong enough in their cake to compete with their chocolate glaze and cut through it.

“Bakers, time is up! Please step away from your bakes and move your Angel Food cakes to the end of your table!” Sluggy called out to the group and almost simultaneously, everyone out down what they were doing and stepped back. Marlene was satisfied with how their cake looked, they really only wanted it to taste good now. They took a look around at everyone else’s.

Sirius had dried batter on his face and his usually pristine hair was rather disheveled but his angel food cake looked delicious, at least in his eyes. It was a vanilla sponge with a sweet cranberry sauce running down the sides with strawberries on top. He looked forward at Mr. Remus Lupin’s cake and groaned. His looked fucking delicious and it looked like he made a chocolate angel cake sponge? The fucking drama of this guy! He looked over at James who looked very proud of his key lime pie inspired back and he had to admit it was impressive.

“We got this in the bag,” the man whispered-shouted across the way, his arms crossed proudly over his chest. The girl in front of him who he was gaping at two hours ago turned and gave him a slightly disgusted look and he noticed and grinned at her. “Like what you see?”

“Aha, you wish,” she sneered and Sirius decided she wasn’t his favorite person. What was her deal? Sure James was a little cocky but so what?

“Oh come on, Red. You don’t think my sponge looks good?” he asked with an easy grin and the girl rolled her eyes before facing forward. Judging was starting.

Remus’s internal panic alarms were ablaze. He was proud of his bake for sure but it wasn’t up to his usual standard in his opinion. There was a good chance the sponge was dry on his vanilla one and his chocolate one had a very good chance of being underbaked. His pastry cream was set well enough but he was nervous all the same. All he could hope for was that it tasted better than how he imagined it did.

He watched Albus and Minerva make the rounds with Hagrid by their side from behind him. They were tasting a greasy-haired guy’s cake and they seemed kind of meh with it like it didn’t do anything special for them and from what he could tell, it was just a normal sponge with some powdered sugar and strawberries on top.

“I’d like to see more,” Minerva said, a tone of disappointment in her voice. The guy just gritted his teeth and nodded shortly before turning to look forward.

The judges moved onto the guy in front of the one they just judged who’d been talking to Sirius just a minute ago. He looked very proud and boastful of his bake and with good reason it seemed as the judges loved it and the guy who was judged first seethed very visibly, glaring daggers at the back of Sirius’s friend’s head. But Remus’s view was obscured when the judges crossed over to Sirius’s station. He could hear everything they were saying.

“Right, Sirius my boy, this is vanilla angel food cake with cranberry sauce, right?” Albus asked and Sirius nodded while chewing his lip. He was fucking hot when he chewed his lip. Gods, Remus was so fucking bent for this guy and he had one conversation with him if it could’ve even been counted as a conversation. And he was a dick during the whole thing! How could he be a dick to the one attractive guy who’s talked to him in months? Remus held back a sigh as Minerva and Albus tasted Sirius’s cake.

“Hm, that is scrummy. The cranberry is sharp and tart which is an excellent contrast to the sweetness of your sponge,” Minerva attested and Sirius’s face broke out into a smile. It was radiant and Remus never wanted him to stop.

“Yes this is delicious, thank you,” Albus commented, giving a slow nod to Sirius.

“Thank you,” he said softly, the smile never melting off his face.

As Minerva and Dumbledore moved onto the person behind Sirius with Hagrid, Remus caught Sirius’s attention. “Nice one! Looks great,” he smiled and if it were possible, Sirius’s smile grew even bigger. Remus’s heart clenched because he made that happen.

“Thanks, mate! Yours looks really good, a chocolate angel food cake is impressive,” Sirius whispered back and Remus flashed him a smile this time.

“Thanks!”

Remus faced forward again and waited for the judges to come to his station with a large amount of anxiety that grew with every second. He resisted the urge to bite his fingernails to shreds as he knew the cameras were still around and taking shots of people other than those who had the judges at their table. But Remus needn’t wait very long as the next person they came to was him. He sat up straighter when Hagrid addressed him.

“Remus, what have you made fer the judges t’day?” he asked and Remus swallowed loudly.

“Uh, it’s alternating chocolate and vanilla angel food cake with pastry cream in between the layers, topped with fresh whipped cream,” he said quickly but his voice didn’t waver thankfully. He was a mess.

“It looks very neat and your pastry cream seems to have set very nicely. Quite ambitious for the first bake of the season, let’s just hope you pulled it off,” Minerva remarked but there was a shine in her eyes.

“Yes, I hope I did too,” he said softly as they cut into his sponges and took a piece onto the plate set in front.

“The vanilla sponge looks well baked,” Albus commented, tapping his fork lightly over it. “But I fear you may have misjudged the timing for your chocolate sponge, it appears a bit underdone,” he remarked and Remus nodded. He figured. “Best to try it.”

The two judges put a piece of his cake into their mouths and looked thoughtful for a moment. “These flavors are wonderful. And it’s quite a feat that you got your chocolate sponge to rise and still have such a profound flavor. The pastry cream is a nice texture too,” Minerva commented and Remus smiled at her.

“Yes, this is very good indeed however your chocolate sponge is underbaked,” Albus continued and Remus nodded.

“Right, sorry about that,” he murmured.

“This is a very fine cake you have, Remus,” Albus finished and Remus tipped his head in thanks.

“I’ll jus’ be taking a piece o’ that,” Hagrid said sneakily, taking a piece of chocolate sponge with him and Remus snickered, gesturing for him to take as much as he pleased.

“Oi, mate, that’s amazing!” Sirius whispered from behind him and Remus turned to face him, both of them wearing dazed and happy smiles. Honestly, it went better than Remus had expected it to go for their first bake and he felt ready for the technical, though he didn’t want to be too cocky just yet.

When the judges got around to that bloke Lucius, the one across from Marlene, they couldn’t help but roll their eyes despite the large number of nerves setting their entire body on fire. Oh gods, they were the last to be judged and from what they were hearing, the majority of the others had done really well. The bar was too high!! Too high!! Marlene wished they were high right about now but instead they had to listen to Minerva and Albus be disappointed with the blond git’s bake. At least that was something positive for them. They had heard high praises for Lily and Dorcas’ bakes and they really enjoyed Alice’s flavors. Marlene thought for a second that Andromeda was going to get a Minerva McGonagall handshake and here they were with just a plain old orange-flavored sponge and some chocolate sauce.

They barely even registered when Hagrid addressed them due to never-ending nerves but stood up straight once they realized, watching Minerva and Albus inspect their sponge.

“Looks to be a very good bake and the chocolate has a beautiful shine to it,” Albus remarked and Marlene smiled a bit.

“Yeah let’s just hope the orange came through,” Minerva replied before putting her fork in her mouth. “And it does,” she added immediately after. “Beautifully, too,” she continued and Marlene’s shoulders sagged in relief.

“That’s a very lovely sponge you have there,” Albus praised and Marlene grinned at him.

“Thank you,” they said quietly and the group moved away.

There was a flurry of movements but they were told to leave the tent so they could prepare for the technical and so the camera crew could get a few testimonials from the contestants. They called out a few names of who they wanted.

“Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, and Alice Fortesque,” one of the crew members shouted. “Everyone else, please exit the tent. You may wonder the grounds and enjoy something from the buffet but you are due back in a half-hour for the next bake!”

Marlene hurried out of the tent and into the fresh air, feeling as though they were able to breathe for the first time that morning. Gods, if that was what it was going to be like for the next ten weeks, they didn’t know if they could make it! That was one bake and they were already knackered! They would really need to pack a joint with them for their travels back home if that’s what it was going to be like.

“Hey, Marls! Where’re you headed?” a voice that she recognized as Dorcas shouted from a few meters away. They looked up and saw the dark-skinned girl with pale-skinned Lily by her side, both with wide smiles and welcoming hand gestures.

“Nowhere in particular!” they called back as they headed to join them on their walk.

They talked and gossiped about the first challenge. Lily ranted about the guy behind her, James Potter, being an absolute git who was too cocky for his own good. And while she did sound truly exasperated by this man, Marlene could also tell she fancied him even if it was just a bit. Lily didn’t seem like the type to appreciate being told this though so Marlene kept a tight-lip and settled for exchanging knowing glances with Dorcas who couldn’t hold back the smirk from her face. Gods, Marlene was absolutely smitten with that look and they couldn't even admit to themself. They wouldn’t be surprised if the word hypocrite was emboldened on their tanned forehead.

Sirius was a bit bummed that Remus got called for a testimonial. Not that he wanted to give one or anything but he was hoping he could drag the guy along with him and James during their break. James was great company though, he always had something to say and it was usually hysterical. It’s only been 24 hours since meeting the guy but it felt like they’d been friends since secondary school, if not before.

“Hey, mate, you there?” James’ voice filtered into Sirius’s thoughts and he snapped his head towards the man.

“Huh?” he managed gracefully.

“I said that bloke sitting in front of you seemed pretty cool,” James repeated, not letting on if he noticed Sirius blatantly ignoring him for a minute.

“Oh, Remus?” Sirius perked up causing James’s eyebrows to raise by a fraction before shrugging.

“I suppose if that’s his name,” he jabbed and Sirius laughed a laugh that sounded to be that of a bark. James quite enjoyed it and thought it fit Sirius’s persona perfectly.

“It is. And yeah, he’s very cool. Talked with him for a bit before we started,” Sirius insisted and James quirked a smile.

“Wanna grab a nightcap tonight? We can invite this Remus character as well,” James offered and Sirius’s eyes shone brightly. He couldn’t help it. Remus was cute.

“Yeah, sure! Sounds great to me, honestly anything to stay away from home for the night is good for me,” Sirius grinned.

“Well if that’s the case, then you’ll just have to get too drunk to go home Mr. Black, causing me to insist you stay the night at my place so I can be sure you don’t sick up in your mouth and choke on it,” James grinned and Sirius grinned back. They looked like a right pair of scoundrels right then even if they had no intention of getting drunk enough to even feel their cheeks grow warm. They had the blasted show-stopper tomorrow! They couldn’t make fools of themselves just because they had a pint too many!

“Is that a challenge Mr. Potter?” Sirius poked and James laughed.

“Is that how you see it?”

“Perhaps.”

“I think you mean mayhaps,” James corrected and Sirius snorted.

“You’re fucking weird, Potter. That something you learned in Godric’s Hollow, some posh lingo or whatever?” Sirius taunted playfully and James scoffed.

“You’re one to talk about bloody posh, mate. Sirius Black, named after a fucking star and grew up in rich London. I look like a right plebeian standing next to you. I might as well get down on my knees and kiss your—“

“Alright, alright, you can shut it now.”

“Eh, didn’t go too far did I?”

“Absolutely not, you prick. I’m just annoyed you refuse to acknowledge your own poshness, even if it’s more eccentric and fucking loony.”

“I’m not loony.”

“You just told me to say mayhaps.”

“As a joke!”

“Uh-huh, I’m sure.”

“You better watch your tongue, Sirius Black, I’m not afraid to tell on you to Minerva McGonagall! We’re close personal friends!” Sirius erupted into laughter and James followed suit. The break didn’t seem to last long enough.

Remus stood back at his station rather disgruntled despite having gotten high remarks from the judges. But the attitudes of the two other guys chosen were just abysmal and Remus did not feed well off of negative energy. Thankfully, the girl Alice was an absolute sweetheart and he managed to occupy his waiting time talking with her and ignoring the two other assholes. However, when Alice went to give her shpiel on the first bake, he was left alone with Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape, neither of which displayed any kindness.

“That old bat doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Lucius had snarled.

“Neither of them can appreciate true artistry,” Severus had implored and Remus rolled his eyes but his ears burned as the man continued, “Praising an underbaked chocolate sponge. How very soft. I suppose they feel bad with all those scars. Paints a very interesting picture.”

“Hmph, I have to agree. And with all the praise for that brown skin and that black girl,” Lucius had sneered. Remus could tolerate slander directed at him but he drew the line at any kind of racism.

“Hey, you better shut the fuck up,” Remus snarled as he turned around. “To be quite honest I couldn’t give a damn about your bitterness towards the judging but don’t go blaming it on others and don’t you dare bring anyone’s race into this. They have just as much of a right as you or I do and the fact they’re better than you makes you feel inferior. Well, I got news for you mate. You are inferior. And if I ever hear you badmouthing anyone for their race, I will fucking slug you where you stand,” he bit out quietly and without wavering. “Fucking trash,” he gritted out, spitting at Lucius’s feet and glaring at Severus before turning back to ignore them.

The pair behind him continued their conversation much more quietly then and Remus failed to hear any of it but it wasn’t too much longer before Alice came back and Lucius left. She could sense his anger but didn’t ask him about, choosing instead to ask about what he did for a living.

So there he stood, his arms tightly crossed over his chest, glaring daggers into the back of Lucius Malfoy’s head, waiting for the hosts and the judges to arrive, signaling the start of their first technical challenge.

“Psst, Remus,”.said a voice behind him and he really thought about ignoring the guy just because he was in a foul mood. But he relented anyway because he had a feeling that Sirius wouldn’t stop calling out to him until he answered. He turned.

“What?”

“Wanna grab a pint with me and James after we wrap up for the day?” he asked with a brilliant smile and expectant eyes. His heart melted a bit at the sight and he smiled softly. It took him a minute to register what the guy had asked him and then he felt his cheeks flush. He was asking him to hang out after? Him? Remus Lupin?

“James?” Remus asked without thinking or hesitating and Sirius pointed his thumb over to the guy at the station across the way. The man called James smiled a brilliant smile and waved enthusiastically. Remus snorted.

“Sure,” he answered with an easy smile before turning back forward to hide his burning cheeks. He managed to catch a glimpse of Sirius’s own burning cheeks though and the thought made him warm inside.

The technical was a disaster. At least it was for Sirius. He couldn’t be sure about anyone else but he was sure he fucked up his bake beyond repair. All his good graces from the signature challenge would go out the window because he would surely be crowned twelfth place and he would have to claw his way through the ashes during the showstopper just to stay in the competition past the first week. He was embarrassed and he was annoyed with himself for cracking under pressure. Surely he could’ve handled twelve miniature tres leches cakes, right? But no, not at all apparently! His whipped cream was running, his sponges well weak and didn’t hold well after being doused in milk and to top it off, he cut his finger when slicing the strawberries! No one was having a worse time than him, surely.

Except for maybe Marlene McKinnon who was almost in tears at how everything was turning out. How could it be that only an hour ago they were making perfect whipped cream and now it just wouldn’t stiffen? They were on their third attempt and there was only five minutes left in the challenge so if it didn’t work then, they would be serving naked, milky sponges and they absolutely loathed the sound of that. They beat their whipping cream and sugar harder.

Remus Lupin felt oddly calm during the technical. His sponge came out well or so it appeared and he had no way of testing it, his milk concoction was mixed well and his whipped cream wasn’t grainy. All was well at station Remus and he was quite proud of himself although he doesn’t have the self-confidence to believe he’d place even in the top three. But he was still proud of himself.

“Alright bakers, that’s the end of your first technical, if you could, please bring your tres leches up to the Gingham altar and place them behind your visage!” Sluggy proclaimed and everyone seemed to take a collective breath as they stepped back for the first time since starting. Thankfully, Remus had just finished setting his last strawberry atop his cakes and couldn’t help but be pleased as he brought up his platter to the front. He was seventh in the judging so he’d have to wait for Albus and Minerva to get to his bake but he didn’t seem to mind actually was a nice change of events from this morning. He began to fear that his lack of anxiety would be his downfall though and that he’d be taken by surprise and his tres leches would actually be terrible and his sponge would be cracked and dry.

He sat in an odd mixture of fear and calm. But he was sat next to Sirius so that was nice. Sirius looked upset and Remus searched for his photo which was second from the start and frowned. They certainly weren’t the prettiest but they didn’t look awful and as long as they tasted good, he would be fine.

“It’ll be alright, mate,” Remus whispered, trying to sound encouraging and Sirius just shrugged. Remus risked it. He took Sirius’s hand and held it. Yes, he was attracted to the man but also they were in this together. As much as Bake Off was a competition, they were still fighting the same battles and Remus would hate to see Sirius feel alone during this. Luckily, Sirius held on.

“Right,” Minerva said, catching their attention and looking over the bakes with scrutiny. “Let’s see how they did, shall we?” she asked, gesturing to the first bake which was behind the photo of a man Remus had never talked to.

They seemed to enjoy it enough but remarked that the cakes weren’t milky enough and Remus had to stop from blanching at the term used. Milky. Ew. Gross. But they moved onto Sirius’s and the man held Remus’s hand tighter.

“These look a little… disordered,” Albus said serenely. “But hopefully the flavor is good,” he continued as he and Minerva put a piece in their mouths and immediately hummed in delight.

“Quite delicious,” Minerva remarked and Albus nodded in agreement as they moved onto the next bake which was Severus fucking Snape’s.

They didn’t like it. Good.

Next was the red-headed woman across from Remus and they really seemed to like it, stating it almost near perfection. Next came a brown-haired woman that Sirius’s hand tensed at when they got to it, causing Remus to frown. He hadn’t seen the man interact with that woman at all. Interesting.

After the brown-haired woman (Remus should really learn all their names), they moved onto the black woman who was stationed in front of Remus and they also really enjoyed hers, and then it was Remus. He gripped Sirius’s hand a bit tighter.

“They all look very neat which is good, let’s just hope they taste as good,” Minerva remarked as she put a bite in her mouth, Albus following suit. They hummed in approval.

“Quite delicious,” Albus remarked. “This one is going to be hard to judge I can see,” he continued and Remus had to school his face from beaming. But Sirius gripped his hand tighter which made Remus squeeze back.

James was after Remus and he did well but he had thirteen inside of twelve. (Sirius thought James would say something like ‘Well I should get extra points, right? It could’ve been eleven instead of thirteen.’ Sirius would have replied, ‘I think you’re just shit at maths, mate.’) A tanned girl with chestnut brown hair was after James and like Sirius, they looked very messy but the flavor was good.

“The cream is a bit too runny for my taste,” Albus commented and Remus sighed. This is not easy for anyone and it was only going to get harder. Minerva and Albus were picky.

They moved onto Lucius’s which weren’t even topped with whipped cream which made Remus smirk, and then they headed onto Alice who’s were satisfactory it seemed. And they ended with another guy who appeared slightly mousy and even his picture on the altar conveyed a strong sense of panic. He did what Remus would describe as a ‘meh’ job.

And then the judging. Remus kept waiting for his name and he held onto Sirius’s hand tightly and he couldn’t tell who was sweating more. Unsurprisingly, Lucius was last, then Severus, the mousy-looking boy, named Peter, was tenth, followed by the person with the chestnut brown hair, named Marlene, was ninth, followed by the first guy, Frank, then Alice, the woman that made Sirius tense up was named Andromeda and she was sixth. Sirius tensed up again and stayed that way when he was announced to be fifth.

“Sirius, overall a good set of bakes, just a bit of a mess,” Albus noted and Sirius smiled with a nod.

James was fourth and then came the top three which hadn't registered yet that Remus was in. But he quickly realized as Sirius squeezed his hand tightly and Remus held his breath.

“In third, is this one,” Minerva said, gesturing to the bake with the photo of the redhead who’s station was across from Remus’s. “Lily, a really good bake the sponge could be just a bit wetter.”

“These two were really hard to decide between, it was a really a toss up but in second is this one,” Albus stated and Remus raised his hand. Second in the technical! What the fuck! Is this the same Remus he woke up as this morning?

“So that means Dorcas, you are first,” Minerva smiled at the woman’s who station was in front of Remus and Lily leant forward to congratulate her and so did the guy named Frank. She was shocked.

Remus, Dorcas, Snape, and Lucius all got called for testimonials and again, Sirius was bitter. They had a few more things to film just to wrap up the day but either way, he was going to get a pint with Remus and James. But gods, what a day! He had a pretty good signature and he did well in the technical! And he made friends with the hot guy who sat in front of him! Maybe Bake Off is exactly what Sirius needed to turn his life around and to start actually living happily and not in his family’s shadow. It’s only been two days and he already feels like a different person and as long as he doesn’t muck everything up with the showstopper, he feels pretty confident he’ll make it to the next week.

He was packing up his things and also taking out some things he would be using for biscuit week next week just as preparation when Remus finally came back over. “Hey, mate! You did bloody amazing!” Sirius said happily and Remus beamed at him.

“Thanks, Sirius! You did really well, too!” he answered and Sirius grinned.

“Oi, Remus! Remus Lupin!” shouted a voice from across the tent. It was the redhead Lily that James was absolutely smitten with already.

“What?” he asked, his face neutral as she stomped over to him, an unreadable expression clouding her face.

“You and Dorcas, are you two some kind of wizards or something?” she asked, sniffing afterward and Remus grinned at her.

“What, jealous?” he asked, poking a bit of fun but the reddening of his cheeks was absolutely noticeable and Sirius smiled carefully to himself as he watched the exchange.

“Jealous? Me? Absolutely not,” she scoffed. But she smiled after. “Congratulations, you and her seem really fantastic at baking.”

“Hey, you do too,” he answered softly and she smiled at him.

“Yeah well, I was only complimenting you to make you more comfortable so you’d let your guard down,” she shrugged and Sirius watched Remus roll his eyes.

The two of them almost seemed like him and James in the sense that they immediately hit it off. There was no bite behind their words or actions, they were just banting with each other. Sirius felt a green ugly monster want to rear its head in the back of his mind but he quickly shut the door on it. He did not know Remus and he certainly did not know if he was even into blokes. Sure they held hands during the judging of the technical but it was just a high stakes situation. It didn’t mean anything.

“You’re Welsh, aren’t you?” she asked him and Sirius saw the honey-haired man nod out of the corner of his eye. “Could tell from the accent, eh. Well, I’m from Cokeworth, you know in the midlands. I reckon the train comes by both our stops so if you want a friendly face to sit by tomorrow, just shoot me a text. And maybe we could grab a quick cuppa in town before shooting in the morning,” she offered and Remus seemed to light up at the suggestion. It left a warm feeling spreading in his chest.

“That’d be nice! Here, let me give you my number,” Remus answered and both of them pulled out their phones, exchanging numbers and laughed.

“I’m gonna name you Wolf McWolf in my phone,” Lily snorted and Remus playfully glared at her.

“Uncalled for, ginger,” Remus shot back. “Just for that, you will be Little Red to me,” he grinned deviously and she scoffed back at him.

“Hey, there chums!” James’s booming voice interrupted and Sirius was grateful. He was growing tired of watching the two of them flirt or whatever. Yes, he was bitter. Yes, he was a petulant child sometimes. It came with the territory, he was used to getting what he wanted and he wanted Remus. Gods, he’s a mess.

“Ugh, you,” Lily sneered but there was no real malice behind it, Sirius noted. “What is it that you want?”

“The lads and I were going to grab a pint when we wrapped up here. I suppose you wouldn’t want to join us, Evans?” James inquired, his eyes shining brightly and when she snorted, his face fell a bit.

“Not tonight, we have the showstopper tomorrow. It’s rather immature of you to get a drink after today, you couldn’t wait till tomorrow?” she pointed out and James shrugged.

“We could also go tomorrow if you wanted to join then,” the brown-skinned boy offered eagerly and Lily tried to stop the smile from growing on her face.

“Well, we’ll see four eyes. If the three of you make it through tomorrow, then I will think about grabbing a drink with you lot,” she snorted and James was back to full-on grinning.

“Oh I think she’s challenging us, mate,” Sirius finally remarked, glancing over at his new friend who nodded solemnly.

“It would appear so, perhaps tonight we should practice one more time at my place,” James offered and Sirius couldn’t tell if he was serious or joking.

“Alright, everyone! That’s a wrap! See you all bright and early tomorrow! 8 am sharp!” Sluggy called and all of the contestants broke apart and finished getting everything ready for tomorrow. And then he headed out with his new best friend and his new crush. Bake Off was getting interesting.

Remus woke up the next morning with a fond smile already on his lips despite the ungodly hour of the morning he was awake at. The night before had been really fun for him and they hadn’t gotten drunk at all really, just enough to feel a slight buzz but with the promise that no matter what happened today, they would go out again after the showstopper and get properly smashed. Remus was looking forward to it.

He changed quickly and headed downstairs, kissing his mum on the cheek as he entered the kitchen. “Toast for my boy,” she said sweetly and Remus gave her a quick smile before stuffing a piece in his mouth.

“Nervous, fab?” (Nervous, son?) his dad asked from his usual seat at the table, the morning paper open in front of him.

“Ddim mewn gwirionedd, yn ddideimlad yn bennaf,” (Not really, mostly just numb.) Remus answered easily, being completely truthful. His nerves felt fried from yesterday and he knew he practiced as much as possible the weeks following up to the competition. He wouldn’t say he was ready and he also wouldn’t say it would turn out well or he was super confident. But he’d made as much peace as he possibly could with the weekend. Whatever happened would happen and he wouldn’t be able to change. (That’s not to say he wouldn’t be a mess during the actual competition, he figured it was kind of calm before the storm.)

He finished off his toast, grabbed his bag and rushed to the door so he could hurry to the train station. He couldn’t afford to be late.

“Let us know if you’ll be home late,” his mom called and he called back an acknowledgment.

“Hey Little Red, hopping on the train right now, second cart from the front,” Remus sent the message as the train pulled up to the station. He had only arrived a mere 30 seconds before.

Lily texted back immediately. “Sounds good, Wolfie. See u in a few.” Remus smiled and settled into a seat, taking out his headphones and shuffling his guilty pleasure playlist that’s filled with Britney Spears and Lady Gaga.

Lily joined him at the Cokeworth station and he quickly hid away his phone with the incriminating playlist and struck up a conversation. “So, you’re from Wales,” Lily stated and Remus raised an eyebrow.

“So I am,” Remus agreed.

“Speak Welsh?” she asked, light in her eyes and Remus snorted.

“Siarad Saesneg?” (Speak English?) he shot back and Lily grinned.

“Wicked,” she gasped. “What’s it like? Wales, I mean. I’ve never been despite it being just across the way,” she asked and Remus shrugged.

“Green, small, Welsh. I live just outside of Cardiff and the city’s rather nice. If I’m being honest I do love it, I just wish I could get out for a little,” he sighed.

“Like, uni or something? I mean I get it though, Cokeworth is small and everyone knows everyone. It’d be nice to get away but I can’t exactly afford uni,” Lily revealed and Remus looked at her for a second before nodding.

“Me too,” he answered. “I’ve always wanted to go, I love learning, I love studying, I love reading but, uh, we can’t afford it either,” he finished with a mumble and Lily gave him a piercing look. He felt uncomfortable. He knew his scars were noticeable and he knew people would always have questions but it wasn’t their business.

“I say go for it. We both should, money be damned,” Lily retorted finally and Remus raised an eyebrow. “You’re what? 21? I am too, it’s not too late, it’s never to late,” she continued and Remus smiled.

“How’d you guess my age?” he asked and she snorted.

“Didn’t you know? I’m a Seer,” she joked and Remus laughed. “By the way, did you know that Severus lives just over the tracks from me in Spinner’s End?” she added on and Remus tried not to let his mood turn sour. He didn’t want to talk about that dickhead.

“Oh how interesting,” he mused carefully and Lily’s face turned hard.

“The guy is a prick. We used to be friends, you know. When we tykes, inseparable and all that. But he changed and I tried hard to forgive him and help him but he’s just a slimy git,” she huffed and Remus glanced over at her.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely and she shrugged.

“Past is past, it’s just crazy to see him here after a couple of years of not seeing him and knowing he’s still the same twat he’s always been,” she sneered and Remus nodded.

“I had… a… friend like that,” Remus bit out, trying to keep himself under control as he thought about Fenrir fucking Greyback.

“I’m sorry, too then,” Lily said softly and Remus smiled at her.

“Eh, you know, past is past. A guy tries to rape, permanently disables you as a result, and then you beat the shit out of him. Casual, right?” he offered with a flimsy smile and Lily laughed. He was glad she did.

“You’re a right riot, mate,” she said. “At least you got him back and gave him what’s coming. Fuck that guy,” she continued and Remus scrunched his nose.

“Yeah well, now we’re on fucking Bake Off and Snape may be here too but there’s no way he’s winning. Not with you on the show too,” he offered and Lily rolled her eyes.

“Yeah I think you’re more of the threat to be completely honest,” she answered and Remus smiled a toothy grin.

“We’ll both give him a run of it,” he compromised and she smiled back at him.

“Deal.”

Remus was sure he and Lily would take the train to the tent together every morning they could. He was sure he’d just found a friend forever considering they’d just had a heart-to-heart at 7 in the morning on the way to a baking competition. Plus she shared part of her chocolate scone with him and he’d always been a sucker for chocolate.

Marlene got to the Bake Off grounds earlier than most, the only other person there was Frank Longbottom and they had a very brief but friendly exchange of hellos. Marlene just wanted to get there early to clear their head a bit and focus on the task at hand. They’d practiced their cake sculpture for weeks and they knew exactly what they needed to do in order for it to succeed. As long as there weren’t any major catastrophes, they’d be fine.

They were sat on a tree stomp only a small distance away from the tent when Dorcas Meadowed showed up out of nowhere and plopped down right next to them. “Morning,” Dorcas drawled out with too much pep in her step for 7:41 in the morning.

“Hullo,” Marlene answered with a very small smile. “Lovely day innit?” they asked and Dorcas scrunched her nose.

“Yeah, it is. But it got even better with you in it,” she answered and Marlene immediately blushed. Was this flirting or was she like this with everyone.

“I could say the same for you,” they answered cheekily. “But maybe if you brought me a coffee next time, it would be even better.”

Dorcas smiled. “Oh so, I’m not enough? Need coffee too? Alright, fine. How’d you take it? Black? Cream? Sugar?”

“Black,” Marlene answered back with a playful grin. “One sugar.”

“Oh that sounds gods awful,” Dorcas gagged and Marlene giggled.

“Hey, to each their own,” they snarked and Dorcas rolled her eyes.

“You nervous for today?” she asked and Marlene shrugged.

“Yeah, I mean I think it’d be weird if I weren’t,” they replied and Dorcas nodded.

“Me too, but also. Not really? I don’t know I guess I just feel confident,” she continued on and they nodded along.

“Yeah, I think that’s a good way to describe it,” Marlene concluded, smiling at Dorcas who smiled back.

“Wanna get a drink after today?” Dorcas asked and Marlene snorted but nodded at the same time.

“Yeah, I really do,” they answered. “If you’re interested I packed a joint in my bag, we could share if you want,” they continued and Dorcas lit up at the suggestion.

“Sneaky little thing, aren’t you?” she laughed before saying, “Yeah, that’d be nice. Need something to take the edge off with this competition.”

“Precisely my thoughts,” Marlene smiled and Dorcas smiled right back. Gods, they wanted to kiss her so badly but it’s been less than two days of knowing each other and that was way too forward. But still, the want was there.

James and Sirius showed up to the tent together as Sirius really did spend the night at James’s place. James was oddly kind and perceptive to Sirius’s weird moods when his home life was brought up and he had made a genuine offer for him to stay the night.

“That is if you don’t mind the lunacy of Godric’s Hollow,” James had snorted and Sirius grinned.

“No, I very much welcome lunacy,” he had replied and that was that. Sirius met Fleamont and Euphemia Potter and spent the night in the bedroom next to James. They hadn’t practiced the showstopper challenge like James had suggested earlier in the day but even if they wanted to, they would’ve been able to, considering the size of the Potter’s kitchen. It would send Wahlburga Black on a fucking rampage.

They took their stations easily and Sirius admired Remus from behind as the guy took a spot at the station in front of him, just like the day before. “Still on for tonight?” Sirius asked quickly and Remus turned around to smile and nod.

Sirius took a glance over to find James trying to chat up Lily again and he held back an eye roll. The guy was an absolute disaster but he seemed to thrive on being that way which made Sirius appreciate him even more. He, too, was an absolute disaster.

They settled in quickly after that and the cameras started rolling as Minerva, Albus, Sluggy, and Hagrid all walked in.

“Welcome to your very first showstopper!” Sluggy called out and Sirius leaned forward on his station, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear that fell loose from his bun. “Albus and Minerva would very much like you to make a sculpture of your favorite world monument out of cake. It can be the Eiffel Tower, the Statue of Liberty, the Great Wall of China, anything you want but it must be made entirely out of cake and your landmark must be decorated to the highest degree,” he explained and everyone stared at him.

“Yeh have three and a half hours! So on yer marks!” Hagrid boomed.

“Get set!” Sluggy chimed.

“Bake!” the two hosts called together and Sirius rushed to start his bake.

Sirius ran through the process of making his batters very quickly, double-checking that his oven was preheating. He was briefly aware at some point that the judges were making their rounds and they were standing in front of Remus who was explaining his sculpture. He caught words like ‘Northern Wales’ and ‘Devil’s Bridge Fall’ but he was too focused on pouring his batter evenly to be able to entirely hear the explanation.

Just as he was ensuring the pans of batter were even and ready to go in the oven, he was interrupted. “Sirius! How are you today?” Sluggy asked cheerfully and the man smiled at the two judges and the host.

“Hello Minerva, Albus, Sluggy. I’m well today, a bit nervous, but okay,” he answered and they smiled back at him. He bent down to put his sponge batter into the oven. He needed them in as soon as possible.

“What are you preparing for the judges today? Where are you taking us?” Sluggy asked and Sirius held back an eye roll.

“Calais, France. I’ll be sculpting the Calais Lighttower out of raspberry and vanilla elderflower sponge with chocolate buttercream holding it together and fresh-made fondant covering the outside,” he explained and they nodded, obviously wanting more about why he chose the Lighttower. “My family, they have strong roots in France and I used to go there at least twice a year with them. I always loved Calais and the Lighttower is so beautiful, I hope I pay it homage well,” he continued and they seemed satisfied.

“That sounds lovely and you seem to have a lot to do so we’ll let you be,” Albus conferred and Sirius nodded his thanks before running to start his buttercream icing.

Before he knew it, there were five minutes left and Sirius was honestly not very pressed for time. He’d had some banter with the bloke behind him, Peter, as well as Remus which kept the mood light and calm (despite Peter’s obvious nerves and lack of time management; he seemed to be a good artist though). He didn’t have any trouble constructing the tower thankfully and the hardest part of covering it in fondant went better than it did when he’d practiced. All that was left was to imprint the brickwork of the tower with a toothpick and paint on some cracks with black dyed buttercream.

“Bakers, your time is up! Please step away from your bakes!” Sluggy called from the front and Sirius took a deep breath, taking in his full creation and feeling rather proud of it. It looked like a Lighttower and it was standing upright. He just hoped it tastes good. Sirius looked past his own bake and saw Remus’s and was astonished. It was amazing, it looked like he’d painted all the colors of the waterfall and greenery onto the buttercream. And there was a bridge made out of chocolate work that was spectacular. Unless it tasted like horse shit, Sirius was positive that Remus would be Star Baker. The guy was bloody brilliant.

“That looks amazing, Rem,” Sirius gushed and he saw him blush while muttering a quiet thank you as they settled in for the judging to start.

They started with Marlene and went up her row. Sirius watched as Andromeda displayed a beautiful Eiffel Tower and tried not to seethe as she got glowing reviews. He liked Andromeda, she was always his favorite cousin but she was still part of his family and he did not do well with family. Thankfully, neither of them had tried to make contact with each other and that’s how he really preferred it.

James had a beautiful Taj Mahal but apparently, his flavors were a little lacking and Severus’s looked pretty terrible but apparently tasted great. It was a shoddy Big Ben and Sirius thought him to be a prick. He’d never had a conversation with the guy but he just seemed like a fucking douchenozzle.

They went down Sirius’s row and that bloke Lucius who’d been mucking everything up had a lackluster showstopper and Sirius couldn’t even make out a church building let alone the Norte Dame, Alice’s was average it seemed to be, Dorcas’ received rave reviews and Remus’s received glowing remarks about design (as it should’ve). They liked the taste of it and Remus was absolutely blushing on his walk back. It was a great look on him.

“Sirius, would you please bring up your monument,” Sluggy encouraged and he stood for his moment of truth. Honestly, if anyone besides Lucius was booted this weekend, Sirius would be shocked but needless to say, he didn’t feel too particularly nervous about judging. He didn’t know if that was good or bad.

“Well it certainly looks fantastic,” Albus remarked. “Very tall.”

“Yes, the fondant looks well made and it’s homemade?” Minerva asked and Sirius nodded.

“Yes, it is.”

They sliced through it and the whole thing remained standing, thankfully. They inspected his sponge thoroughly.

“Both looked to be well baked and the buttercream is nice and smooth,” Minerva inspected. The raspberry sponge is a brilliant pink and the vanilla elderflower sponge looks quite airy. Let’s just hope we actually get the elderflower flavor along with the vanilla,” she continued and Sirius watched as they put a piece in their mouths.

Albus hummed. “That raspberry is quite lovely with the chocolate buttercream, sharpness and sweetness both come through really well,” he said simply.

“Yes, I quite agree and it’s a beautiful texture, a wonderful bake on this one. Now for elderflower and vanilla,” Minvera remarked, taking a bite onto her fork, Albus following her lead.

After a second she sighed, “Pity. The elderflower doesn’t come through at all really and the vanilla flavor is very overpowering.” Sirius nodded.

“It’s a bit dry too,” Albus added and he nodded again.

“Thank you,” he murmured, waking forward to receive his bake and head back to his station.

Peter was last and he did fine but not good and that was that. They had a quick break while the judges deliberated, all of them gave small testimonials and then they convened back in the tent for the final judging of the week. All of this was a whirlwind for Sirius, he was dead on his feet but he was still ready to go out for the night with Remus and James.

“This week, I have the pleasure of announcing Star Baker. This baker seems to have an eye for chocolate and a hand for design. Remus, you are this week’s Star Baker,” Sluggy announced and Sirius leaned over the person named Marlene and patted his thigh, congratulating him as he sat there absolutely awestruck. Lily patted his head in congratulations and Sirius sat back in his seat.

“Now I ‘ave the very, very, very sad job of telling yeh who’s leavin’ us this week. I tell yeh, I don’ wanna see any of yeh go and I barely even know yeh!” Hagrid exclaimed, almost crying it seemed like. “This week, the one who’ll be leavin’ us is…” Everyone held their breath but Sirius felt as though it was more for show rather than actual nerves. It could only be one person. “… Lucius.”

Lucius stood up and gave a curt nod and sneered a little but everyone still stood and gave hugs for the week as was tradition on the show. Albus and Minerva went around and congratulated everyone, gave advice to those who seemed to need it, praises to those who deserved it, all while Remus was bombarded with hugs and Lucius was not approached at all very much.

It took too long for the camera crew to call cut on the day in Remus’s opinion but he did cry when he called his mom to tell her he got Star Baker. He honestly couldn’t believe it, he really thought Dorcas deserved it more than him and told her so. She told him to shut up and be more confident in his abilities.

But now, he was heading into the nearby town with James and Sirius to grab a quick drink and maybe get drunk. He was going to get drunk. For sure. Especially with Sirius and James, they seemed to be the types to get absolutely hammered when possible. Lily had in fact tagged along like she said she would and she brought Marlene, Dorcas, and Alice with her.

Remus got progressively more drunk and closer to Sirius throughout the night. Alice left rather early, Marlene and Dorcas spent the entire time talking with each other and Remus almost asked why they hadn’t started making out yet. (Honestly, he might’ve said it later in the night but he was a bit too drunk to fully remember.) James and Lily were talking almost the entire time and she had a hard time pretending to be annoyed by him, even when he really was annoying.

Sirius and Remus spent the entire night talking and he’s pretty sure Sirius told him his whole life story and Remus was also sure he told Sirius his but he was even more sure neither of them would remember in the morning.

Near the end of the night, Remus sent his mum a text that he wasn’t coming home because he was staying the night at one of the other contestant’s houses with a few other people. Lily made sure Marlene and Dorcas got home safe, promising that all three of them would text in the giant group chat they started at the bar. And then he settled in bed with Sirius and James, all three of them muttering drunken nonsense.

“Guys, I have work tomorrow,” Remus murmured, his cheek pressed against Sirius’s arm.

“You can’t go Moony, you’re Star Baker,” Sirius slurred and Remus laughed a very drunk laugh that was all deep and stomach-ish.

“Moony?” he asked.

“Awhooo! Wolf Wolf,” Sirius murmured back. “Moony.”

“Doggy,” James drawled and Sirius pushed him a bit. “Sirius star, Canis Major,” he explained weakly.

“Not Doggy,” Sirius huffed.

“Toebeans,” Remus said flatly. James snorted loudly.

“Absolutely not,” Sirius growled.

“Padfoot,” James stated easily and Sirius huffed as Remus cheered.

“Padfoot!”

“Wha bout me?” James slurred.

“‘Ou got big ears and you get tha-.. tha-.. you know…. ahh-face like that… thing,” Sirius said in an extremely unhelpful manner.

“Oh, I know like the uh… animal.. that..” Remus added trailing off and James let out a noise of impatience.

“What?” he whined, drawing it out as his new friends were being extremely unhelpful. “Moony, Padfoot,” he cried and both other men laughed but Sirius hiccuped loudly causing Remus and James to laugh again.

“Hm, Prongs,” Sirius said, snuffling further into the pillow of James’s bed, perfectly content between his two friends.

“Hm yeah,” Remus agreed. “I have work tomorrow,” he said again and James reached over and pushed on his arm.

“Shu up, Star Baker,” he grumbled. “Tell them no. We have bacon here and you live in fucking Welsh,” James murmured, pressing his face into his pillow.

“Wales,” Remus corrected. “Bachgen ceirw mud,” (Dumb deer boy.) he muttered. James said something absolutely unintelligible

“Hmm quiet, sleepy time,” Sirius yawned and neither of the other two boys said anything as they both thoroughly agreed. It was indeed time for bed.

And Remus did not end up going to work the next day, instead, he spent the day extremely hungover with his two newest and best friends: Padfoot and Prongs. He loved Bake Off before, but now he absolutely adored it.

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scriptflorist · 6 years ago

Note

Hello! I have a character that had a bad childhood (He's gay and had an already bad family as is but it got worse when he was outed) and he has tattoos of flowers to cover up certain scars, plus he likes them. He also decorates with the same or similar type, but I don't know what kind(s) to use. He's someone that really likes symbolism so he'd want something as a symbol of him, his past, and/or what he's over come. Do you know any flowers that would be good for that?

Hey Nonny,

Let's see what we have for your character. This got longer than expected so I hope you'll find what you've been looking for.

achillea millefolia – war

adonis (flos) – sad memories, painful recollections, sorrowful remembrances

allspice – compassion

almond – indiscretion

almond (flowering) – hope

almond (laurel) – perfidy

alyssum – worth beyond beauty

amaranth (globe) – unchangeable, hope in misery, unfading love, immortality

anemone – forsaken, frailty

anthericum – antidote

ash tree – grandeur

aspen – excessive sensibility, groan, fear, lamentation

balm – sympathy

bay wreath – reward of merit

bell flower – indiscretion, acknowledgement, gratitude

bittersweet nightshade – truth

bittersweet – truth

brunfelisa latifolia – beware of false friends

bulrush – docility, indiscretion

butterfly weed – let me go

camellia (red) – unpretending excellence

camellia (white) – perfected loveliness, adoration

cardamine – paternal error

cedar of lebanon – incorruptible

celandine – joys to come, future joy

cherry (cornelian) – durability, duration

chrysanthemum (red) – I love

chrysanthemum (white) – truth

citronella – homosexual love

cilanthus – worldliness, self-seeking

clove – dignity, I have loved you and you have not known it

columbine (purple) – resolved to win

columbine (red) – anxious and trembling

coneflower (purple) – strength and health

convolvulus (pink) – worth sustained by judicious and tender affection

copihue – there is no unalloyed good

coriander – hidden/concealed merit, hidden worth

coronilla – success crown your wishes, success to you

echites (dark purple) – be warned in time

feathery reed – indiscretion

fennel – worthy all praise, strength

fern – sincerity, fascination, magic, confidence, shelter

filbert – reconciliation

forget-me-not – forget me not, true love

furze – love for all seasons/occasions

garlic – courage, get well, ward off evil and illnesses

gentian (closed) – sweet be thy dreams

gentian (fringed) – intrinsic worth, I look to heaven, autumn

geranium (fish) – disappointed expectations

geranium (lemon) – tranquillity of mind, unexpected meeting

ginger – strength

gladiolus – you pierce my heart, generosity, I'm sincere, flower of the gladiators

glory flower – glorious beauty

goat's rue – reason

greek valerian – rupture

hawthorn – hope

hazel – peace, reconciliation

hepatica – confidence, trust

honeysuckle (coral) – the colour of my fate

juniper – protection, succour, asylum

lavender – distrust, mistrust, acknowledgement, love, devotion

lilac – first emotion(s) of love

lily of the valley – return of happiness, the heart withering in secret, modesty, sweetness, tears of the virgin mary, happiness, humility

lily (tiger) – wealth, pride, prosperity

lisianthus – appreciation

liverwort – confidence

lotus flower – estranged love

magnolia (laurel leaved) – high souled, dignity

marianthus – hope for better days

mercury – goodness

mignonette – your qualities surpass your charms/loveliness, “without pretension to beauty possesses which command profound respect and affection”

milk vetch – your presence softens my pains

mimosa – sensitiveness, secret love

mistletoe – I surmount (all) difficulties, I climb to greatness, I surmount all obstacles, parasite, kiss me, affection, difficulties

mullein – take courage, good nature

nettle – slander, cruelty, you are spiteful

nightshade – scepticism, truth, dark thoughts, falsehood

olive – peace

palm – victory

persicaria – restoration

poor robin – compensation or an equivalent

poplar (black) – courage

poppy (red) – consolation

ranunculus – I am dazzled by your charms, you are radiant with charms

rose (christmas) – tranquillise my anxiety

scabiosa – unfortunate love, unfortunate attachment, I have lost all

sweetbrier (yellow) – decrease of love

syringa (carolina) – disappointment, memory

thistle (scotch) – retaliation

tremella – opposition, resistance

willow (french) – bravery and humanity

– Mod Jana

Disclaimer

This blog is intended as writing advice only. This blog and its mods are not responsible for accidents, injuries or other consequences of using this advice for real world situations or in any way that said advice was not intended.

#flower language #writing advice #victorian flower language #overcoming the past #ask answered #mod jana #Anonymous

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alchemisland · 6 years ago

Text

The Antiquarian and the Devil's Dog

April 1928.

I, Martin Bryn-Kolkiln, wish to commit to paper the strange events of Friday last, April 9th 1928. For what seems an age I have been chasing time, little tempting pockets of freedom peppered throughout the week, but the crafty seconds evaded capture. My rest too, like the proverbial snoozing hound, has been disturbed to much chagrin, prolonging the day's drudgery.

I had been away for several weeks prior to the incident, pining for home on the sun-cursed dig sites of the Nile delta. Aerial raids destabilized the region, yielding formerly guarded treasures to the gloved hands of fevered antiquarians, creating a scramble the likes of which beaurocrats had not seen since the African pile-on. At one such site, in the frame of a ruined mosque we found an idol, stark and malignant in its shadow-haunted grotto, providing ample fuel for speculation among my uneducated workforce.

My postprandial scribblings, so long a staple of my working week that no servant dares scurry past my quarters upon seeing the glow neath the door signalling occupancy, go neglected of late, my notepad chastely going without flourish.

I have been much beset by idleness, my usual studious nature replaced by bouts of extended procrastination. I do not fear that you will judge too harshly my slovenliness once I recount my adventure in full.

The journey from London towards Matfield is punctuated with occasional wondrous natural vignettes. A journey I had taken many times before, I spurned heirs for comfort and slid far down on my seat, staring out the window. Wild horses cresting grassy knolls against the backdrop of God's own country.

I had informed colleagues of convalescent intentions, two weeks bedridden to document my trip, so it came as a reluctant surprise when a letter arrived requesting my urgent presence at the Powers Estate. It spoke of a strange discovery as work began on a proposed pleasure garden "to rival Xanadu". The author supposed the discovery would be pertinent to my historical interest, and suddenly I was keen to reevaluate my proposed hermitic fortnight.

I set off that same evening with only a light jacket tossed overshoulder. The note's concluding statement disturbed me most. The scribe, generously an amateur, was firm that they had uninterred the skeleton of an enormous hellhound.

I cycled to match Nike's record laps and barely caught the evening train. Upon alighting, a short preamble along a pleasant pebbled path paired with pastures carried me to the estate, its foreboding walls stark and unmissable against the sweeping hillocks. Overhead, through a bore in the wounded firmament, a lance of otherworldly pearlescence triumphed.

The moon in its wane sat stop the rounded domes of the main compound like a crown's centrepiece, its design an eclectic mix of Eastern and Western classical art, rounded arches twinned with dappled pillars, obsidian grotesques with forked tongues freed of their pursed half mouths. Inside, French tapestries decorated the walls, Greek marbles on every landing, enormous canvas features depicting glorious hunts in gilded frames tacked lavishly on every capable surface. Looted Pictish stones inscribed with mysterious runes decorated the fish pond. This was wealth. Old money.

Casement Power, younger brother of late Lord Richard, inherited no property, instead reviving a modest annual wage to fund his excess. The scurrying fox and the baited badger that presumably made up his cost of arms could not satiate his warrior spirit, so he traveled to Africa where the large game roamed.

It crossed my mind while tracing its mighty girdle that perhaps a secret exotic pet had been disinterred, cyclopean only to an amateur.

I found myself frozen at the gates. Some fuedal conditioning told me my sort still weren't welcome here, and I stood hypnotised by its granduer A fortress fit for a martial family.

A buried phalanx of ghoulish hoplites raised their jagged spears to form the gate rails, fearsome black rods as a ward to the timid, a black bas relief in its centre. Pushed its hinges dragged and howled in dull flight, which I took as a sign of reluctance on the house's part.

Once inside I turned right, veering from the cedar-lined drive down a snaking path of trodden grass towards a distant glow. With my forearm raised to tide the eye-hungry branches, I came to stand in a copse offering a clear vantage of the fiddler's kirkyard, where four beacons crudely jammed into the soil guttered, illuminating a profession of loiterers. One waved my shade closer, evidently the letter's author.

The grass grew sicklier in the albumen of my redoubt, tusks of jagged rock bursting through the topsoil. Little wonder this field alone was designated the plebeian pit, it must have been the only infertile patch inside this splendid garden of bulbed delights.

A terrible scream rang out as I took my first ginger step forward. It crowed shrilly, razorlike against the eardrum. Wretched as banshee's wail. Mighty as the seven trumpets sounding to toll the seventh seal's opening. The Djinn's howl. When the screaming stopped, an orb of light rose and hovered about the hungry mouth of an open grave. Unaccustomed to the light, its radiance blinded me, and when finally those briny trickles tamed enough to pry them back open, I found myself back in the copse where I had stood a moment before, the kirkyard beacons up ahead.

I stared to my hands, unable to discern their shape in the darkness. I needed to be positive I wasn't dreaming. It was bitterly cold. Does one feel true cold in the nightland? I surmised then I was not sleeping and in fact alertly experiencing high strangeness. Sudden nausea stole my legs and I keeled over retching.

Prone on the lawn I watched the distant beacons ignite and extinguish in sequence, casting strange shadows, then in unison they doused. Plunged into void, I felt the grass against my cheek mutate into something harder, with many sharp points. I lifted one eyelid and saw the gates. I was outside the compound, as if I had never before entered!

The bas relief's dark contours adopted an ominous aspect, moreso than previous observations yielded. Their bulbous forms tricked me with feigned normalcy. Brushing the stones set in my palm like jewels, I winced to my feet.

One idle lance shone directly on its centre. Beings that at first seemed grecian effigies altered in the pale moontorch. The icons, lacking perspective, still bulged with taut muscle. Lacking the vocabulary to describe the 'otherness' of its shape, Revelations must serve as an imaginative stimulus. The beings were contorted demons with men's bodies and genitals, coated head to toe with coarse black hair.

Where their mouths should have been jutted jaws like that of the snapping Nile crocodiles. One figure above all I was hypnotically drawn to carried by his shoulder a noxious stinger slick with venom poised to strike. Alone was he armed with a pestilent whip, distinguishing him as a leader of sorts, if rank existed within an anarchy of grotesques.

Even as fantasy, this folly was gratuitous, a remnant of the freakshow. The metal itself gleamed as if slick, though no hint of varnish my nostrils scented.

I pushed open the gate as a matter of promptness, again it screeched, reeeeeeeeeeeeeeee - like a vixens wail. Events were unfolding like theatre beats, precisely as they had moments ago, only now where I was sure I had steered right, the dig site was to my left.

I thought voicing the skeptic aloud to might steady frayed nerves. Marsh gases were spirits to feudal farmers before wise men dispelled their ignorance, replicating in micrcosm the binding of the primal flame which elevated our kin above the fierce descendants of Echidna. Perhaps what I experienced was a phenomenon as yet unexplained, wholly within the realms of fact.

Seeing the skeptic permitted entry, the coward tried his charms on the doorman, a masculine fellow with traps the size of roset chickens. Without baudy company to mock my yellow belly, I thought of home, there was time enough yet. Sure, the trains wouldn't run until morning, but a man still might still safely walk the tracks in these leafy byways, and at the station Bucephalus waited.

Whether the men disturbed the rest of a hellhound or bones of a dead doe expanded by the ceaseless freeze-thaw action could a question remain, a chilling inkling to ponder on the Samhain.

A faint dust was visible in the air. A golden sporehaze like foundry sparks taken flight, shifting breezeless. Whether it was the unholy residue of occult practices blighting the gloam or a warning of impending spiritual disaster from the universe itself, I don't know, but I knew to follow my gut, instincts hard-honed.

I sped out the open gate, avoiding its siren keen, and kept a blistering pace until the lane melted where gravel gave to slick grass, then further on nearly stumbling were the tracks, a steel corridor of gnarled teeth. Stemming from negligent workers, trackside grasses growing unwieldy cast ominous shadows, obscuring assailants from the side. I slowed briefly, ensuring my stride matched the distance between planks.

After a time ambling I heard from behind the definite sound of paws plodding, four distinct footfalls increasing pace to match my own, causing me to sprint forward with surprising intensity, flapping like a disturbed bird to keep upright.

Paws clacked against the timbers quick as knuckles on a tabletop, dull heavy thuds, then something emitted a low growl that released the auxiliary adrenaline stocks. Without regard for form I reached my maximum possible speed, tissues, coins and paper scraps falling from my pockets all the while.

I was sure no fevre dream had taken hold, that what gave chase was tangible evil, an anamalous malignance out of another world, an oppressive presence. Some distance at last came between I and it, or least the sound of its routing, but still the aroma of fetid meat wrinkled my nostrils. Intense heat flared across my shoulder blades, as the footfalls came closer than ere before it flared to a searing agony.

I imagined an enormous fissure somewhere along the rows of planks behind, a tunnel hewn from riven flesh, from where mangled fingers rose to grasp my tails, bidden aid Cerberus. The beast thundered along now, terrible jaws searching the air. Teeth, dagger sharp and serrated for tearing flesh clean off the bone, came within inches of my ankles. I felt drops of reeking saliva raining down when the beast's tongue whipped at the empty space I occupied a moment earlier.

In truth I cannot recollect much further, gripped by adrenal berserk time held no meaning. New memories ceased forming. All non-critical faculties were off.

After an eternity I emerged into the dirty light of the station and dared to slow, coughing a lung by a signpost, the chase had not been so rabid these last lengths. The spell which coated those bones in living flesh expired as Sol threatened her wakening divinity, bleaching the hills.

The horizon turned red as iron ore. Hours faded like charcoal met by floodwater. Dawn arrived, silent and chorusless. I found no snapping Cerberus or terrible mastiff, only a dizzying corridor of shifting darkness stretching to infinity, for the dawntorch did not pierce the thicket there. In relief I howled, noting aloud to none in particular that this was likely a record time for this journey, surpassing even the no-stop trains that carried resources to the Hebrides overnight.

In spite of everything, I had to question if a creature ferociously pursued me at all, or merely had some friendly dog trotted alongside for a time. As to whether my own footfalls quickening sent me into a panic I was unsure. Should I be terrified, relieved, embarrassed or a combination of all three?

Next came the darkest revelation. I sat, legs dangling over the lip of the platform, lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, held it as if the smoke would absorb my woes.

A draft met my back and the sodden shirt plastered thereupon. No, more than a breeze, a pain. I gingerly pawed the raw area, if the phrasing can be pardoned, and found three scrapes stretching hip to hip. At night they vomit pus onto the swanfeathers corset of gauze I have taken since. Another paroxysm sent me spiralling into blackness.

I suppose it was near enough morning when I woke. Some kindly commuter or station man had taken notice and fetched a doctor, I have no memory of this.

The doctors informed say it will be some time before the wounds heal, that I may never recoup my former vigour, and even in miraculous circumstances, there is danger of tetanus.

Tetanus.

The lacerations were proved to have been canine in origin. Doctors, veterinarians and trappers consulted have been completely baffled by their length, stating no native creature is capable of inflicting wounds suchlike to a man grown.

With this nightmare put to page I hope the oily tendrils of it are scraped from my mind. I must retire to steam the wound again. Most, my spirit is shaken. I have not felt anxiety like it since the war.

I cannot complain overmuch, but blast sleeping on my front! How anyone finds solace in this repose is beyond my imagining, I feel like a lizard basking on hot stones.

April 20th, M Bryn-Kolkiln

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diary-marisamarko · 6 years ago

Text

grief

Attachments: The more aloof I appear the more attached I am. I get attached quickly deeply weaving language and lens flares and light rain and scent and touch and texture and tone into something of great and succinct beauty.

Everything is temporal; my rigidity rears its writhing, grieving head and my attachment, it's grasping amateur claws when something, that has touched me inexplicably, to the depth of which it's beauty makes possible, must evolve from physical reality

into memory and dreams.

In this case: I speak of the last two years and the family cat and this family's isolated acres. It will be two years since a nasty bout of viral meningitis woke up the looming epigenetic storm that had no regard for MY ( humanly selfish as it is) trajectory of life (or anyone's life, who experienced these things)

Storms! people exclaim, PASS! I am the Storm! People exclaim, in an inspired camouflage.

This is a crestfallen attempt to thwart

the evolution from physical reality

into memory and dreams, of others; they hope.

They will never know, nor will you or I...

Storms on earth, are all we know.

Jupiter's Great Red Spot is a storm that rages on despite its three hundred and fifty years.

In its chemistry, in its alien meteorological behavior, the storm has no desire to pass or purpose to appease by passing.

I AM THE STORM

sounds like and

has the quality of a light southerly breeze, whispering sparingly, through a blooming almond orchard.

Once more, our attempt to attenuate the fear and wonder of Post Life. Releasing attachment as softly and fearlessly, as a mother releases the hand of a child, who wants to walk on their own, straight to the sea.

The Great Red Spot's constant storming has me sequestered. The Earth unrepentant, corresponded zealously with Jupiter:

This one,

it cannot sit still,

or slow down,

or breathe.

Not because Earth cares personally, but the torque of evading one's own grief and attachment to it,

brought upon by circumstances or oneself,

has the power, en masse,

to create actions

that choke life.

Earth, in confidential talks with Jupiter, asked for the best way to stop a certain kind of madness.

"Create a perfect storm, an alien storm that doesn't succumb to the will of this human's wanting, or discomfort or fear

Or attachment to its outcome because

This is the madness"

So the headwinds began on the Great Highway bordering the Pacific, before one could even grab a beloved, pleasantly milquetoast warming coffee at Java Beach, or have one last walk through the beloved Golden Gate Park, perfumed with eucalyptus, redwood chips, the golden laughter of the slipping San Andreas.

I could not grab the places and stuff them in a rucksack, as my temperature soared, my lucidity waned, my legs convulsing in a heap below me, like a struggling baby giraffe.

The scent instead, seeped deep

into my nerve,

the tracts,

evolving quickly into memory: As quickly

as the physical metamorphosed.

Arrival at the family home. A year of ginger ices and wasting muscles and intractable pain and worried faces.

Some faces showed curiosity, not concern .

The kept Jupiter's secret, and intuited Earth's plan.

The curious had proprietary knowledge of:

all of the trees on the old property,

the two, TWO, families of white owls habituating the centenarian pine tree.

The hawks, the magpies, the coyotes, the ferocious and glorious hummingbirds, the cactus, the pomegranate trees, the yucca, the tamarack trees, the calendulas ( planted to bring back memories of Tunisia) herbs, vegetables, all of the blossoms, camellias, the Bella Donna lilies and the homecoming Maple tree.

The same tree where I sat as a small child, so ill, so still, with nothing but a cloth diaper because my skin was screaming.

It offered shade and took my body's fraught , infantile confusion to the earth, deep below

to transmute ... and wait.

Attachment: a false stoic.

Loss and grief bends me like a pine, holding on at Point Reyes.

I have tried to not let it etch my external features, a false stoic is vain survivalist.

My inner landscape, well, it understands a three hundred and fifty year storm.

It understands the infinite deep azure sacred depth of a cenote.

It stares in awe at the creatures who make the Mariana Trench their home.

THEIR. HOME.

The cubic pressure of water obliterates attachment, it is stoic and so are its inhabitants.

...

Some of faces of the curious are, of course, feline.

A lineage of abandoned farm cats, now sculpted into a rarefied lineage of mystics, sages and clowns.

...

Attachment: I have never owned a pet as an adult. Never, never, never. A playboy model in Los Angeles put her beautiful dog, Hollywood, down because her life fell apart according to "her" plan.

She should have let him save her, but she had cruelty and manipulation running through desperate exploited veins.

Hollywood, the place, was where she should have administered the pink syringe of poison, not her loyal companion.

It has been twenty years: it never leaves my thoughts.

I did not and could not save him, I was not told until after the procedure had taken place.

He never leaves my thoughts.

Soulful chestnut colored eyes to a lifeless writhing then rigid...

NEVER, NEVER, NEVER.

...

The curious felines have seen me come and go.

The many, many phases of a scattered life were anchored by the maple tree, the centenarian pine, blooming orchards, temptations involving stone fruit crops and stories of feline antics.

Especially the one who outlived most of the lineages and who an affinity for being attended to, much like Louis XIV.

I have known him since his arrival. A big beautiful fluffy round peach pastry with a congenital crook at the end of his plume like swashbuckling tail. He immediately was crowned KING and given indoor privileges. The acre and a half was merely his Park, his Bois de Boulogne, to survey daily, smell the air and let the breeze and sunlight configure his regal silhouette.

The others, were not peasants

They were and are staunch pagans.

Nature

their wonderland; the last thing on earth they could bear is/was coddling, cooing and humanizing.

No attachments: Aloof only because they were confident in their physical reality but persuasive enough to be fed as to not disturb the birds. A trade off occurred. Primal nature repressed for easily gained large quantities of nourishment and some doting... but not too much.

They all watched me for six months to see if I could be trusted, to see what creature I turned into when a wheelchair was brought out or a walker, or the constant presence of sunglasses that gave me four sets of eyes. As the six months became a year, then the year became another, they could tell how attached I could get:

my rigidity rears its writhing, grieving head and my attachment, it's grasping, amateur claws when something, that has touched me inexplicably, to

the depth of which it's beauty makes possible, must evolve from physical reality

into memory and dreams

The false stoic is a city girl.

There is no more city, girl.

This girl has been operating the body of this woman for so and too long.

This girl. This girl cannot bear the sight, the feel the movements, the labored breath of this debilitated woman.

The roots of the Maple don't argue;

the roots have grown large enough to disrupt a retaining wall and hold a much larger body.

The white owls keep chanting change, change,change... sailing by quietly to grasp prey.

And in this time, the regal feline, the KING, has watched me wither as well.

My arrogance weaves stories of him sensing how much I adore him. That may not be the case.

My physical sequestering has shoved me into the eye of the storm;

So quietly the time moves in isolation.

Living hour to hour, watching the seasons develop between bouts of incomprehensible, wretched illness. No more time to charade, to play aloof.

I cannot weather a three hundred and fifty year storm by practical design, neither can the regal feline.

He has remained strong until this last week, he has reigned here for sixteen years.

Earth and Jupiter conspired to end my tenure as a false stoic.

I lie on the heated tile in the bathroom, which serves as both a triage unit and sanctuary for the both of us...

both of us watching each other breath, until one falls asleep.

He will soon release attachment, as softly and fearlessly, as a mother releases the hand of a child, who wants to walk on their own, straight to the sea.

My heart expanded under his tutelage, I wonder how I will weather the rest of the storm , as he leaves his physical majesty for the majesty of his spirit.

I will cry in the aging knuckles of the Maple

No longer rigid

Nor will I fight a storm resplendent with truths:

something, that has touched me inexplicably, to the depth of which it's beauty makes possible, must evolve from physical reality

into memory

and dreams

Rest In Peace, sweet prince Gordie. Thank you for sixteen exquisite years. Thank you for saving me time and time again. You are my heart.

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rainystripe · 7 years ago

Text

{one-shot (?)} ROLL DEEP

pairing: Jughead Jones/Betty Cooper fandom: Riverdale 6773 words Summary/excerpt: “Merry Christmas, jo—y” he mutters to himself after securing a large bite of brownie in his mouth. It’s dark in his room during Christmas, but the darkness fades away as his phone lights up with 5 back to back messages from Betty. It doesn’t take much guessing to wonder what she’s sent.

A greeting of course, and a million colorful emoji.

Jug!

Merry Christmas

or,

Jughead Jones + Netflix and Chill= Betty Cooper?

AO3

Okay, idk where to start LOL. This is inspired by my own dumb text posts and @sweaters-and-crowns inspired me to write this out. I wrote this shit in an entire sitting until my phone was about to die. ANYWAY, a huge, HUGE thank you to @theatreofexpression, @electromagnetic-waves and @rezfaultsmoke for helping me out with this! Honestly, cannot express my gratitude enough <3

I have the option for a possible follow up chapter just in case I go along with it. But lemme know if one of you is interested in collaborating with the second one?!

lastly, Happy Holidays to everyone reading this.

Being alone wasn’t all that bad. Jughead Jones knew that perfectly well. And it’s not that he’s entirely lonely, he has friends and family.

A very spotty family at that, but there’s always a family there for him. And as of late, his choice of family isn’t one by blood in fact, his best friend and his dad are always there for him. Archie and Fred Andrews are always on call for whenever he needs anything. It’s not that Jughead is some type of beggar, because he isn’t, but when he finds that he needs the comforting warmth of familiar faces, good greasy food, and overall good times, the Andrews men are always a good choice.

It’s December 13th in late 2015 when Archie texts Jughead the password to the Netflix account that had recently Fred opened up. The red haired teen has done nothing but gush about how ‘epic’ and ‘fucking awesome’ the application was and at first Jughead doesn’t understand the hype. He’s heard of it, yeah— who hasn’t? The ads are everywhere and so are the stupid memes. Jughead also didn’t understand why he would need an online theater since there was a perfectly working on through the Bijou and the Twilight. The later of while held glorious tin encased reels from years past. Nothing could compare to the original format of film, but alas, Jughead was born in a different era: the Digital Age.

“Netflix and Chill”

Just hearing Archie talk about the popular term makes the blue eyed teen grimace as he stuffs a chip into his mouth. Archie has been on a quest to ‘get some girls’ and as far as Jughead knew, no one was biting. He does however, know what the entirety of the football team have been ‘getting some fine ass pussy’ (according to Chuck Clayton) as of late, and the not-subtle locker confessions are always accompanied by the Netflix and Chill combo. He doesn’t quite get what the fuss is all about nor does he care. But one thing is for sure, and that is that Jughead Jones doesn’t want to “chill” with a girl while he could be watching a movie on his own.

Unless that girl was blonde, green eyed and super into movies as he was. Elizabeth Cooper was the only girl that he'd hang out with and that was law. No one else could sit with him through a movie, not even his kid sister Jellybean, as she’d talk through the entire selection of his choice and whine about his top choice films for being ‘boring’. Archie was something else, maybe he’d reconsider the ginger if he’d stop falling asleep during Inglourious Basterds. So, Betty was the perfect candidate for watching a movie or t.v series with.

There’s a strange occurrence one day when they all sit for lunch one day, the blonde plops down and immediately dips her head down to ask them something. They’re outside in the blistering cold and Archie is seated next to her while Jughead sits across from the pair. It’s a normal lunch break until Betty asks what the meaning to ‘chilling with Netflix...or whatever’ meant.

The redhead next to her strings loudly at the wooden guitar while Jughead swears the apple juice he’s just been drinking might’ve gone up his nose. Their reactions only cause Betty’s authoritative gaze to inquire for more information and in typical Cooper fashion, the look demands answers.

“Uh, w-why do you ask, Betts?” Jughead doesn’t mean to stutter, but he does and he doesn’t know why.

Betty blinks and a blonde brow shoots up “Because... Reggie just asked me if I wanted to ‘chill and netflix’ with him.” Her fingers raise to quote her own words, confusion evident on her face. “And then his goonies started to laugh!” She huffs and purses her lips.

Both Archie and Jughead share a knowing look, one of pity from Jughead and the other of awkwardness from his best friend. While Betty picks and tears at the plastic wrapped around her straw, she mumbles in annoyance, distaste as clear as day on her face.

“Ugh. What does that mean?” she mumbles.

Archie’s chocolate eyes urge Jughead’s own icy ones and vice versa. There’s a tiny tug and pull to see who will let Betty in on the dumb trend, and Jughead finally sighs. It always felt weird to talk about anything dirty or suggestive to wholesome Betty Cooper.

“Err— well, Betty…” when he finally starts, her ears perk up and all of her attention is on the beanie clad boy. The curious look and doe eyes make him gulp.

Why did he suddenly feel bad?

“Reggie is being a dumbo as per usual, so don’t listen to anything that leaves his Colgate mouth. But, if you must know…”

The explaining happens and by the end, Betty is fuming in disgust. Archie plants a comforting hand on her back and Jughead offers up the apple on his tray that he never eats as a condolence, one which Betty gratefully pockets for her walk back home after school.

That night, when he’s lounging in tiny space of his living room, his phone rings. Homework has been finished and his backpack was ready for the next class day. Jughead was fresh out the shower and attempting to write on his laptop when the password is texted to him. He stares at his phone for a good minute and ponders if his slow internet would even entice him to download the app on the older computer. It’s not until another text comes through a few minutes later that Archie reminds him of the web browser alternative that he finally gives in and signs into the page.

Writing was sort of boring and the trailer was actually warm for once thanks to the ancient heater that rumbled to life after kicking it in frustration that cold morning. Jughead turns off the light next to him by the couch, allowing darkness to engulf the tiny trailer. The website is simple enough and he realizes that one account already has been set to be his. He snorts and smiles and proceeds to click on the lazy looking image. He doesn’t know where to start; there is an overwhelming amount of content that’s plastered on the main page.

Mean Girls, The Walking Dead, Pocahontas even. Everything is new and flashy and none of it catches his attention and after scrolling for what felt like forever, a recommendation that he recognizes greets him: Rebel Without A Cause.

“Huh, not bad Netflix, not bad at all.” He mutters.

Jughead watches the entirety of the movie and then he’s watches another, and another. He watches a total of four classic films before his eyes close on him. The laptop eventually goes to sleep and Jughead has a strange dream where he’s the main character in a noir inspired film and Betty is a spy that’s out to get him.

—

Surprisingly enough, Netflix becomes a normal part of Jughead’s daily routine. He often finds himself watching The Twilight Zone while getting ready for school. Other times, he’s sitting on the small two person table in the corner of the kitchen while blowing on the instant ramen that he's made for dinner as Nightmare on Elm Street blares through the speakers of his laptop.

He won’t admit it to anyone because he’s not one to admit to anything, but Jughead finds himself literally chilling while watching Netflix. So maybe the concept of an online Blockbuster isn’t all that bad.

The days go on, and when Christmas break finally arrives, a selection of Christmas themed movies filter through his recommended list. Most of the films that have been selected don’t interest him—sans the original Home Alone (and that one only) so Jughead settles on binging the X-Files and going against the holiday mood that the year has bestowed on the entire planet.

“Santa, kiss my ass. Hello, aliens.”

On Christmas Eve, the trio of friends spend a few hours of the afternoon at Pop’s. Betty and Archie bring gifts and spoil Jughead. While he doesn’t have any gifts to give due to his nonexistent cash flow, he does manage to scavenge enough money from under the couch and the inside of his father's truck to pay for two milkshakes.

“Aww, you didn’t have to, Juggie!” críes Betty, but the look in her eyes say otherwise. If there was a way to describe the word ‘mouthwatering’ it would be the way her jade eyes gloss over with glee at the sight of her favorite treat being placed in front of her. Beside’s, milkshakes usually mark the end of their usual meal, so it was tradition anyway.

“It’s fine, Betty. Trust me. Just enjoy it, please.” The burning embarrassment that’s filling his belly makes him squirm at his version of a gift, but alas, his friends don’t seem to care about the quality or price tag.

“Okay.” Betty pouts back, but she cracks not a second after when her finger dips to scoop up the whipped cream topping the strawberry milkshake. The shy smile on her face makes him smile in return and before he can even register what he’s doing, the maraschino cherry from Betty’s treat is being plucked away from its creamy resting place.

“Jug!” she gasps in mild horror.

A sheepish grin breaks out on Jughead after popping the cherry into his mouth.

In the end, Archie offers his which Betty gratefully accepts and chews on while glaring at the dark haired boy sitting across from her.

Betty’s gift is a new cotton sweater in a cool grey, there’s no hoodie or zipper to it, and while it’s not his usual style, it’s very comfortable and warms him up faster than the broken heater. She’s also gifts him with the annual batch of brownies prepared by her mother, ones which he looked forward to every year. The sinful double chocolate chip fudge brownies were the epitome of heaven on earth that Alice Cooper somehow made every year. It was a treat that contradicts her usual strict style of dieting and control of food for her family, but he had no complains about the brownies, and he never will— unless she changes up the recipe to be skinny. His other gift is a 40 dollar gift card to Pops which Archie swears was the best gift ever since he will be able to reload it whenever he wanted to. A suggestion which Archie throws at him that includes the pink card being reloaded by him for his birthday and the following Christmas.

He’s grateful, he really is. Money is a problem, Jughead grew up with minimal money in his life. Being poor and broke and living off used things was the norm for him. He was still too young to find a job and while his father does provide here and there (albeit rarely being home) Jughead manages.

He always manages.

The internet that runs throughout Sunnyside is a shared connection routing through one main trailer where a guy manages to get illegal access to. It’s not the fastest or the best as every trailer uses the line, but it works fine for him when he’s nestles in bed at night. Being a night owl had its perks, no one was awake when he was, which meant that the internet was free of all the traffic that usually slows it down during the day.

Midnight arrives like any other night. There’s a distant crack in the air, fireworks most likely.

“Merry Christmas, jo—y” he mutters to himself after securing a large bite of brownie in his mouth. It’s dark in his room during Christmas, but the darkness fades away as his phone lights up with 5 back to back messages from Betty. It doesn’t take much guessing to wonder what she’s sent.

A greeting of course, and a million colorful emoji.

Jug!

Merry

Christmas

followed by a plethora of green Christmas trees and pink hearts (oddly enough) a few reindeer, presents, bows and confetti. All which she flawlessly executes with the dramatic background effect on the messaging app which lights up with animated fireworks.

“Geez, Betty. An enigma you are.” He reckons out loud before replying with his own simple greeting.

Merry Christmas, Betty. followed by a plain thumbs up.

—

Exactly two years later, 2016 Jughead Jones would have actually laughed in the face of his present self when told that he was in a romantic relationship. A romantic relationship with a girl, not a stranger, but Elizabeth Cooper.

Jughead was sure that love wasn’t for him. Love and affection had screwed him over since the day he was conceived. His father, FP Jones was a recovering alcoholic now, but he he used to be a poor father. A gang leader, drug dealer with major issues. Gladys Jones— his mother, who knows where the hell she’d fucked off to. She claims to be in Toledo with his grandparents and younger sister Jellybean, but who knows really.

Life had gotten complex during the summer of 2017. A local golden boy had been murdered and the mystery of who did it had somehow brought Betty and himself closer together, so close in fact that Jughead realized that his feelings for her were much farther from friendly.

They had their ups and downs as any couple does. At some point he was sure that they just couldn’t work out. It was as if the universe and his cursed destiny tried to pry him from anything good in his life, but he should have known Betty.

Boy, should he have, especially when dealing with Betty and her world famous stubbornness.

Her fight and reassurance kicks him in the face, planting firmly the idea that he controls his own path and destiny. So, ever since their last breakup back during Halloween, things have been well for the young couple. So well in fact that he was sure he was permanently high.

High off Betty Cooper.

A delicious high, one which he couldn’t get enough of. Her scent, her skin, eyes nose and lips, every bit of Betty was a craving that he woke up to every morning. Jughead was still somewhat shy and awkward around her, that was who he was in personality. He wasn’t some stud who walked around oozing sex appeal and constantly grabbing his girlfriends ass while out in public. Far from it.

Behind closed doors and in the comfort of certain places, both teens found solace in each other’s arms. A comfort and warm that could brave anything the outside world brought to them. No attempt at joining his father's ex-gang could break them. Alice Cooper’s demands to leave FP’s son in Southside went on deaf ears.

Jughead muttered words of love to Betty.

“I love you...I love you.”

She’d watched in surprise at his confession, one which filled her with so much joy that she found the words to mutter them back with tears looking at her jade eyes as she inched closer with a heart crushing smile on her face.

“Jughead Jones, I love you.”

Betty was a part of him then and an even more important one now.

The warm scent of coconut wafts up his nostrils. It’s Christmas again, and this year Betty is spending it with him in the dinky trailer. It’s cold inside and neither teen have bothered to separate from each other to run out and grab the portable heater that Betty had brought along.

Betty’s lips are on his, working through a wet frenzy that makes his stomach clench in need. Their kiss is sloppy to say the least. Long have the brownies been forgotten. The fresh sweets where the reason as to why she was with him in the first place, having begged Alice to let her take the car to drop them off. Even though it was midnight now, Betty had perfectly mapped out when to ask and leave the house.

“Mm—Betty, your mom—“ Jughead muttered between kisses.

“—is asleep” she replied around a mouthful full of tongue. Feverish kisses filled the air of the cramped trailer, their mouths digging deeper into one another. Betty whimpered at the feel of Jughead’s tongue curling against her own, her hands coming down to keep her steady against the edges of the couch.

“You sure?”

“Positive, now shut up and kiss me.” She smiled into his lips. The blue eyed boy eyes crinkled in response, a mischievous smile creeping tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“If you say so.” He finished before attacking her moist lips once more. Teeth came in contact and wet sounds filled the air. The short gasps of air warmed up their faces as they continued to kiss until Betty was resting her back against the worn out cushions of the couch.

This Christmas was already starting off with a literal bang and Jughead had never been so excited for any holiday in his life.

Nimble fingers slip into midnight curls, tugging Jughead closer into her mouth. The same fingers feel good against his scalp which send a delicious sensation down his spine and across his entire body. He’s positioned himself above the blonde, making sure not to crush her by hoisting his body up by one knee in between her legs while the other hangs off the couch. Betty’s legs however, are a different story. The couch was far too small and they were both too tall. One of Betty’s legs is propped up against the headrest of the couch while the other struggles to stay curled around his hanging leg. Gravity doesn’t help and her leg is constantly dragging down before she hoists it back up into place.

Betty notes the taste on his lips and tongue, it’s sweet from the brownies and strong from the coffee he’d downed earlier. The taste is delicious and she can’t get enough and makes sure to let it be known when she curls her tongue against his own, sucking on it lightly. The action causes the deep rumble of his moan to rip through the deepest reaches of his body. It strikes her as super sexy and she moans back.

Jughead latches onto her bottom lip, knipping it softly before plucking it. Her cherry lips are engorged and plump, screaming in a lovely tint that only beckons him to return. Her chest is heaving and his hand reaches out to lift the peach colored top from her body. The tiniest brush against her skin burns him and suddenly the room is no longer freezing, but scalding hot.

Sucking in a ragged breath, Betty manages to lift the top half of her body and arms to remove her sweater, leaving her in a flower patterned lace bra. The laptop screen is still bright in front of them. Home Alone is playing in the background and the hotel scene manages to accentuate the lighting around Betty.

Jughead swallows at the mere sight of Betty’s glowing honey eyes under the effect of the screen. A sheen of gloss on her lips blinds him and he wants nothing more than to kiss her again.

He’s about to lean down when she stops with him with a warm hand on his chest.

Her usually alert eyes are blown wide and lust envelops the usually sweet girl. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth and Jughead feels his mouth go dry.

Betty is stunning.

The swell of her breasts calls to him and he can’t get close. The periwinkle tinted bra is tight against her skin and he wonders if he can free her from it soon. Betty, however has other plans. She shoots him a shy look and avoids eye contact and she wiggles out of her skirt.

“Betty?” He whispers. Why? He doesn’t know. It’s not like there’s someone else in the trailer.

When the fabric reaches her knees, Jughead takes it as a signal to move back and give her space to watch her as she lifts her long legs in the air to dispose of the wine colored skirt.

It’s a sight, and wonderful one at that. Long creamy legs, supple thighs and matching set of underwear greet him and blue eyes watch intently as Betty bends both knees in front of her stomach. Her pink sneakers dangle in front if him as her arms reach for her knees, hugging them close to her chest. A teasing smile causes his boxers to feel tighter. Blood pumps down south and Jughead groans. The only time that he chooses to wear boxers briefs too. The strain is stifling and he feels the urge to get naked then and there.

“Betts…” He sighs in desperation. He doesn’t know why she’s huddled up or why she’s smiling at him him like that, but damn does she looks good enough to eat.

“Jug…” she copies. Her hands move from cupping her knees to roaming down her legs all while keeping her knees close. It’s a movement that baby blue eyes never stray away from.

Jughead’s eyes widen slightly, urging her on. “Yeah?”

Suddenly she’s nervous, very nervous. There’s something that she’s been wanting for a few days now, a repeat of what they first tried a week prior. An experiment that involved Jughead’s mouth. It’s hunted her, the thought and memories combined with feelings causing arousal to pool in between her legs.

She can’t help wanting to stop their act to get a dose of his mouth on her nether region, but the need is incredibly strong and her panties only become wetter by the second.

“I want you...here.” Her legs part slightly, allowing enough space for her arm to budge through her thigh to cover her sex through her underwear. Betty gulps in anticipation, wondering if Jughead will say no and if she’s ruined the moment with her request.

Their sexual history was tame, wild missionary sex with the occasional ass in the air for Betty as Jughead pounds at her from behind. Sex was new, and they’d only been experimenting for a few weeks, so introducing something new was always nerve wracking. Betty remembers how shy he’d been when she had stuffed her hand into his jeans two nights after their loss of virginity. A day after that Jughead rubbed her into an orgasm over her panties while waiting for school to start. Even then, they’d both fumbled during the entire process. A series of apologies littered the entire thing consummation.

They were wet behind the ears, yes, but that didn’t stop two hormonal teenagers from lusting after each other. Two weeks prior, Jughead managed to gather his thoughts and went down on Betty for the first time, earning him a wet nose and chin with a thigh crushing orgasm against his head from Betty all while doing it on her childhood bed. It must have been good enough to want her to ask for seconds, because his heart has leapt at her sudden request.

“Oh.” He said lightly.

Noticing his response not being as enthusiastic as she’d imagined it be, Betty’s legs slowly drop back down, embarrassment engulfing her. Again, her heart quickens and a dull ring is the only thing that she can properly register. Quickly, she moves to sit up, green eyes avoiding his. The shame in her face is obvious and Betty feels stupid for ruining the moment.

Why couldn’t she have just let nature take its course without having to interrupt it for her own selfish needs?

“You know, never mind.” A nervous laugh escapes her and Betty is moving to sit up but Jughead stops her. The boy moves in closer to her, and her legs are nudged apart. Her heart slams against her chest and Betty is blinking up at Jughead in surprise.

“It’s okay, Betty. I’ll do it...you don’t have to ask.” He adds shyly. His eyes wander to hers, locking together that it becomes hard to look away.

It was surprising that she’s asked him to repeat the act. The first time was sloppy and not how he’d imagine it to be, but he had managed to make her come and since it was never brought up again until now, Jughead had guessed she didn’t like it.

But now, his member was growing stiffer against his boxers the longer that he thought about tasting Betty again.

“Oh, I just…” her green eyes also wander off with an equally awkward look on her face, but her focus moves to his pajama pants where a bulge was beginning to form. The red in her cheeks is adorable and Jughead suddenly leans down to kiss her, catching her off guard. Betty gasps into the kiss, opening her mouth wider for Jughead’s tongue to invade every inch. The kiss gets heated, and Jughead body pushes down against her own, making Betty lay down once again.

As they kiss, Jughead inhales deeply, enjoying the mewls that escaped Betty when taking her leg to prop back up against the headrest. His hand trails down from her knee, down the smooth skin of her inner thigh.

The continue to kiss with Betty breaking contact to shuffle closer down towards his knee, spreading her legs even wider in the process by hooking an arm under her other leg. Kisses are placed against his jaw and down the exposed skin of his neck. It’s only when her nose nuzzles his sweater does he realize that he’s still fully clothed.

Jughead shrugs off the material in a hurry, his hair becoming a mess of curls jutting in every direction, a look which makes Betty bite at the corner of her bottom lip.

He looks delicious.

Shirtless, with wild hair and a trail of dark hair that disappears into his pajama pants. Jughead makes Betty’s clit throb in need, so much so that her hand leaves her leg to cup her center instead. The fabric is moist to the touch and Betty gasps at how sensitive she feels at the simplest of pressure.

“Juggie…”

Jughead’s stormy eyes shine black under the light of the laptop screen, the shadows cast complex shadows on Jughead’s body which cause Betty to lick at her lips when trailing her eyes down his exposed chest and hips. The black band of his boxers pokes through the blue hues of the plaid pattern of his bottoms. The dip in his hips is sharp and balances out the smooth taut skin of his abdomen while his arms fill out with a strong bulk of muscle that works for his body type: not too much but enough to make her mouth water.

“Lay back Betty.”

And she does, head coming in contact with the wood skeleton of the ancient armrest. The butterflies in her stomach suddenly burst into a flurry of excitement that make her suck in a breath of anticipation. Both of her hands come to lay on her stomach, her chest rising and falling at an alarming rate.

“I’m gonna go down on you, okay?” It's not until Jughead moves slightly that Betty ss able to see how deep his eyes have darkened, the pupils of his eyes gone pitch black with a single ring of blue circling the iris. The look alone cause her walls to pulse on their own and Betty nods.

“Okay.”

The movie is long forgotten and the brownies are as cold by then. Jughead finds a spot on his stomach to lay on, its cramped on the couch. It’s one of the time where he wishes he could move them to the bed, but all that walking would ruin some of the mood.

When he’s nestled in front Betty’s spread legs, her arousal become more evident. There’s a dark patch on her panties and the fabric sticks to her folds like a second skin.

“Jug…”

He glances up at Betty, who’d eventually moved up a bit to give him space. Her blonde head now rests on the armrest, one leg still up on the head rest while the other is dangled off his couch. Betty’s green eyes were dark and glazed over in need, both her hands fisted at her hips.

“Sorry, babe.” Her arousal was strong, enticing and doing things to him. Jughead’s hand move to hover above her panty before hooking a finger right over the soaked spot to push the material to the side, exposing Betty to the cool air. She shudders at the exposure and shifts slightly. It’s still somewhat embarrassing to be so exposed, but Jughead boosts a confidence in her that she was sure she didn’t have before and she loves it.

Gulping at the sight, Jughead inches closer to Betty, the elegant slit, moist and beckoning for attention.

“You know, somehow this is better than those brownies.” He muses, smirking.

Betty’s cheeks flame up at the comment and her legs move to close before he’s reaching up to push them apart.

She’s embarrassed and rightfully so, they both have yet to stare openly at each other so intimately.

“Please” She whispers. “I want this.” Betty whines and bucks her hips, rolling them in want. The blonde patch of hair above her pink folds is always a sight to behold. It’s cute and suits her and while he didn’t understand her need to trim, Jughead decides that it is very Betty like to have and quite frankly, he doesn’t care how she looks like down there.

His fingers brush over the tougher hair, tugging at it slightly before running them down her moist lips. And in one swoop, his face is burying down on to her warm core.

Nose deep, Jughead sucks in the air around him, slowing down to breath while indulging in Betty. A shudder rips through her body and she shakes beneath him with a moan so loud that it alarms even herself. Immediately, her hands reach to grab onto anything. And Betty finds her nails digging into the back of the armrest and the cushion beneath her. Her body arches, hips rolling into her boyfriends mouth while her body twists in pleasure. The shaking never stops and Betty knows she isn’t cold.

“Ah—“ she cries out. Jughead closes his eyes, his tongue rolling up and down Betty’s folds, making sure to stop on her clit to rub circles on the bundle of nerves. She’s shaking and he smirks into her skin.

Her body hasn’t been stimulated like that, with a ravenous mouth. As it stands, the young couple are novices who only have missionary (for the most part.) sex. So, having Jughead delicately grind his soft tongue against her aching clit sends her over the moon and Betty finds that her body won’t stop shaking from excitement.

The taste is something he can’t describe. It’s unlike anything he’s tasted before, but he likes it. It’s Betty and he’s causing her to release her juices. A boost of confidence washes over him and his mouth continues to work harder. Jughead’s dark head swivels against Betty, and she blushes when she catches a glimpse of his work.

Up, down, side to side, his tongue laps through pink folds. He even comes in contact with her entrance, teasing it with a few light probes which cause her to gasp and scramble to sit up on her elbows. He’s doing something right and he continues to pleasure Betty even more.

“Ooh, like that, Juggie...oh.” Betty moans, watching Jughead’s dark head go to work on her. The view is intoxicating and it’s hard to register that the act is happening to her. The sight is in fact her underwear, her patch of blonde, all which bluntly remind her that Jughead Jones is buried nose deep in her pussy.

She tosses her head back in ecstasy the moment the sucking on her engorged clit becomes too much. The pleasure is tingling and her body is on fire. Betty’s blonde tresses have long been let loose and she runs her fingers through her hair, gripping at the scalp to control the moans that she’s too embarrassed to release and Jughead takes notice.

The sucking become quicker, matching his beating heart, a rapid motion that causes Betty to gasp loudly. Her green eyes snap down to stare at him in awe, pink lips parted. Tiny moans and ‘yes, yes’ invade his body urging him on.

The sucking become sloppy, and Jughead returns to licking her wildly while Betty grinds her sex against his mouth. Her cries are starting to become louder, the filter slowly disappearing.

“That’s it, no need to hold it in.” He pauses to urge her on. He wants to hear Betty, he wants to hear and see how badly she wants him. The strain in his boxers is unbearable and at some point Jughead finds his own hips grinding into the corners of the cushion to release some friction. The gyration against his hips against the cushion only urges him on and before both know it, his mouth back on Betty. Jughead’s hunger is amplified by the use of his tongue on Betty.

“Oh fuck—“ the sob that tears through the living room makes Jughead stop his actions. The sight of Betty riding through her orgasm is indescribable. Like an flower bud finally unraveling and blossoming, Betty is a literal description of the act. Betty gasps, her breath hitching as her body shakes and her hips snap in front of him three times. Tiny grunts explode from her shaking body and the sounds make Jughead shudder.

The scene is erotic and beautiful, better than any scene in any movie.

“Wow.” Breaths Jughead after she’s landed back down. The shaking has minimized but her thighs still twitch against the sides of his arms. Betty pushes up against the corner of the couch with a finger trapped in her teeth. Her blonde locks are a mess and cover her eyes but to Jughead, it as the sexiest thing he’s ever witnessed.

The tired smile that Betty manages blows the air right out of him.

“God, Betty. That was...stunning.” He breathes, leaning over to her and brushing the golden strands away from her face.

“Mm, you’re so good at that, Jug.” She croaks, her voice light as she struggled to catch her breath. Somehow, Betty finds the will to smirk seductively at him. Jughead groans. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Again, all Betty can manage to do is groan and tug him down for a kiss.

“I love you, Juggie. I love you so much.” Her declaration make his heart swell, as well as his cock. He’s sure that she’s sucking on his lower lip to taste herself, and it’s made more obvious when she laps at the bottom of his lip.

“Thank you.” She’s still shaking and her stomach continues to jerk against her will and Jughead notices when his hand brushes her navel.

And Betty can taste herself, she can also smell herself which makes her stomach coil in need. She has had a mind blowing orgasm, and she wanted more. But she was sure that she couldn’t go through another one so soon, but she finds Jughead’s hand and leads his fingers to her sensitive folds.

“You did that.” Betty whispers hotly against his ears.

Jughead sucks in a breath and nods, his voice lowering. “I did…”

“Mm.”

The silent foreplay continues and Jughead doesn’t move from his position right above Betty. He continues to rub lazily along her even slicker folds which cause her to gasp and buck her hips. Jughead loves the result that he’s caused. When he comes in contact with her swollen clit, Betty jerks and immediately grabs him by the wrists and shoots him a shy look.

“I don’t think I can do another one just yet.” Biting her lip, Betty blinks up at him and Jughead nods, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

Jughead freezes, silently cursing for kissing her there right after where he’s mouth has been. Betty seems to notice and giggles.

“It’s okay, Jug. I’ll take a shower as soon as I get home...which I should be doing right about--“ when reaching for her phone on the coffee table, the blonde just about shoots up a foot high.

“Ohmygod.”

“Ohmygod, Jug. I gotta go! My mom's going to kill me!” Like a hurricane, Betty sprints from the couch only stopping to fix her underwear before she’s slipping the crumpled skirt back over her legs and Jughead frowns.

Really?

As confused as he is, he still manages to move out of her way. What time was it anyway? She’s been over for what? Two hours? Also, Betty had been positive that her mother would be knocked out by now.

“Betty, I’m sure your mom won’t notice—“ Betty interrupts him as soon as he starts by shoving her phone in his face. It’s 3:24 am and there are three missed calls and a text: all from ‘Momster’

“Oh shit. Betty.” Jughead’s eyes had gone wide and he moves to help her move along. He guesses that he can live with blue balls than face the wrath of Alice Cooper. After all, he can always get access to Betty when he wants to and if he asks nicely. But for now, he’s helping her by throwing the red scarf over her shoulder and wrapping it as best as he can while she retires her hair.

“She’s going to murder me. When did it become 3?” The panic is evident and he feels bad for her. If he could, he would show up to doorstep and take the verbal beating instead.

“Better yet, why is she still up?” Jughead muses. Betty stops and wonders, but shakes her head after a moment. Time was precious and Alice Cooper did not wait. Taking her bag from the single seat, she leans in and plants a kiss on his lips. “I’m sorry I couldn’t...help you out.”

Both teens move to look at his crotch and Jughead coughs. Turning at an angle to avoid the attention that his erection was receiving. It's not as bad as it was earlier, all the Alice talk ruining the mood in the end.

“It’s fine. No need to worry about me, Betts.”

Betty shoots him a sad smile, she really does feel bad. She wanted more but they had no time. So instead she makes a promise. Jughead blinks when Betty steps closer, her warm breath, ghosting over his ear.

“I’ll make it up to you. Think of it as part two to your present?” His body shudders with excitement at the thought. His body also freezes at the hand that squeezes at his cock through the thin material of his pajama bottoms.

“Be—“

Betty Cooper winks and waves before she’s out the door and running towards the station wagon parked in front of the trailer. Jughead stands there for a split second before rushing to the door, watching as the head beams light up the makeshift driveway and as Betty pulls out. She manages a wave through the window and he returns it. The station wagon peels out of Sunnyside Park, driving off into the distance.

Once she’s gone, Jughead takes a quick shower and drops into the bed in a heap of sexual frustration. He’d tried to help himself out under the cool water that the trailer managed to pump out, but he didn’t get far. A hand did not compare to Betty’s hands and lips. He can’t help the lingering arousal but the night had been fun and it turned out different than what he expected. It’s a Christmas completely different to the previous ones before and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

When he’s nestled into the warm sheets, his phone lights up.

A message from Betty.

Netflix and Chill? My house 6:40 sharp. Parents are visiting Polly.

He snorts at the term, the same term which he now remembers caused Betty to make the stinkiest face he’s ever seen. It’s not something he’d like back then, but he’s suddenly very grateful for Archie talking so much about the app that it somehow brought Betty and Jughead together for Christmas.

And besides, it’s not like they’ll be watching anything. There has to be something to distract them to set the mood. Who really watches a movie when they have a significant other anymore?

Netflix and Chill? You bet.

The phone clicks as it’s turned off and Jughead grins in the darkness, excited for the next couple of hours.

—-

merry chrystler, murry curr’mas!!

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #mari writes #fanfiction #riverdale fanfiction

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