#i really really hate smug jug

[ladykailitha]

Spellbound Part 4

Normally I would go back and forth between the two stories, but this one had more chapters backlogged, so it gets to go again.

Just a reminder, starting next week, I'll be taking a break from posting. I'm recovering from all the crazy writing I did this month. 12 ficlets, 1 multi-chaptered Christmas story, and a shorter one-shot of one of the ficlets. All total roughly 30k words in a month. So... yeah. I'm taking a well deserved break.

In this we have Dustin and Mike being teenagers, Robin spots a rogue Chrissy, and Steve has to deal with a very angry brownie (fae, not food).

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

~

A curly haired boy came bursting through the front door and Steve glared at him. “Dustin, how many times do I have to tell you to not just barge in?””

Dustin skidded to a stop and looked up at Steve like he didn’t know his ass from his elbow.

“Bav lets me,” he said smugly crossing his arms and grinning with that stupid gap-tooth grin of his.

Steve put his hands on his hip and sighed. He looked up at the roof, pursing his lips as he fought back the angry response. “Bav is not the only being with thoughts and feelings and while she ‘lets’ you it doesn’t mean you should. Because I sometimes work on dangerous things and if you come barging in, you might get hurt.”

Dustin scoffed. “Like she would let me in if you were doing something dangerous or whatever.”

The walls seemed annoyingly smug and tinted a shimmering grey-green.

“If these walls could talk,” Dustin continued with a smirk, “she would be agreeing with me.”

Steve pinched the the bridge of his nose and sighed. The truth was, he didn’t want Dustin bursting in because he was trying to find a ‘don’t hate me’ spell or charm to get Eddie to ease up off him a bit. But while there were friendship charms and love potions, neither really fit what he was looking for.

“What did you need?” he asked instead. “Or are you here to harass me?”

Dustin put his hands over his heart. “Ah! I’m offended that you think the only two reasons I would come visit are harassing you or wanting something from you.”

“There is another reason you come over?” Steve asked with a huff. He walked over to the bookshelf and began skimming the titles. He pulled out a large blue tome and flipped to a specific page as Dustin watched with suspicion. “How quickly do you think I could brew a truth potion and slip it in your tea?”

Dustin held up his hands in surrender. “Fine. All right. Sheesh. I wanted to beat Mike to the deliveries today because Mr. Jenner is making his apple cider and he always pours a glass for the one who delivers your asthma medicine.”

Steve blinked at him for a moment before throwing his head back and laughing. “Mike beat you by twenty minutes, man. In fact he should be back here in about five minutes.”

“Nooooo...” Dustin wailed, “that’s so not fair!”

The walls drooped and turned a pale blue. Steve shook his head. “It’s good thing I love you both,” he huffed stomping over to the icebox.

He pulled out an earthenware jug and took down two glasses. He filled both of them with a cool amber liquid and handed one glass to Dustin and then poured the other glass out the window and on to the foundation.

Dustin looked down at the cup and took a cautious sip and then a more enthusiastic gulp. “When did you get this?” He shook his head. “Wait before you answer that, did you just pour out a perfectly good cup of Mr. Jenner’s cider out onto the ground?”

Steve stroked the door frame to the back garden. “Sure, Bav deserves some too.”

The house seemed to get a little bit bigger as the walls turned a pretty, happy dusky pink.

Dustin blinked a moment before he finished the rest of his cider. “Seriously, though. I thought Mr. Jenner doesn’t make the cider until the afternoon.”

“The perks of being the town witch,” Steve said sagely. “People are very superstitious and I’ll often get the first wool or the first bag of flour. In this case, the first jug of cider.”

Dustin looked down at his empty cup and then up at Steve. “That’s actually kinda badass, you know?”

“Thank you,” he murmured. “I was about to make lunch if you would like to stay. Mike will be joining us...just...about...now.”

There was a knock on the door and Dustin went to go answer it. Sure enough on the other side of the door was Mike Wheeler.

Dustin looked back at Steve in shock. “How did you know it was Mike? Did Bav tell you? Can you see through walls?”

Mike just shoulder past him to get into the house, greeting Bav briefly before sitting down at the tea table.

“None of the above,” Steve said placing the cold meat sandwiches on the table. He pointed to the window. “I know how long each of you take on your runs and when I looked out the window, he had just passed in front. No sit down and eat your sandwich.”

Dustin grumbled but did as he was told. He took a big bite and hummed happily around his bite of food. “You make the best sandwiches, Steve.”

Mike nodded. “Thanks for the food. I just get so hungry these days and my mom keeps threatening to rehome me because I eat so much.”

Steve chuckled and sat down with his own plate of food. It was actually a normal amount because he hadn’t used magic today. “I remember what that was like, I’m not much older than you two, so I don’t mind sharing a meal or two to take the burden off your parents a little.”

“I think that’s why Ma doesn’t mind me hanging out over here,” Dustin said around a bite. “She knows you’ll take care of me.”

Steve smiled and shook his head, taking a bite of his food. Claudia Henderson was notoriously protective of her son. She wouldn’t trust the Pope with Dustin and she was Catholic. But somehow, someway she trusted Steve to take care of her Dusty.

He sent them off with full stomachs and cakes for their moms. They didn’t need to know that the cakes, which he was with absolute certainty never actually made it home, were just little charms of be nice to your mom magic. Karen Wheeler and Claudia Henderson deserved a day of their sons being so sweet to them.

Which was the real reason their moms were okay with Steve. Because they were always so nice when they came home from spending time with him. Or on the off chance the cakes did make it home, they had a nice cake to eat and were nicer to their families afterwards. All in all, win/win for everyone.

Robin chose that moment to come home. “I’m in love with your house, Steve. She made the journey home take a little bit longer so I could avoid the buttheads.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, she’s great like that.”

“So guess who I saw coming out of the Munsons’ house on the way home?” she said, putting away the groceries she had into town for.

Steve paused his clearing of the lunch mess and straightened up. “No...really?”

Robin pursed her lips and nodded. “Apparently Chrissy Cunningham is branching out since her dramatic break up with Jason Carver.”

Steve finished the dishes with a sigh. “It’s no surprise that his confrontation with Eddie and Bav was public knowledge by breakfast the next day, but even I think visiting another man so soon after your ex went insane and tried to break into someone’s house is little reckless, honestly.”

Robin winced. “Ooh, yeah. I didn’t even think about the crazy ex. Yeah. Ooh. Maybe she was trying to come here and, I don’t know, apologize?”

“I don’t put the ‘no return’ spell on the love charms,” Steve said, drying his hands. “I like it when they find their truelove and they come back all happy and smiles. If she was looking for me, she missed the mark a second time.”

Robin spun around. “Wait is that why?” Steve nodded. “Are there other charms you don’t put your ‘no return’ spell on? Or is it just that one?”

Steve just shrugged. “My medicines, I guess. That’s where I make the most money or get the best trades. But as for the other things, I saw what happens when you don’t set a boundary with people asking for charms. They’ll start asking for charms for everything. They’ll want to be cured of every ill, want everything handed to them, so I created the spell myself. It’s unique in all the world.”

“I didn’t know that,” Robin said softly. “About...well any of that I guess. You really don’t talk about your past. Of your life before Hawkins.”

Steve sat down at the table and placed his hands palm down on it. “Look, I don’t talk about it because for the large part, other than a couple of years apprenticing in her shop in the city, I grew up in a town of witches.”

Robin’s eyes went wide and she sat down next to him. “So you can’t talk about it?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know if I would say can’t talk about. But it’s hard sometimes when I say something and everyone stares at me blankly, like I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“And with each look and with each comment about how weird you are,” she said softly, taking his hand, “the less you want to bring it up. I’m sorry, Steve.”

“And with there being trouble in town with the whole Chrissy situation...” He sighed. “I’m think starting to wonder if Bav sensed something about her and tried to keep her away.”

The house seemed to shrink on itself a little and the walls turned a light grey.

Steve looked up at the ceiling and cooed, “I’m not blaming you, Bav, I’m blaming myself for not taking in everyone’s advice and giving it to her. Merlin and Circe didn’t like her either. Especially Merlin.”

Robin nodded. “As my familiar I should I have listened to him, too. He’s been giving me the cold shoulder ever since she showed up, as well. It’s a whole mess.”

Just then Circe came bursting through the window cawing angrily.

Steve buried his head in his hands. “Fucking hell! As if this day couldn’t get any worse.” He sighed heavily. “Tell Dustin to keep his shirt on and I’ll be right there.”

Robin sighed dramatically, throwing her head back. “Who would have thought that a Roman Catholic would even have a house elf to anger? Scratch that, who would have thought that house elves even existed?!”

Steve stopped half way to rising. “Like everyone knows that house elves exist. We don’t have any because Bav thinks they’re pests, but like even my dad knew better than to insult Mom’s house elf. Her name was Nora and best seamstress I’ve ever met.”

Robin stared at him blankly. “You want to run that past me again?”

Steve just rolled his eyes and got out a cup of milk and a little bowl of sugar, setting them carefully in a basket. Then he added honey, walnuts, and mint. He wanted to cover all his bases he didn’t know what this elf favored and wanted to make sure they weren’t offended further.

Then he went over to the bookshelf and after skimming the titles for a moment, he pulled out a small green book. He handed it to her. “Read that while I’m gone. The whole thing is useful, but I’d start with page eighty-six. The chapter on house elves.”

Then before Robin could even squawk a protest, Steve was out the door following Circe at speed, running to keep up.

He skidded to a stop in front of the Hendersons’ door to find that Dustin and Walter had been locked out of the house while screams could be heard from inside.

It didn’t sounded pained, it sounded indignant.

“Stand aside please,” Steve said sternly. Dustin and Walter looked back at Steve, thinking he meant them, but suddenly the screaming inside stopped and the door opened. “Thank you.” He turned back to the Henderson men. “Please wait here.”

But before either one of them could protest, Steve had already walked into the house and closed it tightly behind him.

He surveyed the damage. Claudia Henderson stood on the kitchen table battling a broom with her rolling pin. It was worse than he feared. He set his load down on the counter and began unpacking his treats.

The broom stopped moving, and then was slowly, cautiously put down. Once Steve had finished unpacking the honey, suddenly there was a little round faced woman about the size of Steve’s palm standing next to his basket with a red flower as a hat and bright clothes.

“What is that?” Claudia hissed, jumping down from the table.

“You’ll excuse her manners, little one,” Steve murmured, “it appears that she’s never heard of house elves before.”

The elf glared Claudia over her shoulder and then turned back to paw over Steve’s prizes.

“I didn’t have any cream,” he continued. “So I hope the milk is fine.”

The elf put her little hand in the milk and then stuck her hand in her mouth. “It’s good milk. You do your mother proud.”

Steve grinned at that. “So I take it you know Nora then?”

“Who’s Nora?” Claudia asked drawing closer to the two of them at the counter.

“Of course I know my own sister!” the little squeaked. “I’m Nona by the way. Please to meet you, Stevie.”

Claudia stopped dead in her tracks as she realized what was going on. She turned on her heel and began rummaging around in her ice box. “Eureka!” she cried.

She brought over a bowl and set down on the counter next to Nona. “I’m sorry little one. I wasn’t raised with knowledge of your people. I’m new to this town and was not aware of its different ways.”

Nona turned around and sniffed at the bowl cautiously. She looked up at Claudia in awe. “Clotted cream!” She put her hand in and pulled out a handful of the cream. She shoved it in her face with a contented hum.

“I didn’t know your family wasn’t from Hawkins,” Steve murmured. But he turned to Nona. “Would you please let the boys in, they must be so worried about Claudia.”

Nona looked up from her feast in wide eyed shock. “Oops!” She snapped her fingers and suddenly both Dustin and Walter spilled out on the ground as the door opened under their weight.

Steve went over and helped them to their feet. “Sorry about Nona, she didn’t know you weren’t familiar with house elves and thought you were actively insulting her.”

Dustin and Walter shared a shocked glance then looked over at the little woman eating their clotted cream.

“This is a house elf,” Steve said as Nona curtsied. “Her name is Nona and she helps out around the house. This has been her home for longer than this particular building has stood here. She will do the laundry or any chores left over the night. All she asks in return is a treat of her choice.”

“Does it have to be clotted cream every time?” Dustin asked as she wiped the mess of cream from her face with her apron.

“No,” Nona said. “But it was nice apology, though. I like honey and milk. So as long as you keep a bowl of of one of the two out, your food will never spoil and I will help out around the house.”

The Hendersons all exchanged glances and then Claudia nodded.

Walter stuck out his finger for her to shake. “Welcome to the family, Nona.”

~

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @wheneverfeasible @micheledawn1975 @gloomysoup @dotdot-wierdlife @tartarusknight

10- @ollyxar @yesdangerpls @two-vampires-kissing @themoonagainstmers @estrellami-1

[zumpietoo]

Ummm....nobody’s “grown”, except maybee Jughead.....unless you ask Mr. 58 Seconds, as he types with one hand....and pretends he “grew”.....

Dudes, you seriously fail to grasp none of this means dick and it’s just endless Douchie meets Happy Days vignettes? Are you REALLY that stupid?

“Delicacy”, huh? Did Snorty find some Jane Austen fanfic?

Also, imagine hating half the show.....

Not sure how RAS’s “ego” comes into play here, but, okay, Snorty....I do agree it’s stupid....but, again, if you really bothered yourself? You’d see this Slizzy isn’t especially changed....

Were Emmanuelle movies predatory, tho? I thought she was just soooper slutty...which Slizzy wishes, but she’s also pretty gross...

Plus, Slizzy isn’t the only character they’re depicting as “predatory, manipulative, selfish asshole = feminist”.....take a peek at Tinkle!

Umm....no on all accounts, tho, yes, that IS why jizzystans want jizzy to investigate together....turns out Jug (as always) works just fine alone and/or with other partners....cuz, again, Slizzy wasn’t the talent there...

Ummm....much as I hate to admit it----and while, they admittedly, are devoid of chemistry or talent, there ARE “romantic Barfie clips”, Snorty.....

Sucks to be YOU....

And really? The anon didn’t tell you what to do....and, honestly? I strongly suspect all this (if you didn’t send it to yourself) is in reaction to your smug, erroneous mocking....so, again, maybe if YOU’D stop lying, they’d stop lying...

Wait.....what???? This has 1000% nothing to do with this? I even double checked the tags to make sure these notes were on this post....and...

Nobody’s “blaming” PP for anything (erroneously crediting, sure....cuz PP doesn’t have that sort of power, but not “blaming)....

Turns out Cole isn’t remotely “isolated”, from dick, you moron.....buuuutt....he does have a somewhat separate storyline.....because he can actually carry it. All your kween can do is simper and beg randos to dick her up the ass.

And, lastly, no, he didn’t....but your kween did indirect him endlessly, lie repeatedly, still stalks his current GF,  and befriending his other ex/her previous stalker, so guess you lose there, too.

Not sure what’s remotely misogynistic about any of this? They give PP way moar power and actually think Slizzy as a deranged whore has meaning.

Waaiiiittt.....does this mean PP IS the one “isolated from the rest of the main cast”, then?????

[dreamwritesimagines]

“But the aftermath of the dispute? That you had not known about, until now.” yeah.....nope, that’s not common either you effin rabbits LMAO. i’m kidding, good on them but now TALK! “You were sleeping very heavily.” OH SHUT UP LAKSLKAS stop he’s so smug i hate him. NOT THE SCRATCH MARKS ALSKALKS. these Obsessed Harlots™️ oh my gosh they really did Get It On™️ last night huh jfc. they need a jug of holy water if i’m honest.  “I am very much pleased with myself,” of course you are. you’re not called Anthony Whore™️ Bridgerton for nothing lmao. “I won’t mind fights if they end the way they did last night.” further proves my precious statement akslaks he’s still so smug about it even paragraphs later lmao. but gosh, the latest Whistledown honestly just annoyed me but lol gossip is gossip and never had it ever been the truth.

“Until then there is something we must talk of, now that you mentioned implications.” THANK U. FINALLY. “There’s not a fight in the world that can make me stop loving you.” SEE WHAT I MEAN WHEN THEY WOULD JUST TALK. good things comes to those who Communicate™️ !!! and also, i’m actually so impressed with Anthony here alskaslk i mean it’s the bare minimum i know and i know he’s always been mature, he had to grow up early unfortunately. but he’s being so open and patient and reassuring and just very Adult™️ like he’s the one instigating that they should talk about it instead of sweeping it under the rug. and he doesn’t mind reminding Cherie that he loves her, and that night was just one mistake that will never happen again AND i’m sure he won’t hesitate to remind her over and over until it sticks.

“I will never break your heart again. No matter how many arguments or fights we have. Your heart is in good hands my love. I will make sure of that every day for the rest of my life.” MY HEAAAAAAART “I’m sorry.” i’m so fucking happy i actually could cry. THE BABIES ARE GROWING UP. MATURITY & CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT WE LOVE TO SEE IT <;3 “That will never happen to us. You will never even hear the word divorce from me.” awwww look at them <333 who knew all they needed was to let out that steam with some Good Angry Sex™️ so they can have that sweet sweet talk afterwards <3 alskalsk

“Do you need Lucie right now?” aaah Iona you precious bean. she deserves to have her moment with Lucie. they’re so cute <;3 “They both spent the night at the Trenlove household.” i am both worried and intrigued. “Seething in anger, and yet he remains quiet about it as if nothing happened.” i can’t explain it, but this really really sounds soooo much like Percy lmao. it’s Percycore™️ to act unbothered even if he’s not.

“Asked not to be disturbed, but that does not apply to us. Go ahead.” LMAO I LOVE THAT. i love Aunt Lavinia so much, she literally kicks ass and takes no shit and she lets her brother know that he might be a duke or whatever, but she’s still in charge. ALSO THE WAY CHERIE AND PERCY GREETED EACH OTHER WAS SO CUTE. i’m so happy that their father-daughter bond is growing strong <;3 “You’ve read Whistledown.” omg lol i keep forgetting that Percy is always ALWAYS in with the gossip too lmao. add secret gossiper in the Percycore™️ list

“Yesterday morning. When he came here for Elias.” AWWW PERCY AND ANTHONY BOND <3 i need more of this duo i swear they’d be so powerful together.

“That was the reason why she danced with me for the first time, she wanted to see what made me tick.” awww :// my Perssandra heart </3 they would’ve been so so good together. “She knew more about me than I care to admit by the time the dance was over.” or perhaps you immediately felt intrigued and Enamored™️ by her from the very start, prolly even safe that it made you open up without realizing maybeeee??? tbh i’d read a whole novel of Perssandra even if it ends in tragedy alkslkas

“Do you want to guess what he would do to the person he hates?” thank u Percy. always my voice of reason aslkaslakls. you and Elias are really helping my sanity here LMAO. “Perhaps you and Anthony should go back to Aubrey Hall, finish the season earlier.” but we want the juicy drama Percy! come on! imagine if Cherie told him that if they did do that, he’d have a grandchild before the season ends. he’d have a heart attack lakslaks

“But you’re not alone in this, do you hear me? Whatever we do, we do it as a family and we will make sure we’re unharmed in this.” *clears throat* we’re all in this together sorry sorry alskalska but he’s so right and he should say it. they’re such a powerful family if you really think about it. like their skills and knowledge just go together so well.

“But he didn’t force me to apply the parliament for divorce, did he? That was all my doing.” AW NO PERCY stop this is making me sad :(((( he’s still living with that guilt after all these years. and it hurts to think that he probably always will until the end of his days. bc he’s not really wrong either. it was the lack in trust he had with Cassie that broke her at the end of the day. sure, Frederick was Cassie’s childhood friend i think it was, of course it hurt that he’d started all those rumors. but i don’t think it would’ve compared to just how painful it was when Percy himself started believing it. “It was my actions that put your mother through hell at the end of the day.” see what i meaaan. ugh we love a man who takes responsibility of his own actions. “She didn’t blame you.” // “She should have.” STOP MY HEART UGH. but Cherie is so sweet about it tho. and she’s also right, Percy doesn’t need to be so hard on himself. he did try to make it right, he realized and learned from his mistakes. he’s still a good man and a good father. “My mother was very adamant in not giving the past enough power to drown you. I’m following that advice, so should you.” hear hear!!

“It almost sounded like a business deal.” well, it is, to be honest. especially to most. Cherie and Cece are one of the lucky ones bc of the love marriage and that they managed to have husbands who wouldn’t care about it. “I want whatever you’ll give me my love.” UGH THEY’RE SO CUTE.

“No one is to even enter the hallway, we must be alone.” OOH IT’S ABOUT TO GET JUICY. “My father lost all our money to Frederick.” Oh? “Fred*rick committed fraud.” OH?? “And both fraud and forgery are capital crimes.” YES GET HIS ASS IN FUCKING JAIL!!! i knew he was a silmey piece of shit. fucking hell he didn’t even have honest money??? “Elias doesn’t like it, and neither will you two but I think you should hear it nonetheless.” oh god....right, let’s hear this then. “and the best way to hurt you is through Anthony.” Cece....i’m with you and i’m still staying with u (barely) but i’m frickin worried. “He was saying how you had a temper like your mother, and how that would be an issue down the road.” the fucking gall of this man. and he claims he loves Cassie when he’s speaking ill of her when she’s already dead? jfc.

“If he believed you were on the verge of a divorce.” WAIT WHAT. “No. That’s not happening. We’re not even discussing that.” // “Exactly!” Thank you! I’m trying to—” i’m sorry but i’m with the boys here !!!! “But it would make Frederick suffer and die.” of course she’s up for it ugh. this is not going to end well. “it was the perfect plan.” NO IT’S NOT. it’s a plan, a decent one, no dangerous one. BUT IT’S NOT PERFECT. IT’S STILL BAD. “Just like what your mother would have wanted.” oof, i’m not too sure about that.

“Mother would never want you to go through that hell. You’re fooling yourself if you believe otherwise.” I AM WITH YOU ELIAS I AM SO SO WITH YOU. i sure as hell know that Cassie would never ever approve of this. like she’s spent all her life protecting Cherie, she took Cherie AWAY to France so she could preserve her innocence and keep her safe and so she didn’t have to deal with the scrutiny of the ton growing up and they’re going to do this?? which is the exact same thing Cassie worked so hard to prevent and shield Cherie from?? do we really think she would put revenge above the safety, security, mental and emotional health of her own daughter? 

“Great, then it’ll be my fault.” oh god, oh no. UGH HE’S SO PROTECTIVE IT HURTS. Anthony your hero complex is showing alkslask but he might be onto something here. on one hand, it will keep Cherie away from ruin. they never blame the man as heavily when it comes to infidelity unfortunately. but not quite thooooo bc that won’t erase the fact that the ton will still blame the woman in this. i mean hello, it’s the 18th century, misogyny at it’s peak. they will still gossip about her, say things like 'something must be wrong with her' etc. or ‘she’s not as strong as she is to hold down a rake’ yada yada and hello?? the in the first scene alone Cherie was the one who cared so much about the Whistledown paper and what the ton thinks, are we really sure she can brave this on without crumbling under the pressure??? i know she’s thick skinned, she’s been raised that way. and i know she can take this with her head high especially if she knows the full truth. but people still have limits and when they’re going to be the talk of the town day after day after day, negative comments after the other, saying bad things about your marriage, your husband, about you, someone’s going to break at some point. WHICH IS WHY I STILL DON’T THINK THIS IS A GOOD IDEA.

I HAVEN’T EVEN MENTIONED CHERIE’S INSECURITIES !!!! I mean they JUST talked about it at the start and ugh. I CAN POKE SO MANY HOLES INTO THIS PLANS. miscommunication? misunderstanding? insecurities??? what if the problem will stem from inside the house a.k.a. Cherie and Anthony having an actual quarrel??? what if Cherie starts thinking that Anthony is actually starting to regret the marriage for real??? and this is the perfect excuse for him to be a “rake” in the guise as a ruse???? i know she trusts him and everything but ugggh INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS CAN BE SO CRUEL. Cherie i am keeping a heavy eye on you here. You know this is part of the plan. i swear if you start not being able to separate fact from fiction, i swear if you start villainizing Anthony again I SWEAR.

“You’re the devil incarnated, that’s what you are. Every time I see you I have the urge to throw holy water at you.” ELIAS LMAAAAAOO I LOVE THIS LINE SO MUCH. “Yeah Cece, he needs to know because I need to stay alive for this plan to work.” THAT’S WHAT I WAS THINKING LMAO. do we really think Percy won’t run straight to Anthony with a fucking shotgun in hand when he finds out about him being unfaithful and doesn’t know it’s a ruse??? “No, Anthony makes a good point for once.” FOR ONCE. I CACKLED. he HAD to get that in there to balance out his compliment LMAO. he can’t show love to his boy unless it’s a bit backhanded. i love these two so much.

“Very well then. Let’s pretend to hate each other.” ugh, it’s fake enemies now huh. i can’t believe Elias is the only one who at least had a bit of braincell in this. the plan COULD work, but it also could go wrong on so many levels i caaan’t. but sigh, they’re going to pretend they don’t like each other behind close doors too for the staff. i wonder how that’s going to affect their nightly activities when they can’t even be a foot near each other with out jumping each other’s bones LMAO. maybe this is a good lesson for them, a moment of celibacy bc they’ve been going at it like rabbits. BUT AH. i want this plan to work so that Fuckwad™️ can finally die very unpeacefully, but i’m also so scared this would blow up in their facessss. but gosh, we’re almost near the end, bittersweet but i can’t wait!!!

– TM Anon™️

Omg darliiing hiiii! 😱😍❤ Oh I’m so exciteeeed! ❤

Loll Cherie probably feels like she unlocked a hidden aspect of fighting 😂 And they really did!😈

Holy water omg😂

Anthony Whore™ Bridgerton YOU ARE RIGHT AND YOU SHOULD SAY IT😂 I think he was smug for the whole day 😂

Exactlyyy! I think it changed a lot of things that Anthony wanted to talk to her that morning ❤ Like, he actually assured her that he would never cheat on her and that fights/arguments don’t mean a relationship is doomed, and she needed to hear that ❤

Character development is so much fuuun, I love it! ❤

Iona and Lucie miss each other a lot now that Cherie is living in Bridgerton house! ❤

Percycore™ I AM SCREAMING AT THIS YES! 😂 Percy would never let anyone see how he really feels about Frederick’s return💔

Aunt Lavinia and Cherie are so similar in that aspect! ❤ Like, I’m sure when Elias becomes the duke, Cherie will still not care about his title at all😂 She can come and go to his study as she wishes 😂

Percy and Cherie are on much better terms and they’re growing closer ❤

Percy and Anthony as a duo, that would be amazing! ❤ They’d make quite the team😂

Awww Percy was enamored by Cassie for sure, even when they first danced❤ He was head over heels by the time the dance was over ❤

tbh i’d read a whole novel of Perssandra even if it ends in tragedy alkslkas Honeeey, this is incredibly sweet of you to say! 😍❤

Lolll if Percy heard he’d have a grandchild…😂 He’d get so emotional! ❤

🎶We’re all in this together🎶

They do make a very powerful family❤ If only Cassie were there too, they’d be unstoppable❤

Oh yes, Percy will feel guilty about what happened until his last breath 💔 Cassie was the love of his life, and she actually loved him and trusted him only for him to believe Frederick and stab her in the back with that whole divorce thing💔 He will try his hardest to make everything perfect for Elias and Cherie but deep down, that guilt will never go away ❤

Yesss exactly! Like, normally Elias and Anthony were supposed to care about “having heirs” and all that but they’re both so in love with Cece and Cherie that they couldn’t care less about the gender of the baby, which was quite uncommon back in those days ❤

He deserves jail for all the pain he caused Cassie alone, and fraud and forgery were like, unforgivable crimes back in Georgian and Victorian era 😈 I feel like Frederick thinks he was the only one who could “handle” Cassie’s temper and they’d have a happier marriage than Cassie and Percy….he’s that delusional 😏

i sure as hell know that Cassie would never ever approve of this. like she’s spent all her life protecting Cherie, she took Cherie AWAY to France so she could preserve her innocence and keep her safe and so she didn’t have to deal with the scrutiny of the ton growing up and they’re going to do this?? which is the exact same thing Cassie worked so hard to prevent and shield Cherie from?? THIS! THIIIIS!

This is so so true! 😍❤  This whole plan goes against everything Cassie tried to keep her away from; Frederick, the ton’s relentless criticism and all those rumors 💔 And the difference is that, Cassie knew exactly what all that could do to a person, Cherie might think she knows but she has no idea yet 😏

Like, all those rumors surrounding her when she first arrived in London? They would be nothing compared to what’s about to happen 😈

Yessss! The way ton would talk about Anthony’s infidelity is sooo so different than the rumors that would happen if Cherie’s loyalty was in question 😱 No one would ever outcast Anthony from the ton, there wouldn’t be any backlash at all –it would be seen as something normal even, considering the era— there would even be people supporting it 💔

If Cherie did it, on the other hand? She could never go back from that, ever 💔

in the first scene alone Cherie was the one who cared so much about the Whistledown paper and what the ton thinks, are we really sure she can brave this on without crumbling under the pressure??? Oh this is a really good question😏

I mean they JUST talked about it at the start and ugh. I CAN POKE SO MANY HOLES INTO THIS PLANS. miscommunication? misunderstanding? insecurities??? what if the problem will stem from inside the house a.k.a. Cherie and Anthony having an actual quarrel??? what if Cherie starts thinking that Anthony is actually starting to regret the marriage for real???

I’m so glad you brought that up love! 😱 So for now, Cherie thinks she can totally handle it but it’s definitely not going to be as easy as she thinks, especially when the insecurities hit her ❤ Cassie wasn’t nearly as coddled or sheltered from bad things as her, and even she found it so difficult to handle it, so both Anthony and Cherie will have to be very careful with this, they’re playing with fire there❤

Loll Anthonias brotp is so fuuun!❤ If they didn’t let Percy know about the plan though, that would go really bad for Anthony for sure 😂

Fake dating is out, fake enemies is in 😂

Oh that’s going to affect their nightly activities, especially because they can’t be seen in the same room so they’ll have to sneak around and they can’t be heard having fun either 😏 

Last 3 chapters! It’ll be a rollercoaster, I hope you will like it! ❤

Darling, thank you so so much for this, you’re absolutely amazing! ❤❤ You’ve made my day with this, ILYSM! ❤❤❤

[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader

-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 16: Mini Elvis

The war god was waiting for us in the diner parking lot. "Well, well," he said. "You didn't get yourself killed." "You knew it was a trap," Percy hissed. Ares gave me a wicked grin. "Bet that crippled blacksmith was surprised when he netted a couple of stupid kids. You looked good on TV." Taking the shield from Percy I shoved it at him. "You're a jerk." Annabeth and Grover caught their breath. Ares grabbed the shield and spun it in the air like pizza dough. It changed form, melting into a bulletproof vest. He slung it across his back. "See that truck over there?" He pointed to an eighteen-wheeler parked across the street from the diner. "That's your ride. Take you straight to L.A., with one stop in Vegas." The eighteen-wheeler had a sign on the back, which I could read only because it was reverse-printed white on black, a good combination for dyslexia: KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL: HUMANE ZOO TRANSPORT. WARNING: LIVE WILD ANIMALS. Percy said, "You're kidding." Ares snapped his fingers. The back door of the truck unlatched. "Free ride west, punk. Stop complaining. And here's a little something for doing the job." He slung a blue nylon backpack off his handlebars and tossed it to Percy. Inside were fresh clothes for all of us, twenty bucks in cash, a pouch full of golden drachmas, and a bag of Double Stuff Oreos. Percy said, "I don't want your lousy—" "Thank you, Lord Ares," Grover interrupted, giving him his best red-alert warning look. "Thanks a lot." I could see Percy gritting his teeth. It was probably a deadly insult to refuse something from a god, but I also didn't want anything that Ares had touched. Reluctantly, he swung the bag over his shoulder. I looked back at the diner, which had only a couple of customers now. The waitress who'd served us dinner was watching nervously out the window, like she was afraid Ares might hurt us. She dragged the fry cook out from the kitchen to see. She said something to him. He nodded, held up a little disposable camera and snapped a picture of us. Great, I thought. We'll make the papers again tomorrow.

I imagined the headline: TWELVE-YEAR-OLD OUTLAWS BEATS UP DEFENSELESS BIKER. "You owe us one more thing," Percy told Ares, trying to keep my voice level. "You promised me information about our parents." "You sure you can handle the news?" He kick-started his motorcycle. "They're not dead." The ground seemed to spin beneath me. "What do you mean?" "I mean Percy's mom was taken away from the Minotaur before she could die. She was turned into a shower of gold, right? That's metamorphosis. Not death. She's being kept. As for yours, I saw them myself. Upstairs with the big guys. Why do you think you're causing one of the biggest uproar up there? They're refusing to tell who your parent is. No matter how much cut." He smirked. "What...?" Percy and the others must've seen something as they all held me back. "What are they doing to them?" I could feel the ground shake as Percy's grip on me tighten. We'll save them... calm down. Not the hero. Us. So calm down. "Calm down Y/N." Percy whispered. The ground stopped shaking and took a deep breath. "I will make you all kneel." I said. He looked at me confusedly. Then he shrug it off then laughed, "Oh yeah? can't wait, kid." Percy gripped my shoulder. "You're pretty smug, Lord Ares, for a guy who runs from Cupid statues." Behind his sunglasses, fire glowed. I felt a hot wind in my hair. "We'll meet again, Percy Jackson. Next time you're in a fight, watch your back." He revved his Harley, then roared off down Delancy Street. Annabeth said, "That was not smart, Percy." "I don't care." "You don't want a god as your enemy. Especially not that god." "Hey, guys," Grover said. "I hate to interrupt, but ..." He pointed toward the diner. At the register, the last two customers were paying their check, two men in identical black coveralls, with a white logo on their backs that matched the one on the KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL truck. "If we're taking the zoo express," Grover said, "we need to hurry." I didn't like it, but we had no better option. Besides, I'd seen enough of Denver. We ran across the street and climbed in the back of the big rig, closing the doors behind us. The first thing that hit me was the smell. It was like the world's biggest pan of kitty litter. The trailer was dark inside until Percy uncapped Riptide. The blade cast a faint bronze light over a very sad scene. Sitting in a row of filthy metal cages were three of the most pathetic zoo animals I'd ever beheld: a zebra, a male albino lion, and some weird antelope thing I didn't know the name for. Someone had thrown the lion a sack of turnips, which he obviously didn't want to eat. The zebra and the antelope had each gotten a Styrofoam tray of hamburger meat. The zebra's mane was matted with chewing gum, like somebody had been spitting on it in their spare time. The antelope had a stupid silver birthday balloon tied to one of his horns that read OVER THE HILL! Apparently, nobody had wanted to get close enough to the lion to mess with him, but the poor thing was pacing around on soiled blankets, in a space way too small for him, panting from the stuffy heat of the trailer. He had flies buzzing around his pink eyes and his ribs showed through his white fur. "This is kindness?" Grover yelled. "Humane zoo transport?" He probably would've gone right back outside to beat up the truckers with his reed pipes, and we would've helped him, but just then the trucks engine roared to life, the trailer started shaking, and we were forced to sit down or fall down. We huddled in the corner on some mildewed feed sacks, trying to ignore the smell and the heat and the flies. Grover talked to the animals in a series of goat bleats, but they just stared at him sadly. Annabeth was in favor of breaking the cages and freeing them on the spot, but I pointed out it wouldn't do much good until the truck stopped moving. Besides, I had a feeling we might look a lot better to the lion than those turnips. I found a water jug and refilled their bowls, then Percy used Riptide to drag the mismatched food out of their cages. He gave the meat to the lion and the turnips to the zebra and the antelope. Grover calmed the antelope down, while I used my knife to cut the balloon off his horn. Annabeth wanted to cut the gum out of the zebra's mane, too, but we decided that would be too risky with the truck bumping around. We told Grover to promise the animals we'd help them more in the morning, then we settled in for night. Grover curled up on a turnip sack; Annabeth opened our bag of Double Stuff Oreos and nibbled on one halfheartedly; I tried to cheer myself up by concentrating on the fact that we were halfway to Los Angeles. Halfway to our destination. It was only June fourteenth. The solstice wasn't until the twenty-first. We could make it in plenty of time. On the other hand, I had no idea what to expect next. The gods kept toying with me. At least Hephaestus had the decency to be honest about it—he'd put up cameras and advertised me as entertainment. But even when the cameras weren't rolling, I had a feeling my quest was being watched. I was a source of amusement for the gods. And it wasn't helping knowing they're hurting my parents. Here I was risking my life for them and what are they doing? "Hey," Percy cooed, "We'll save them. No matter what. I promised you that." "Okay." Percy pulled me closer until I was resting on him. Annabeth cleared her throat. "Hey, sorry I wasn't much help back at the park... I could've helped getting you guys out... It's just..." She shuddered. "Spiders." "Because of the Arachne story," I guessed. "She got turned into a spider for challenging your mom to a weaving contest, right?" She nodded. "Arachne's children have been taking revenge on the children of Athena ever since. If there's a spider within a mile of me, it'll find me. I hate the creepy little things." "We're a team, remember?" Percy said. "Besides, Grover did the fancy flying. All we did was grab the shield." I thought he was asleep, but he mumbled from the corner, "I was pretty amazing, wasn't I?" Annabeth, Percy and I laughed. She pulled apart an Oreo, handed me and Percy a half each. "In the Iris message... did Luke really say nothing?" I munched my cookie and thought about how to answer. The conversation via rainbow had bothered me all evening. "Luke said you and he go way back. He also said Grover wouldn't fail this time. Nobody would turn into a pine tree." Percy answered. In the dim bronze light of the sword blade, it was hard to read their expressions. Grover let out a mournful bray. "I should've told you the truth from the beginning." His voice trembled. "I thought if you knew what a failure I was, you wouldn't want me along." "You were the satyr who tried to rescue Thalia, the daughter of Zeus." He nodded glumly. "And the other two half-bloods Thalia befriended, the ones who got safely to camp..." Percy looked at Annabeth. "That was you and Luke, wasn't it?" She put down her Oreo, uneaten. "Like you said, Percy, a seven-year-old half-blood wouldn't have made it very far alone. Athena guided me toward help. Thalia was twelve. Luke was fourteen. They'd both run away from home, like me. They were happy to take me with them. They were... amazing monster-fighters, even without training. We traveled north from Virginia without any real plans, fending off monsters for about two weeks before Grover found us." "I was supposed to escort Thalia to camp," he said, sniffling. "Only Thalia. I had strict orders from Chiron: don't do anything that would slow down the rescue. We knew Hades was after her, see, but I couldn't just leave Luke and Annabeth by themselves. I thought... I thought I could lead all three of them to safety. It was my fault the Kindly Ones caught up with us. I froze. I got scared on the way back to camp and took some wrong turns. If I'd just been a little quicker..." "Stop it," Annabeth said. "No one blames you. Thalia didn't blame you either." "She sacrificed herself to save us," he said miserably, "Her death was my fault. The Council of Cloven Elders said so." "Because you wouldn't leave two other half-bloods behind?" Percy said. "That's not fair." "Percy's right," Annabeth said. "I wouldn't be here today if it weren't for you, Grover. Neither would Luke. We don't care what the council says." Grover kept sniffling in the dark. "It's just my luck. I'm the lamest satyr ever, and I find the two most powerful half-bloods of the century, Thalia and Percy." "You're not lame," Annabeth insisted. "You've got more courage than any satyr I've ever met. Name one other who would dare go to the Underworld. I bet Percy is really glad you're here right now." She kicked me in the shin. "Yeah," I said, which I would've done even without the kick. "It's not luck that you found Thalia and Percy, Grover. You've got the biggest heart of any satyr ever. You're a natural searcher. That's why you'll be the one who finds Pan. I mean, you found me despite my scentlessness... is that a word?" Percy muffled a laugh. I heard a deep, satisfied sigh. I waited for Grover to say something, but his breathing only got heavier. When the sound turned to snoring, I realized he'd fallen sleep. "How does he do that?" I marveled. "I don't know," Annabeth said. "But that was really a nice thing you told him." "I meant it." We rode in silence for a few miles, bumping around on the feed sacks. The zebra munched a turnip. The lion licked the last of the hamburger meat off his lips and looked at me hopefully. Percy didn't take long to fall asleep. Annabeth rubbed her necklace like she was thinking deep, strategic thoughts. "That pine-tree bead," I said. "Is that from your first year?" She looked. She hadn't realized what she was doing. "Yeah," she said. "Every August, the counselors pick the most important event of the summer, and they paint it on that year's beads. I've got Thalia's pine tree, a Greek trireme on fire, a centaur in a prom dress—now that was a weird summer...." "And the college ring is your father's?" "That's none of your—" She stopped herself. "Yeah. Yeah, it is." "You don't have to tell me." "No... it's okay." She took a shaky breath. "My dad sent it to me folded up in a letter, two summers ago. The ring was, like, his main keepsake from Athena. He wouldn't have gotten through his doctoral program at Harvard without her.... That's a long story. Anyway, he said he wanted me to have it. He apologized for being a jerk, said he loved me and missed me. He wanted me to come home and live with him." "That doesn't sound so bad." "Yeah, well... the problem was, I believed him. I tried to go home for that school year, but my stepmom was the same as ever. She didn't want her kids put in danger by living with a freak. Monsters attacked. We argued. Monsters attacked. We argued. I didn't even make it through winter break. I called Chiron and came right back to Camp Half-Blood." She wouldn't meet my eyes. "Please. I'm not into self-inflicted pain." "You shouldn't give up," I told her. "You should write him a letter or something." "Thanks for the advice," she said coldly, "but my father's made his choice about who he wants to live with." We passed another few miles of silence. "Luke actually told me about you two coming to camp already." "Really?" She looked at me amazed. "You two must've gotten close fast." "Well, I don't know. I feel like I had to talk to Luke. Like I had to be there for him. The same with Percy." We have to be there for both "You're not wrong. I'm not sure how I'd be without your help." Percy yawned. "Yeah, I wouldn't have been able to handle him." Annabeth glared at him. I laughed, "I think you two are cute." Both of them blushed and said some excuse to disprove me. Which then turned into them showing off who's better than who. "If I'm dating anyone it'll be Y/N!" Both of them huffed and glared at each other. I shook my head and smiled. At least I've gotten new friends out of this. "So," Percy trailed off. "If the gods fight," he said, "will things line up the way they did with the Trojan War? Will it be Athena versus Poseidon?" Annabeth put her head against the backpack Ares had given us, and closed her eyes. "I don't know what my mom will do. I just know I'll fight next to you." "Why?" "Because Y/N will and whether I like it or not you're my friend, Seaweed Brain. Any more stupid questions?" "That's all Mr. Peabody." "Shut up, Droopy." I felt her rest on my shoulder and she fell asleep. "Am I that comfortable?" "Yeah," Percy laughed as he rested on my lap. I had trouble following their example, with Grover snoring and an albino lion staring hungrily at me, but eventually I closed my eyes. ~~~ I woke with a start. I was second one awake. Grover was talking to the antelope. "Morning?" "Everyone had the Y/N privilege except me?" "You fell asleep first." I stroked both Annabeth and Percy's hair, which unfortunately woke up Annabeth. "Sorry about that." "It's fine." She yawned. She brought out some Oreo and handed me one. Until the truck stopped. "They're checking the animals aren't they?" Annabeth froze. I shook Percy's shoulder. "The truck's stopped," I said. "We think they're coming to check on the animals." "Hide!" Annabeth hissed. She had it easy. She just put on her magic cap and disappeared. Grover, Percy and I had to dive behind feed sacks and hope we looked like turnips. The trailer doors creaked open. Sunlight and heat poured in. "Man!" one of the truckers said, waving his hand in front of his ugly nose. "I wish I hauled appliances." He climbed inside and poured some water from a jug into the animals' dishes. "You hot, big boy?" he asked the lion, then splashed the rest of the bucket right in the lion's face. The lion roared in indignation. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," the man said. Next to me, under the turnip sacks, Grover tensed. For a peace-loving herbivore, he looked downright murderous. The trucker threw the antelope a squashed-looking Happy Meal bag. He smirked at the zebra. "How ya doin', Stripes? Least we'll be getting rid of you this stop. You like magic shows? You're gonna love this one. They're gonna saw you in half!" The zebra, wild-eyed with fear, looked straight at us. There was a loud knock, knock, knock on the side of the trailer. The trucker inside with us yelled, "What do you want, Eddie?" A voice outside—it must've been Eddie's—shouted back, "Maurice? What'd ya say?" "What are you banging for?" Knock, knock, knock. Outside, Eddie yelled, "What banging?" Our guy Maurice rolled his eyes and went back outside, cursing at Eddie for being an idiot. A second later, Annabeth appeared next to me. She must've done the banging to get Maurice out of the trailer. She said, "This transport business can't be legal." "No kidding," Grover said. He paused, as if listening. "The lion says these guys are animal smugglers!" "We've got to free them!" Grover said. He and Annabeth both looked at Percy, waiting for his say. "Percy, open the lock." I snapped at his face. Outside, Eddie and Maurice were still yelling at each other, but I knew they'd be coming inside to torment the animals again any minute. He grabbed Riptide and slashed the lock off the zebra's cage. The zebra burst out. It turned to Percy and bowed. Grover held up his hands and said something to the zebra in goat talk, like a blessing. Just as Maurice was poking his head back inside to check out the noise, the zebra leaped over him and into the street. There was yelling and screaming and cars honking. We rushed to the doors of the trailer in time to see the zebra galloping down a wide boulevard lined with hotels and casinos and neon signs. We'd just released a zebra in Las Vegas. Maurice and Eddie ran after it, with a few policemen running after them, shouting, "Hey! You need a permit for that!" "Now would be a good time to leave," Annabeth said. "The other animals first," Grover said. I cut the locks with my knife which wasn't as easy as what Percy had done. Grover raised his hands and spoke the same goat-blessing he'd used for the zebra. "Good luck," I told the animals. The antelope and the lion burst out of their cages and went off together into the streets. Some tourists screamed. Most just backed off and took pictures, probably thinking it was some kind of stunt by one of the casinos. "Will the animals be okay?" I asked Grover. "I mean, the desert and all—" "Don't worry," he said. "I placed a satyr's sanctuary on them." "Meaning?" "Meaning they'll reach the wild safely," he said. "They'll find water, food, shade, whatever they need until they find a safe place to live." "Why can't you place a blessing like that on us?" I asked. "It only works on wild animals." "So it would only affect Percy," Annabeth reasoned. "Hey!" He protested. "Kidding," she said. "Come on. Let's get out of this filthy truck." We stumbled out into the desert afternoon. It was a hundred and ten degrees, easy, and we must've looked like deep-fried vagrants, but everybody was too interested in the wild animals to pay us much attention. We passed the Monte Carlo and the MGM. We passed pyramids, a pirate ship, and the Statue of Liberty, which was a pretty small replica, but still made me homesick. I wasn't sure what we were looking for. Maybe just a place to get out of the heat for a few minutes, find a sandwich and a glass of lemonade, make a new plan for getting west. We must have taken a wrong turn, because we found ourselves at a dead end, standing in front of the Lotus Hotel and Casino. The entrance was a huge neon flower, the petals lighting up and blinking. No one was going in or out, but the glittering chrome doors were open, spilling out air-conditioning that smelled like flowers—lotus blossom, maybe. I'd never smelled one, so I wasn't sure. The doorman smiled at us. "Hey, kids. You look tired. You want to come in and sit down?" I'd learned to be suspicious, the last week or so. I figured anybody might be a monster or a god. But my knife wasn't glowing so... I figured. Besides, I was so relieved to hear somebody who sounded sympathetic that I nodded and said we'd love to come in. Inside, we took one look around, and Grover said, "Whoa." The whole lobby was a giant game room. And I'm not talking about cheesy old Pac-Man games or slot machines. There was an indoor waterslide snaking around the glass elevator, which went straight up at least forty floors. There was a climbing wall on the side of one building, and an indoor bungee-jumping bridge. There were virtual-reality suits with working laser guns. And hundreds of video games, each one the size of a widescreen TV. Basically, you name it, this place had it. There were a few other kids playing, but not that many. No waiting for any of the games. There were waitresses and snack bars all around, serving every kind of food you can imagine. "Hey!" a bellhop said. At least I guessed he was a bellhop. He wore a white-and-yellow Hawaiian shirt with lotus designs, shorts, and flip-flops. "Welcome to the Lotus Casino. Here's your room key." I stammered, "Um, but..." "No, no," he said, laughing. "The bill's taken care of. No extra charges, no tips. Just go on up to the top floor, loom 4001. If you need anything, like extra bubbles for the hot tub, or skeet targets for the shooting range, or whatever, just call the front desk. Here are your Lotus Cash cards. They work in the restaurants and on all the games and rides." He handed us each a green plastic credit card. I knew there must be some mistake. Obviously he thought we were some millionaire's kids. But I took the card and said, "How much is on here?" His eyebrows knit together. "What do you mean?" "I mean, when does it run out of cash?" He laughed. "Oh, you're making a joke. Hey, that's cool. Enjoy your stay." We took the elevator upstairs and checked out our room. It was a suite with three separate bedrooms and a bar stocked with candy, sodas, and chips. A hotline to room service. Fluffy towels and water beds with feather pillows. A big-screen television with satellite and high-speed Internet. The balcony had its own hot tub, and sure enough, there was a skeet-shooting machine and a shotgun, so you could launch clay pigeons right out over the Las Vegas skyline and plug them with your gun. I didn't see how that could be legal, but I thought it was pretty cool. The view over the Strip and the desert was amazing, though I doubted we'd ever find time to look at the view with a room like this. "Oh, goodness," Annabeth said. "This place is ..." "Sweet," Grover said. "Absolutely sweet." There were clothes in the closet, and they fit me. I frowned, thinking that this was a little strange. I took a shower, which felt awesome after a week of grimy travel. I changed clothes, ate a bag of chips, drank three Cokes, and came out feeling better than I had in a long time. Search and find them Huh? Look for them and warn them I came out of the bedroom and found that Annabeth, Percy and Grover had also showered and changed clothes. Grover was eating potato chips to his heart's content, Percy looked like he was having a headache, while Annabeth cranked up the National Geographic Channel. "Percy you okay?" "Yeah it's just.... All those stations," he told Annabeth, "and she turn on National Geographic." "It's interesting." "I feel good," Grover said. "I love this place." Without his even realizing it, the wings sprouted out of his shoes and lifted him a foot off the ground, then back down again. "So what now?" Annabeth asked. "Sleep?" Percy and I looked at each other and grinned. We both held up our green plastic Lotus Cash cards. "Play time," I said. I couldn't remember the last time I had so much fun. I came from a relatively poor family. Our idea of a splurge was eating out at Burger King and renting a video. A five-star Vegas hotel? Forget it. I spent most of my time playing and... looking for someone I think. I bungee-jumped the lobby five or six times, snowboarded the artificial ski slope, and played virtual-reality laser tag and FBI sharpshooter. I saw Grover a few times, going from game to game. He really liked the reverse hunter thing—where the deer go out and shoot the rednecks. I saw Annabeth playing trivia games and other brainiac stuff. They had this huge 3-D sim game where you build your own city, and you could actually see the holographic buildings rise on the display board. I didn't think much of it, but Annabeth loved it. Percy was playing with Grover. I'm not sure when I first realized something was wrong. Probably, it was when I noticed the guy standing next to me at VR sharpshooters. He was about thirteen, I guess, but his clothes were weird. I thought he was some Elvis impersonator's son. He wore bell-bottom jeans and a red T-shirt with black piping, and his hair was permed and gelled like a New Jersey girl's on homecoming night. When he saw me he gave a smirk and invited me to play a game of sharpshooters together and he said, "Groovy, man. Been here two weeks, and the games keep getting better and better." Groovy? Later, while we were talking, I said something was "sick," and he looked at me kind of startled, as if he'd never heard the word used that way before. He said his name was Darrin, but as soon as I started asking him questions he got bored with me and started to go back to the computer screen. I said, "Hey, Darrin?" "What?" "What year is it?" He frowned at me. "In the game?" "No. In real life." He had to think about it. "1977." "No," I said, getting a little scared. "Really." "Hey, man. Bad vibes. I got a game happening." After that he totally ignored me. I started talking to people, and I found it wasn't easy. They were glued to the TV screen, or the video game, or their food, or whatever. I found a guy who told me it was 1985. Another guy told me it was 1993. They all claimed they hadn't been in here very long, a few days, a few weeks at most. They didn't really know and they didn't care. Then it occurred to me: how long had I been here? It seemed like only a couple of hours, but was it? I then tried to move, but I bumped into a girl. "I'm sorry!" She said. "Hey, no prob." "Oh... uhm... No prob?" "I--- No problem. Say Uh... I kinda lost track of date. What's the year again?" "Huh? It's 1930. Okay, I'm sorry I have to go. I'm looking for someone." Everyone is important in our story "Did you say something?" I go by Y/N L/N, you'll find the one you're looking for at the zombie shooting game. I left her alone and confused. I didn't know why. But I knew now this place is wrong. I tried to remember why we were here. We were going to Los Angeles. We were supposed to find the entrance to the Underworld. My parents... for a scary second, I had trouble remembering their names. I had to save them. I found Percy first. "There's something wrong." We said at the same time. "Years?" He asked. I nodded. We then looked for the others. We found Annabeth still building her city. "Come on," Percy told her. "We've got to get out of here." No response. I shook her. "Annabeth?" She looked up, annoyed. "What? "We need to leave." "Leave? What are you talking about? I've just got the towers—" "This place is a trap." She didn't respond until I shook her again. "What?" "Listen. The Underworld. Our quest!" "Oh, come on, Percy. Just a few more minutes." "Annabeth, there are people here from 1977. Kids who have never aged. You check in, and you stay forever." "So?" she asked. "Can you imagine a better place?" I grabbed her wrist and yanked her away from the game. "Hey!" She screamed and hit me, but nobody else even bothered looking at us. They were too busy. I made her look directly in my eyes. I said, "Spiders. Large, hairy spiders." That jarred her. Her vision cleared. "Oh my gods," she said. "How long have we—" "I don't know, but we've got to find Grover." We went searching, and found him still playing Virtual Deer Hunter. "Grover!" we both shouted. He said, "Die, human! Die, silly polluting nasty person!" "Grover!" He turned the plastic gun on me and started clicking, as if I were just another image from the screen. I looked at Percy, and together we took Grover by the arms and dragged him away. His flying shoes sprang to life and started tugging his legs in the other direction as he shouted, "No! I just got to a new level! No!" The Lotus bellhop hurried up to us. "Well, now, are you ready for your platinum cards?" "We're leaving," I told him. "Such a shame," he said, and I got the feeling that he really meant it, that we'd be breaking his heart if we went. "We just added an entire new floor full of games for platinum-card members." He held out the cards, and I wanted one. I knew that if I took one, I'd never leave. I'd stay here, happy forever, playing games forever, and soon I'd forget my parents, and our quest, and maybe even my own name. I'd be playing virtual rifleman with groovy Disco Darrin forever. Grover reached for the card, but Annabeth yanked back his arm and said, "No, thanks." We walked toward the door, and as we did, the smell of the food and the sounds of the games seemed to get more and more inviting. I thought about our room upstairs. We could just stay the night, sleep in a real bed for once.... Then we burst through the doors of the Lotus Casino and ran down the sidewalk. It felt like afternoon, about the same time of day we'd gone into the casino, but something was wrong. The weather had completely changed. It was stormy, with heat lightning flashing out in the desert. I ran to the nearest newspaper stand and read the year first. Thank the gods, it was the same year it had been when we went in. Then I noticed the date: June twentieth. We had been in the Lotus Casino for five days. We had only one day left until the summer solstice. One day to complete our quest.

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[abbysfrenchbraid]

Kissed by a Wolf - Chapter 10

Masterlist

The Yuletide begins and the reader is in awe at the traditions and celebrations. They finally speak to Eda again. A terrible incident occurs.

Thank you all for your support, I wish you all the best for 2021!

CW for alcohol and food consumption, blood, death/loss, open wounds, animal sacrifice.

Inspo pic by @classicnovaproductions​

You woke up sore and cold the next morning, each muscle screaming at you as soon as you moved under the covers to feel around for Eivor. She was not next to you anymore. You sat up.

The room was empty, but there was a small note at the foot of the bed next to the curled up white cat. Birna rolled herself to the side when you reached out, expecting belly rubs, and you humbly obliged before finally grabbing the small piece of parchment. Next to it lay the small branch with dark red buds you had brought back from your walk yesterday.

My beautiful heather, my delicate dove, my strong, skilled warrior.

I received urgent message from a nearby village early this morning - they have been overrun by bandits and need our help. I took my men and hope to be back in time for the feast.

May the sun shine brightly on your face today and illuminate your spirit as the solstice blesses us all. Find Valka and join her in preparing the celebrations, she will take care of you. I leave my heart in your hands, keep it safe for me until I return.

Yours forever,

Eivor

You pressed the note and the branch to your chest. This was a love letter. A love letter from your rescuer, your suitor, your drengr , the woman who had devoted herself to you. No one had ever carried you the way Eivor did, literally and figuratively. You were sure now; she was the one for you. Tonight you would tell her. Tonight you would let her have you.

Energized and enthusiastic, you jumped out of bed and got dressed. You chose the beautiful dresses Eivor had bought you for your welcoming ceremony, the fabric a soft caress for your skin after days in prickly tunics and dirty pants on the training grounds. You combed out your hair, an easy task after Eivor had helped you detangle it in the bath.

Your thoughts wandered back to that evening in Valka’s warm tub, Eivor kneeling behind you and her soft fingers on your scalp. Her shaky breath on your forehead as you let your head fall backward, her quiet apologies for pulling on your hair, the water she poured over your head before stroking it with her big, warm hand.

Birna called you back to the present, giving you a judging look as you quickly put the comb down. You really were a lost case if a cat could make you all flustered and embarrassed about your feelings. Head over heels.

When you stepped outside, the sun really was shining down on you. The air was crisp and clear, the snow was glittering like tiny diamonds and everyone was already up and working. There was a gigantic pile of wood in front of the longhouse, people were hanging up decorations and candles everywhere, every house smelled like a different delicacy and you could hear singing in the longhouse.

You turned your back to the bustling village and made your way up to Valka’s cottage. She was crushing herbs in her mortar when you entered and let out a delighted sigh at your appearance.

“Y/N! You’re already dressed up, how wonderful! Will you help me today?”

“Good morning Valka. I am all yours.”

She shooed you around for the next few hours, binding together branches of pine and heather, making little bundles of incense and flowers, preparing things for the offering, and trying to teach you the songs that would be sung tonight.

“The winter solstice is my favorite day of the year,” she said, excitement in her eyes. “Everything that was dark will lighten up, everything that seemed dreadful and sad will show its good side, the days will get longer, the sun will shine brighter, we will feast and sing and laugh and forgive.”

“Forgive?”

“Yes, it is common in our clan to make your peace with the people you have quarreled with over the year, to give each other a new chance and let the returning sun melt away any resentment or hate.” She paused for a moment, then she gave you a side glance. “I think this could be an opportunity for you to speak to Randvi. Or to your friend, the lord’s daughter.”

You finished tying a knot around a bundle of herbs and wiped your hands on a rag.

“Do you think I need to? Randvi and I haven’t spoken in days, but there is no resentment left between us. And Eda seems to want to be without company.”

“No one truly wants to be alone. Besides, I do not think she was alone those last few days.”

You turned to her in surprise.

“What do you know?”

“Not much.” She smiled. “Randvi seemed less grey lately, less lonely and stone-faced. She is the one who gave Eda her freedom. I feel like they might have spent some time together.”

You had not thought of that, but she was right. Of course she was. Randvi had vanished for hours on end, leaving people asking for her all over the village since Eda was free, and she really did seem more cheerful. After all, they had a lot in common. Both instruments to their fathers’ politics, disregarded and to be married off for alliances. Both suddenly distanced from those they loved.

“I think you would do well to speak to Randvi and clear the air if you want to openly be with Eivor from now on.” The seeress gave you a knowing look and nodded. “Tonight is a perfect time to commit to this relationship.”

She took your hands into hers.

“I truly believe that you and Eivor are the perfect match. It would make me very happy to see you together.” She ran a hand through your hair. “Now, let me tame this mane for you, will you?”

You sat down obediently and Valka began to braid your hair, beginning with two small braids starting at your temple and running down and back along your hairline. A second braid on either side above the first one ran back the side of your head so only the top part of your hair was still free. Valka took some rosehip oil and massaged it into your scalp, then she took a wooden hairclip with a beautiful wolf carving and fastened it at the top of your head so your hair fell freely down your back without getting in your face.

Then she took some of the red powder she had used on you once already and dabbed it on your cheeks and lips.

“You look beautiful. Eivor will not be able to control herself.” Valka chuckled. You had to laugh, too. She had been so wise and mysterious, strange and stern when you had met her. Now you were joking and telling each other your secrets like actual close friends. It was so refreshing to not think about your every word and its consequences.

“Do you think so? Did you know she kissed me once already?” You looked down at your hands.

“I guessed it, but I knew you were still hurting after seeing her and Randvi together. You were right to make her wait. This way she knows you are serious about this and she can’t make any more mistakes.” She sighed and stared into the flames in the fireplace. “But I can assure you that Eivor would never hurt you or anyone purposely. She has a pure heart and by the way she looks at you, I can tell she will love and protect you until she takes her last breath.”

You folded your hands in your lap, your eyes still fixed on your fingers. How could anyone love someone this much? How did you deserve this, to be adored and cherished so purely and strongly?

“I will tell her tonight." Your voice was strong and unwavering now. "I am giving myself to her completely, no more hesitation and distance and uncertainty. I want to be hers.”

It felt like your heart was tearing itself apart in longing for Eivor. Now that she was gone, you could not wait to see her again, to feel her touch and hear her voice. Why had you waited so long? If only she was here right now, the things you would say and do…

“This night, the solstice, it has a special meaning. Special powers,” Valka interrupted your thoughts, “that can steer the course of the future.”

You shot her a questioning look. What was she hinting at? She gave you a smug smile.

“All I am saying is that a bond sealed during the solstice is charged with strength, luck, and resilience. Not only will the forging of the bond be… ecstatic, but it will have a lasting impact.”

Oh. She was talking about more than just telling Eivor you were hers. Your cheeks were burning now. Valka patted your hand and started looking for something on her large, cluttered table. Then she found a small tin and opened it to reveal the red paste that had stained your skin the night of your welcoming ceremony.

“Free your back for me, will you?”

You slipped out of your dress and crossed your arms to cover yourself. Valka dipped her digit into the mixture and gently began drawing on your warm skin. She seemed to write sigils, beginning at the back of your neck and then wandering down your spine, leaving a straight line of runes all the way from your head to your hips. Then she stepped in front of you and you lowered your arms so she could draw another rune between your breasts. She let the paint dry on your skin while she made some tea and handed you a jug, then she took a wet cloth and rubbed off the remainders, leaving behind perfect shapes on your skin.

“There. Now you are more than prepared for tonight. This will set everything in place.” Valka looked very satisfied. You got dressed and finished your tea.

“You were right. I should speak to Randvi.”

Valka nodded, then she handed you the gigantic linen sack filled with branches and decorations.

“Carry these to the longhouse for me, dear. They will know what to do with them. It is a good thing, burying your grievances and forgiving. A wise move.” She squeezed your hand, then you heaved the sack over your shoulder and set out for the longhouse.

The way down was slippery and you almost danced with death a few times, but you always managed to catch yourself and finally arrived at the longhouse unharmed. A woman at the entrance took the sack from you and ordered a few children to start hanging up the branches. You walked over to the map room, but it was deserted.

When you turned around, Norvid was standing before you. You instinctively threw your hands up in fright.

“Oh God, you scared me!” You pressed a hand to your chest and let out a shaky laugh.

“No need, my lady. I will not harass you like I did the other night. I just wanted to express my sincere apologies for bothering you like that. Eivor certainly taught me a lesson.” He looked seriously ashamed. You nodded.

“Thank you, Norvid. I appreciate you telling me. I have to admit, I was worried about the next time we might cross paths.”

He slapped his forehead dramatically and fell to one knee. You had to fight down a laugh.

“Please forgive me for my terrible demeanor. I will never lay so much as a finger on you again.” He looked up, batting his eyelashes at you. “Unless you want me to.”

You snorted.

“No need, thank you. Now get up, you sly dog.”

He stood up and wiped the dust from his trousers, then he grinned at you and gave you another small bow before excusing himself. You shook your head at so much boldness.

When you asked the woman at the front where Randvi was, she just gestured vaguely into the distance. You followed the direction of her finger and tried not to get run over by all the eager people preparing for tonight. It was already afternoon and soon the feast would begin. There was still no sign of Eivor.

Suddenly you heard bright laughter coming from between two huts to your right. It sounded very familiar. As you rounded the corner, you saw two women with their backs to you, cutting branches with dark thorny leaves and red berries from a tall bush. One had auburn hair and one dark brown. A branch cracked beneath your foot and Eda and Randvi turned around, the laughter leaving their faces.

You pressed your hands to your stomach, trying to keep your composure. Forgiveness. New beginnings. Solstice.

“Eda. Randvi. I was looking for you both. I wanted to speak to you.”

Eda furrowed her brows.

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

“Oh yes, I’m fine, wonderful actually. But we… our relationship, it is still strained from what happened in the last few weeks. Yuletide begins today and I… I thought maybe we could… find an understanding? Not just me and you, but also me and Randvi.”

You looked at the woman in blue and were relieved to find no anger or hatred in her eyes. There was actually a hint of a smile on her lips.

“As you may have guessed already, Eda and I have had some time to get to know each other,” she said and stepped forward. “Whatever you say to me, she can hear, too.”

Eda nodded. “The same goes for me.”

You took a deep breath and tried to still your shaky fingers.

“Well, Randvi, I just want to say that I am deeply sorry for all the pain my arrival here has caused you. Please know that I never intended to make things difficult for you. I had no idea what I was getting into. But now…”

Randvi came closer and placed a hand on your shoulder. She gave you a slightly pained smile.

“I know, Y/N. It is not your fault, neither is it Eivor’s or mine. I will heal, as we all do.” She quickly glanced over to Eda before sighing and putting her other hand on your shoulder as well. “I have seen the way she looks at you. I dream that one day someone will love me so fiercely, so unconditionally. Do you love her, too?”

“Yes, I do.” You just noticed now that tears had welled up in your eyes and quickly tried to wipe them away. “I really do.”

“Then it is only right that you two found your way into each other’s arms. I would be foolish to stand between you.”

Randvi lowered her gaze and stepped back. You turned to Eda, but before you could say anything, she took your hands in hers and spoke.

“Y/N, if there is an apology waiting on your tongue, spare it for the unlikely case you ever really wrong someone. I know I have put the weight of all my blame and resentment on you, but I was wrong. It was not your fault we were attacked and you had every right to try and start a better life here. I see that now.”

She squeezed your hands, smiling at you through tears.

“Randvi has shown me her world and even though she has walked a similar path to mine, she has the freedom to live as she pleases, she has power here and friends. I wish to have the same one day. The solstice shall be a new beginning for us all, and a chance for me to grow and open myself for new people, opportunities, and a new happiness.”

She wiped her cheek with her upper arm.

“It is what my mother would have wanted. It is what I want for Delia and Henry. It is only fair that I give you and myself the same chance.”

You pulled her in for a hug, the weight of a thousand stones falling off your shoulders. The pain of being hated by your closest friend had been unbearable. Thank God she had turned around and decided to give this life a try. You probably also had to thank Randvi, the countless hours she had spent with Eda and her endless patience and belief in the good.

“Thank you, Eda, thank you both for allowing me to reconcile with you. I do not want to quarrel with anyone here, no bad blood. This is my clan now, too.”

Randvi nodded and smiled, wrapping an arm around Eda’s shoulders as the dark-haired woman stepped back to her side.

“It is. You are both part of the family now.”

“You too?” you asked Eda, surprised. There had been no welcoming ritual for her yet. She gave you a shy smile.

“We had the ceremony last night. It was private.” She held out her arm with a golden bangle for you to see. Randvi pressed her lips together to stifle a grin.

Well, that was a surprise. A few weeks ago, Eda had cursed you for your interest in Eivor and now she was flirting with Randvi, a married woman? She really had turned around. Eda seemed to guess what you were thinking.

“Y/N, I apologize for my horrid comments when you first visited me. I understand now that things are different here, different than I was taught growing up. I’d be happy to talk about it with you later at the feast. I wronged you, and I am sincerely sorry. I wish you and Eivor all the best of luck.”

You could see pain flicker over Randvi’s face, but Eda tightened her grip around the auburn-haired woman’s waist and held your gaze. You nodded.

“Thank you.” You looked over to Randvi. “Is there any indication when they might be back?”

She sighed. “I hope they return before the celebrations begin. Yule can’t wait, but the ceremony will not be right without our drengrs . We’re just collecting some more decorations, but we will be back at the longhouse shortly. If you are idle, you could see if Sfáva needs help.”

As you walked back through the village, you noticed it was already getting darker. When would your drengr return to you? God forbid she was actually hurt or - no. You said a quick prayer, then you clapped your hands to shoo away your dark thoughts and focused on the path before you.

Just as you were about to cross the open space in front of the longhouse, making your way through the children admiring the gigantic woodpile for the bonfire, a horn sounded loudly from the docks. A wave of excitement went through the people in front of you and the children dropped everything to run to the docks and see the ship that had returned.

Looking behind you, you saw Valka rush down the hill with a big basket, looking worried. Did she sense a calamity? God, no. Please let Eivor be unharmed. Please, please return to me safely, my drengr.

You lifted your skirts and made your way down to the shore, surrounded by other women rushing to greet their husbands. The first warriors were already on solid ground.

They carried a wooden stretcher. Someone was lying on it, completely still. Your heart dropped.

You fought your way through the small crowd, craning your neck to try and find Eivor's blonde mane among the other men on the ship, but you could not see any specks of gold on the ship. The person on the stretcher however had light hair, long braids drenched in blood covering their face.

Someone let out a blood-curdling scream, loud enough to get through the rush of blood in your ears. A woman with flaming red hair stumbled forward. It was the Viking wife you had seen with Valka a while ago, the woman she had been infatuated with for a long time.

Even though you knew this was terrible, a tiny glimpse of hope sparked inside of you. Was it not Eivor after all on the stretcher? You finally made your way to the front when Valka pushed you aside and dropped her basket on the ground next to you before rushing to the woman’s side. The redhead had pushed the hair from the injured person’s face and revealed empty, staring eyes, a handsome, bearded face, and a terrible slash from his forehead down to his jaw.

Valka reached her just as she started wailing, wrapping her arms around the grieving woman and trying to soothe her. The men carrying the stretcher stood still, their eyes blank. The woman fell to her knees, cradling the dead man’s face and calling his name over and over again.

“He fought bravely and died a glorious death.” A loud, rough voice pierced the cacophony of chatter and crying and everyone immediately went quiet. You looked up to see Eivor standing at the foot of the stretcher. Her hair and most of her face were blackened with soot. Her eyes were full of sorrow.

“We sent him off to Valhalla and he shall wait there for all of us. Let us dedicate this solstice, this Yuletide to Alfarr and the glory he brought this clan. He will be dearly missed, never forgotten, and joyfully embraced when we join him in Valhalla.”

She nodded to the bearers of the stretcher and they set off toward the longhouse. Valka grabbed one arm of the woman that was still slumped on the ground and Eivor took the other, then they gently lifted her up and helped her walk behind the procession. It was quiet now, only a few sobs sounded through the clear night as the moon lit your path.

Eivor was alive. She had returned to you. You took a deep breath. Sigurd and Randvi were coming your way from the longhouse, followed by Eda. Randvi’s eyes widened at the sight before her and she dug her fingers into Sigurd’s arm, but the jarl kept his composure and just exchanged a silent nod with Eivor.

When you had reached the longhouse, a few younger men had already erected a table in one of the alcoves and put down linen sheets on it. Alfarr was lifted off the stretcher and placed on the table, his axe still fixed in his grip and laid down on his chest. Someone put down a tree stump on the ground next to his head and Valka and Eivor set his wife down on it. She was silent now, staring at her dead husband in disbelief.

It was curious. You knew she had been mistreated horribly by him, beaten and insulted until she had fled into Valka’s arms. Why was she so grief-stricken at his passing if she was in love with someone else and he had wronged her so terribly?

Valka looked up at you and gave you a knowing look. She would have answers for you later. Eivor’s gaze was fixed to the axe on Alfarr’s chest. She had not so much as glanced at you since her arrival. Did she even know you were here? You did not dare to go up to her and so you quietly retreated into the big hall where you sat down on one of the benches and put your hands into your head.

The childlike enthusiasm and excitement you had felt this morning had vanished. How was this evening going to play out now?

The wood of the bench creaked as someone sat down next to you. You looked up distractedly and found Norvid looking at you with a worried smile.

“How are you, my lady? Did you know Alfarr well?”

You rubbed your thighs and stared at the floor in front of you.

“No, I had never even seen him before. It’s just… I am not used to seeing this kind of violence. I witnessed it once, the night Williamsburg was raided. This is the first time since then.”

“I understand. It takes you back, does it not?” His hand hovered in the air between you, then he placed it on his knee. You nodded.

“You are a tough fighter,” he argued. “I have rarely seen someone learn so quickly and take to arms so well. If you wish to use those skills in the future, you must be prepared to see much more blood and death in the course of your life.”

You wanted to object, but then you realized that he was speaking the truth. If you were to become a warrior and fight at Eivor’s side, you would not only see violence, you would inflict it. That was the path you had chosen for yourself. You looked up at him and smiled.

“You’re right. Thank you for checking on me, I will be alright.” You touched his arm in a gesture of gratefulness and were just about to get up and look for Sfáva when you noticed a large figure in the corner of your eye.

Eivor was leaning against the wall next to the alcove, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed amidst the black paint. Her mouth was a straight line. When she caught your gaze, she pushed herself off the wall and strode to the entrance of the longhouse, vanishing before you could say anything. You jumped up and rushed after her, but she was nowhere to be seen.

You remembered the basket Valka had dropped down at the dock and made your way down to the water in hopes of retrieving it. As you came closer, you saw a dark-haired woman crouched over the spot, gathering items scattered on the snow and putting them back in the basket.

It was Eda, smiling when she noticed you coming toward her. You helped her pick up the last few strips of linen and leather sachets with herbs, then you offered to carry the basket, breaking the silence.

“What a terrible thing. Today, of all days.”

“Oh yes, a dreadful night for his poor wife,” Eda said. “I felt like all the blood in my veins froze when I saw him lying there, his wife sobbing for her dear beloved.”

Dear beloved? You were not so sure of that, but you dropped the thought.

“I felt the same. For a moment, I thought it was Eivor. My heart… it felt like the tiniest touch would make it shatter into a thousand pieces.”

“Now you know.” You could hear the pain in Eda’s voice. There was no bitterness or blame, only grief. “That’s what I felt that night.”

You took her hand and wove your fingers into hers.

“I still say a prayer for your mother every day. I am sure she is in a better place now, someone far away from all those who attempted to hold her prisoner. You will meet again one day and finally have peace together.”

“Thank you, Y/N.” Eda squeezed your hand. 

You separated at the longhouse and you went up to your hut. Maybe Eivor would be there. Your heart was beating hard against your ribcage and you had to force yourself to breathe steadily, not sure what to expect from her.

You knocked on the door and waited for a response, but there was none. When you entered, the hut was dark apart from a few smoldering coals in the fireplace. Birna was laying on a bundle of clothes on the floor, clothes you recognized as the ones Eivor had been wearing. You gave the cat a few light scratches under her chin, then you wrapped yourself in your fur coat and went back outside.

People were now coming to the longhouse from all directions and the windows were lit brightly. A few men could be heard singing a bittersweet song and someone was putting final touches on the woodpile outside. When you entered, most people were standing in small groups, talking, and drinking ale or mead. There was a big fire in the middle of the room, ready for the ox that was to be slaughtered. You saw Randvi, Eivor, and Valka huddled together next to the alcove entrance where Alfarr was lying. They were speaking in hushed voices, mixed emotions on their faces.

Eivor was clean again, her face bare except for a red rune on her forehead, definitely Valka’s work. You desperately wanted to go over to them and join the conversation, but you could not bring yourself to do it. The fear of rejection or being excluded was too great.

Suddenly Sigurd stood up on a table.

“My dear ravens, my drengrs , my family! Tonight, in the shortest night of the year, we experience the darkness, we are encased by it and it threatens to leak into our hearts. Today we have lost a great man to the darkness, but what keeps us hopeful is the certainty that he is in Valhalla now. Alfarr fought bravely and gloriously, he was welcomed by Odin with open arms!”

The other warriors cheered and raised their drinking horns.

“Let us now follow the lead of our wonderful seeress, our guide through the darkness, Valka! We shall make a sacrifice to the gods that will propitiate them and grant us light, warmth, and good fortune for the coming year. And then we shall feast, in tribute to all the drengrs that fought for this clan and in memory of Alfarr!”

Everyone started to make their way outside and you let the crowd carry you to the bonfire. A few men had led the village’s strongest, most prized ox to the open space. They had fastened the rope on its holster to a large metal nail which they had then hammered into the frozen ground right at the edge of the woodpile.

Valka stepped into the circle that the people had formed around the stacked wood. She looked glorious in the light of the torches, her golden headdress and her jewelry gleaming in the flames. She carried a large copper bowl and a beautiful, embezzled dagger. Sigurd stepped to her side and they stood at the head of the ox.

First, Valka sang a hauntingly beautiful song in Norwegian and Sigurd joined in for the last verse. He held another small speech in his mother tongue before taking the dagger from Valka. She held her hands over the ox’s head and blessed the animal. You made out the names of Odin and Freya, of Sigurd and Eivor, and some of the other drengrs .

Finally, Sigurd drew the dagger over the throat of the animal and you could see its eyes widening, but it could not cry out. Sigurd had made the perfect cut. Blood started spilling from its throat and Valka held her bowl under the thick read stream until she had filled the vessel. Then she stepped back and watched the blood run over the frozen ground, into the woodpile, and toward the longhouse.

She started singing another song and this time almost all of the Vikings joined in, lifting their hands over their heads and building a beautiful choir while the ox started to stagger. His front legs gave in first and he slowly fell to his knees, then he lay down completely, his ragged breaths making a gurgling sound as his body bled out.

The singing slowly got quieter and finally died along with the animal’s last breath. Valka called out Sigurd, Randvi and Eivor and they stood next to each other, holding out their open palms as the seeress dipped her finger in the steaming blood and drew a different rune onto every one of them. Then she called out another name.

“Yngvor! Step forward and cleanse yourself of sorrow and grief. Begin this Yuletide with hope for the future, drenched in the glory of your husband and the blood of this sacrifice.”

The red-haired woman, her face still puffy and pale from crying, stood in front of Valka. The seeress gave her a sincere smile, then she wet her finger with blood again and drew a vertical line on each of Yngvor’s cheeks, resembling the streams of tears she had cried earlier. Then Valka drew a circle on her forehead and put a dot in the middle.

She stepped back and nodded. Randvi stretched out a hand and put it on the woman’s shoulder in support. Everyone sang another short song, then the ceremony seemed to be over. Everyone spread out, most people heading for the longhouse as Lewin and a few other men knelt next to the ox and started skinning and disemboweling it.

Inside everyone sat down along the long tables a first course of food was passed around, mead and ale were poured out and the first songs of praise sounded through the hall. You sat with Aelfric, Hal, and Eda. They were all excitedly debating the meaning of the ritual and its different components, the runes, and what might still come in this long night. In the meantime, the ox was carried in on a long spit by eight men and hung over the fire to roast.

You were distracted by your strange reunion with Eivor - you had not even spoken a word after being so close during the last weeks. Of course, she had lost one of her men and if you knew her at all, she probably blamed herself for his death. But then the interaction with Norvid and her reaction to it - what was that? Was she jealous? There was no reason for that. You were hers and hers only. She should know that.

You risked a look to her table and your heart cramped up in your chest. Eivor was not eating, her fists were balled up next to her plate and her eyes fixed on the table. Her face was a stony mask, no emotion breaking the surface. Sigurd and Randvi were deep in conversation and you could hear two of her men at her side speaking about Alfarr and how well he had fought today. All you wanted was to go up to Eivor, take her hand and hold her tight. But you feared that she would reject you after everything you had seen of her today.

Hal pulled out his dice game and immediately declared that he would never play against you again. Instead, you taught the game to Eda who had great fun but went down without a single win. She was a hopeless case.

“Mind if I join you?”

You looked up to see Norvid standing next to you, a plate of dried fruit in his hand.

“They are going to make the first cut on the beast soon, but I figured that if all the drengrs get their meat first, we still have some time to spare. At least three rounds.” He grinned and the others eagerly invited him to sit. Soon they were laughing and bickering about their wagers.

When the meat was cut, everyone was patiently waiting in line for their share. Norvid stood behind you.

“How are you liking your first Yule so far?” he asked, a friendly twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, it’s very impressive. I have never seen an animal being sacrificed in that manner. It seemed very peaceful. I can hardly wait for the bonfire later.” You smiled at the thought of the gigantic pile of wood that would be ablaze soon - the biggest fire you had ever seen.

The meat was delicious and there were sides of roasted vegetables, fresh bread, and pickled cabbage. When it was finally time for the fire, everyone flocked outside again. The ox’s blood had seeped into the ground, leaving frozen red streaks around and leading into the woodpile.

You stood next to Eda as Sigurd and Valka joined together for another speech, then a young, blonde Viking woman with beautiful, intricate braids carried a great torch from the longhouse and handed it to Sigurd. Their eyes met and their gazes stayed locked for just a moment too long. You looked over to Randvi; she had seen it, too. She looked just the slightest bit surprised, but not affronted or disappointed at all. Interesting. Eivor stood next to her, her face still completely devoid of emotion. She stared at the woodpile, or rather through it into the distance.

Sigurd said another few words in Norwegian, then he went around the pile and set fire to the wood in different places. Finally, he pushed the torch into the bottom of the pile and everyone watched in awe as the stack ignited, the wood cracking and shifting as sparks flew in all directions.

You turned to Eda to joke about her bad luck in the dice game earlier when you noticed her dreamy gaze into the distance, her expression languorous and enchanted as the light of the flames danced over her face. You followed her eyes and landed on Randvi, who showed the exact same countenance.

“Eda?” you asked and she snapped out of her reverie immediately, trying to look innocent.

“Yes, dear?”

“What is happening between you and Randvi?”

She grabbed your arm and shushed you even though you had barely mumbled the question. Then she pulled you back a few steps, out of the circle, and got closer to you.

“I do not know what nature the bond between us will turn out to be. But she is the reason I smile again, the reason I eat and speak, the reason I yet stand before you. Something about her is so… gentle, so kind and caring. I have never met someone as selfless as her.”

You fought down a bitter laugh. Randvi was many things, but endlessly selfless was not one of them. You left it up for Eda to learn that herself. Reminding yourself of Valka's words and your reconciliation with Randvi earlier, you hoped that maybe Randvi had really changed. You did not want Eda to go through any more pain. Sighing, you put an arm around your friend’s shoulders.

“I hope you find peace and happiness here. I know I am still searching for it.”

Eda raised her eyebrows at you.

“I thought you had Eivor?”

“Well, yes. I had her. But I was not yet ready to commit to her and now that I am…” Your eyes wandered over to the beautiful blonde standing next to Sigurd like a statue. “I am not sure she wants me anymore.”

“I refuse to believe that. Everyone who ever laid eyes on you two knows you are madly in love.” You looked at Eda in surprise and she laughed. “Oh Y/N, you are destined to be together. You will make all our lives hell if you don’t finally find your way into each other’s arms.”

She giggled, a sound you had last heard when you were but young girls sharing secrets hidden in the stables of Williamsburg.

“Maybe the reason Eivor acts strangely is because she cannot control herself around you any longer. Maybe it is your touch that will give her peace.”

“Eda!” you whispered and slapped her hand, trying to contain your own laughter. You could feel yourself blushing at her proposition.

People were spreading out now, some staying at the fire, some going back to the longhouse or vanishing into the dark to do God knew what. Eda hooked her arm under yours and you were joining the others that were going back in when Norvid came up from behind.

“Good evening, my ladies!” He was fairly drunk again, but before you could say anything, Eda had let go of you and pulled him between you. She linked arms with him and he followed her example on your side, tucking your arm under his. The three of you stumbled along the path together and maybe it was the ale you had had, or the wonderfully clear night, or how unbelievable all this seemed to you, but you threw your head back and laughed, deeply and heartily. You had found your place here.

Just as you were about to enter the longhouse, you saw Eivor standing on the side, beckoning you over. You felt a jump in your stomach and took a deep breath.

“Go ahead, I won’t be long,” you told the others, secretly hoping the opposite. Eda and Norvid went without asking why, and for a moment you stood still, watching them enter the brightly lit room. They both tripped over a fir branch on the floor and struggled to untangle their arms, but while Norvid hit the floor with a loud thump and more laughter, Eda fell right into Randvi’s arms. You smiled to yourself. She was in good hands.

You turned to Eivor and she rounded the corner of the longhouse, motioning for you to follow her. It was the same spot where you had once found Valka and Yngvor, the red-haired woman, in loving embrace. Your heartbeat quickened and you were just about to ask Eivor what she planned to do with you when she whirled around and pushed you against the wall, her pupils blown and hot wrath burning behind them.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing,” she snarled, “little dove?”

-

Author’s note: this just keeps getting longer and longer - I hope you aren't bored of me yet. I promise you a lot of smut for the next chapter. Please do let me know what you think if you're still reading!

[shadow--writer]

If You Knew my Story Word for Word, Had all of my History, Would You go Along with Someone Like Me?

2 dumbasses in love. That’s it. That’s my a/n (song over here)

Maeve x Lucas. Because I love you. 4.8k

CW: mentions of past abuse (Lucas and Maeve - gaslighting), 

@dela-png

She never really liked warm blustery days. 

Cursing, she held her basket close, hoping the eggs didn’t crack. Lucas was trying to make an apple apricot pie, both for her and to win the affections of Tehi. After the even worse great flour incident of a few days ago, he was determined to get her to like him. 

She ran through the grocery list in her head. Lucas had been in the middle of making the crust when they realized that he had run out of eggs, milk, and the fruit needed. You know, the major part of a fruit pie.

She sighed, massaging her temples as the wind made her stumble. Malory couldn’t call the guards today, she caught the middle of their rotation. The market in the South End was...interesting, to say the least. There was more theft due to poverty, so Lucio’s bright idea was to tighten security in the area instead of helping the people starving.

Nadia just hadn’t...gotten around to them yet. 

The system was...fucked, putting it lightly. After the shitshow that was Lucio’s reign, there was much to fix up and work on. 

Her being chased out of the market every other day due to false theft accusations being one of them. After the disaster that was Doctor 069’s trial, she didn’t have much trust in the legal system. Knowing her luck she’d be executed by the Praetor over theft. The old arena was already stained enough, she didn’t know why they couldn’t tear the eyesore down.

She rubbed her arms, looking through the dairy products for sale. Being a...pet of the Quaestor gave her rights to go into the coliseum to see those under. Blinking, she waved thoughts of bloodied people and plague eyes. 

She didn’t want to go back there, see the hurt on those peoples faces. She was punished for helping them, so eventually she just...stopped.

The Quaestor was a...fascinating thing. She wondered how they could sleep at night for what they did. All and all they felt...otherworldly. 

She groaned softly, placing a few coin in the palm of the farmer. Crimson cows always had the best milk, but they were banned from the city. She hid the jug under the eggs and flowers she bought for Lucas. Crimson cows were much bigger than the regular cow, milk and meat always bloodied red. It baked well though, making everything richer so it was worth the illicit dealings. 

“Good afternoon, thief.” She stiffened at the voice, trying to fight her annoyance. Please, not today. “Come to steal my stocks again?”

“I didn’t steal and you know it.” Damn she fell for the trap, again. Her pride smarted at each theft comment. Eventually people would believe it, and then where would it leave her? She could barely keep herself afloat without even having to pay rent. 

“Now, the guards certainly don’t know that, do they?” 

“Oh fuck off. They aren’t here to protect you today.”

“Mmm, so you're going to steal from me again, aren’t you?”

She breathed in sharply. “I am going to buy some fruit, upfront, and then I am going to leave.”

“For that little bat of yours?”

She scowled. “She was just hungry, and I paid after.”

“Stealing is stealing.” “It wasn’t stealing if I bought it. Just...let me get my ingredients for a pie and I’ll leave.”

“Baking a pie? The last one wasn’t bad enough?” She flushed at the thought. She wasted a lot of good fruit that day, her fingertips stained purple for a week. “Come to waste my hard earned spoils?”

She slammed her basket on his counter with a sour look. “I’ll have you know Lucas is baking it this time. And it’ll be fine.”

Malory paled at the mention of Lucas’ name. “H-He’s not with you, is he?”

…was that a stutter?

“Why do you ask? You’re not scared are you?” she teased, picking through the apples. 

“Anyone with good sense is scared of the beast.”

She lifted an eyebrow, placing enough for the fruit by his hand. She started placing apples in the basket, keeping them away from the bluebells. Her hair was falling out of her handkerchief, again. The front of her dress was splattered with flour, and she did look like she was helping. 

Reality was that she was trying to keep Jolie from sleeping in the flour. 

And failing, miserably. 

“Oh yes, because he is so scary,” she said with an eye roll, thinking of him sulking over Tehi. 

Malory’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t mock me. Just because he has been...subdued, for now, does not mean he isn’t dangerous.”

“Lucas? Dangerous? The only danger he poses is to himself.” Clumsy oaf ran face first into her bookshelf and almost knocked himself out. 

Twice. 

Granted, she did have a lot of bookshelves. 

“An ex gladiator is just that, a gladiator.” Malory shuddered. “I heard he beat a man within an inch of his life before Lucio stopped the fight. He’s a ticking time bomb.”

She paused, blood roaring in her ears. “Glad...iator?” she asked softly, setting an apricot down. “Lucas?”

Malory paused. “You do know about it, don’t you? How could you not? You are his partner and this is something everyone knows.” He paused. “And paired with what surrounds you…” his lips curled in judgment, she bristled under his look. “Well, people talk.”

“What I know and don’t know is none of your business,” she sniffed, stuffing another apricot in her basket. “He doesn’t have to tell me anything he doesn’t please to. I trust him.”

“You...truly, don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?!” she snapped, her gaze low and cold. 

“About the beast?”

“‘The beast’ can you be any more vague?” Even with his...dancing around, the name rang a bell. She huffed, placing her hands on her hips. “If you’re picking a fight with Lucas, don’t. It’s me you hate.”

“I may...dislike you.” She snorted, yeah that was rich. “But I don’t want you dating a murderer.”

“Lucas is not a murderer.”

“Killing people for sport sounds like murder to me.”

“What are you even going on about?!”

“Your little...dog, has quite a past, doesn’t he?”

“Lucas. His name is Lucas. Why am I even still talking to you!” She threw her hands in the air. “I paid, I got what I needed, I’m going to leave.” She snatched her basket up and turned around. 

“He was the Scourge’s replacement. After the escape. Before Lucio’s death. He was the executioner for a while. Don’t you think that’s something you should know, Deathling?”

She flinched, turning around and hauled him over his counter by his shirt. “You don’t get to call me that,” she snarled, Malory letting out a small choked noise. “You never get to call me that.”

“T-Touchy subject,” he breathed, face pale. 

“I will give you a choice. Shut up about Lucas, or I throw you into a canal, got it?”

He let out a laugh as she let him go. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

She sneered. “And so what if I am?”

Malory’s eyes softened, but his smug grin didn’t. “Just letting you know what you’re getting into.”

“This is his secret,” she muttered, smoothing her hair back as she glared at him. “This is for him to tell me. If he wanted to.”

“He never would. And then where would it leave you? Would you still trust him?”

“What he did or did not do in the past is of no concern to me, Malory. He is a good fucking person, and that is why I fell for him.”

“But this is a big secret to keep, don’t you think?”

“It’s none of your business, just as it is none of mine. And if he did those things, he would not have chosen to do so. I know him, he’s a kind person. Choosing to kill someone for the fun of it, is something he would never do.”

“But what if he did?”

“He wouldn’t.” But Malory’s words hit home, and the seed of doubt sprouted. What if it was true? What if he did?

No. No. This was Lucas. He sulked when a bat didn’t like him. He was dramatic and sweet. 

If he did do what Malory was saying, he wouldn’t have done it alone. He had to have been pushed to do it.

“Ask him yourself then,” Malory said with a smile, knowing he was getting to her. “Let’s see how your little sweetheart reacts.”

“He would never lay a hand on me,” she growled. “Ever. He wouldn’t hurt me. I should have your tongue for saying it.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “Food for thought.”

“Leave him alone. It’s me you hate.”

“Hatred for you doesn’t mean I want to see him snap again. Those days were not pretty, and he was an animal.”

She snarled. “I’ll show you an animal if you don’t shut up.”

“Go home then. See what he does.”

“Fine. Maybe I will.” She hooked her basket under her arm again, stomping off. People chuckled as they watched her leave, her cheeks burning with the scrutiny and humiliation. 

The walk home was a blur, she only felt the burning warmth of rage and the seed of doubt and fear in her stomach. 

She didn’t know who to believe, it was hard seeing him in that light. 

But he had the scars of a gladiator. That’s what those were. 

She jogged up the stairs and into his house, tearing the handkerchief out of her hair and letting the locks fall around her shoulders as she slammed her basket down on the counter. 

He turned to look at her, a question on his lips. 

“Was it true.” A statement, not a question. Her chest heaved from her run. “Was what he said true?”

“What? Was what true?” Worry creased his brow as he put the rolling pin down. He wiped his hands on his apron as he moved closer to her. 

She breathed in sharply. “What Malory said.”

“Mal- what did he say to you? Did he hurt you?”

She swatted his hand away, staring into his eyes. He had kind eyes, open and clear.

“He didn’t hurt me. But is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“Were you a gladiator in Lucio’s arena? The replacement for Scourge?”

His face fell, and all the colour drained from his cheeks. The reaction was all she needed to know. He was a terrible liar. 

He laughed, the sound strangled. “What? Me? He must be lying. Do I look like a gladiator to you?” His smile was forced, fear sinking into his eyes. His voice strained, like if she pushed it he’d snap.

It hurt. 

Him lying like this. He knew she knew, and yet he still lied. 

“You’re lying,” she said, hands shaking. “You’re lying to me.” He froze, smile still forced yet wavering. She moved forward, trying to stop her shaking. “Tell me the truth.”

“I am-”

“Batsaikhan,” she growled, pausing a few steps away from him. Her heels clicked when they came to a stop. “Tell. Me. The. Truth.”

Horror flooded his face, hands shaking as he reached for her. She slapped his hand away, keeping his gaze even as he looked away from her. “I don’t want to hear an excuse. You’re a really shitty liar.”

“But I’m-”

She breathed in sharply, blinking back her hurt. It hurt, knowing he was lying. It hurt knowing that he knew she knew and he still wouldn’t tell her himself. She just wanted it from him. Not Malory or any of the others. 

They would twist him, change and lie. 

“I don’t want to hear it,” she snapped, rubbing her eyes. She wasn’t going to cry. “I don’t want to hear it from Malory or anyone else in this fucking city.” Her chest heaved as a tear slipped past. She didn’t want to cry but she was so...angry. It was almost all she could feel. “I want to hear it from you.”

He was trying to make himself smaller, holding the counter so tightly his knuckles turned white. “It’s true,” he whispered, hurt and palpable fear cracking his voice. “I did terrible things.”

“Lucas-”

He looked at her, the look in his eye making her back up a step. He flinched. “I’m a terrible person,” he murmured, looking at his hands. They curled into fists as he turned his head. 

Her expression softened into one of hurt and understanding. “You wouldn’t do it,” she said, taking one step, then two. “You wouldn’t make that choice yourself.”

“What if I did?” he asked, startling her into jumping back with the force of his words. Her heart raced, heat rising to her face with panic. “Maeve-”

She sniffed, covering her eyes. “I know you wouldn’t,” she whispered, trying to fight the doubt sprouting at the base of her stomach. “You wouldn’t. I...I don’t believe you would.”

“I’m a terrible person, Maeve.”

She flinched at the sound of her name in that tone of voice. So soft and hurt. So soft and broken. 

“No,” she murmured, looking back at him. “You’re not.” She breathed in, holding the breath as she moved closer to him. “You’re Lucas.” She paused. “No, Batsaikhan. And...you’re just...that. You’re not terrible. You’re sweet, you’re kind, you have a big heart.”

“I killed people.”

“So have I.”

He paused, staring at her with wounded eyes. Tears slipped down her cheeks, she knew her eyes would redden soon. “I know you didn’t want to,” she murmured, standing in front of him. “And I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Carving herself open. 

All for him.

“How do you know that?” he muttered, not meeting her eyes and shifting nervously. 

“I may not know a lot, but I know this.” She reached over to take his hand, gently opening it up to trace his palm. She kissed his fingertips, unraveling the bandages to trace the burns there. His breathing hitched audibly as she pressed her fingertips against his. Her eyes snapped up to meet his. “The Lucas of now is different from the Lucas of then. And knowing the Lucas of then isn’t going to scare me away from the Lucas of now.”

“But what if the Lucas of then was terrible?”

“He couldn’t have been that bad, he did become the Lucas of now after all.”

“...you’re only here because you didn’t know,” he muttered, staring at her with wounded eyes. “And now that you do know it’s only a matter of time before you leave again.”

She stopped, letting his hand drop. Anger slowly bubbled up in her stomach. “Is that what you think this is?” she asked, her tone sharp. “You think I’d leave over this? After all the time we spent together?”

“Thumbelina-”

“No you’re going to listen to me,” she snapped, jutting a finger in his face. “Fuck you, Karimov. I just want to hear it from you. I’m not going anywhere.” Angry tears cut through her skin, stealing the starlight from her cheeks. “But I want you to stop...running from the issue.” She sniffed, swiping at her eyes. “I want to hear it from you. I don’t want any ‘I’m a terrible person’. I will decide that.”

“But-”

“No. You will fucking tell me so I can make that choice myself.” She rocked back onto her heels, pulling at her hair. “I know what it’s like to want to keep something secret, I know why you kept it from me. I’m not mad. I’m just...hurt. Giant, I like being around you. But I don’t want you to lie to my face about something I want to know.”

She breathed in, trying to calm her panic. “I don’t…” want Lucas to lie like he did. “...you’re a terrible liar. I can see right through you.”

“But what if you do leave?” he whispered, hunching in on himself. 

“Then that’s something I’d do for myself.”

“...” he sighed. “It was...it was a bad time.”

“...and?”

“Just bad. Bad people.”

“Lucas,” she murmured, reaching out to take his hand. The skin on his palm was rough under hers, years of hard labor and burn scars melting into his hands. “Please, I want to hear it from you.”

His gaze darted away from hers again, she squeezed his hand. “I was just...angry, all the time,” he murmured, a flush building across his face. There was a hardness in his eyes. “And if I wasn’t angry I was...numb. Tired. I wanted to see the trees again.”

He was shaking in her hand, she rubbed her thumb along his knuckles, keeping quiet. 

“I…didn’t want to hurt them, they didn’t deserve to die. But I did so maybe I deserve…everything. I don’t deserve you either. I don’t…I’m terrible, Thumbelina, I’m a terrible person. And I don’t…I don’t know why you still…want to be around me. I’m just going to drag you down with me.”

She brought his hand up to her lips, kissing his knuckles. “See? I knew you didn’t want to. You aren’t that kind of person, darling. And you aren’t terrible.”

“But I hurt people. I did it and I was so numb and angry.”

“You were hurt. You didn’t want to.”

“I didn’t want to but I still did.”

“You had a reason.”

He paused. “Lucio…threatened my family. With…petty crimes.”

“So you did it to protect them.”

“What little I had left.”

“That’s more of a show of your character, Giant. Hurting someone for…the fun of it, is different than being forced into it. You didn’t have a choice.”

“I did have a choice! And I chose to kill people. I could…I could hurt you.”

“You wouldn’t make that choice.”

He wouldn’t look her in the eye, he looked so skittish, like he was ready to run. 

“People wanted to test their will and strength against me,” he whispered, clenching and unclenching his fist. He chuckled without humour. “I really was a beast.”

The word struck a chord within her. She knew it, heard it, saw it, smelled it.

But she kept quiet. 

“People were scared of me. Still are. I…deserve it. I’m not, good.”

“You don’t deserve any of that! You are good.”

“Maeve,” he snapped, ripping his hand from hers. She flinched, hands going up by her lips. He watched her back away, horror painting his face in dark colours. His eyes darkened as he fell into the role. “I hurt people for my own gain.” His voice was a low snarl, he was so tall. 

So tall.

Her nerves thrummed; ‘danger’ they seemed to scream at her. Hands, gloves, dark tone. I do it out of love, you’re just being selfish. It was her fault her fault her fault her fault her fault-

“Look, I’m even scaring you too,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. She let out a tiny sob, his façade cracking at the sound. He backed off, and before he looked away she saw flashes of anger and horror on his face. “I’m not good. Whatever good you saw in me is...a lie. I hurt people and I’m trying but it’s all people see in me. How can I change if people only see that?”

“I don’t,” she whispered, trembling. “I don’t see that. I don’t see any of it. I only see you.”

“But what if I’m a monster?”

“I can’t...I won’t believe that.”

He looked at her tear streaked face, fear barely hidden under her skin. “You should. I’m a monster. It’s only a matter of time before I-”

Her fingertips sparked, stomach bubbling. “You won’t. You aren’t like him. You are you. You are broken and awful. You feel like you’re beyond help and unlovable.” He flinched at the bluntness of her tone. “But I’m not going to leave. I made my choice.”

“Why won’t you leave? It’s not like I can offer you anything. I’m not of any worth to you.”

She snarled. “You make me happy. How is that not enough?”

“I want to be useful. I want to be good.”

“You are.”

“It was a lie,” he snapped, staring at her with shaking shoulders. “It’s all they’ll see so it’s all I can be.”

“Where is this coming from?” She stared at him, his eyes peeling back the layers of hurt to show a…

Child.

He was scared.

“You’re just going to leave,” he whispered. “Like everyone else.”

“Lucas-”

“So just get it over with. You already know I’m a beast. You know I’m terrible. So why are you still here?” he snapped. “Just go.”

“I’m not going to,” she snarled, balling her hands into fists. Fire licked at her palms. 

“Why not?” he said, voice rising to a yell. 

She trembled, saying what she never wanted to. She was no good. She was volatile and ugly and snared. She was a rat in a trap. She was a spark waiting for the breath of air to turn into a wildfire. 

She wasn’t good. 

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!”

He stopped, eyes going wide. He trembled, the words deathly soft. Softness that cut through her like winter cold. She almost gasped at the pain. 

“Do you?”

Her lips pulled back in a sneer as she took a step, then two. He moved away, watching her cry out of anger. She scrubbed at her face, jutting a finger in his. “You. Are a fucking. ASSHOLE,” she yelled, making him jump. “‘Do you?!’” she mocked, rolling her eyes. “YES I FUCKING DO.”

“Maeve-”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she snarled. “Oh I’m Lucas and I’m such a bad person. I act all tough in front of everyone but I’m scared.” His eyes were wide as saucers. She overstepped so many lines but she didn’t care. “I know you. You are a good fucking person. I can’t justify what you did but you did it out of desperation. People do things they regret when they are desperate.”

Her sob was choked and low, digging her palm into her eye as she gritted her teeth. “I’m fucked. Okay? I’ve been fucked for fucking years now. I haven’t...I was scared to open myself up to you. And now that I have you say ‘do you?’ what a fucking joke.”

She backed him up far enough that he ran into the sink, leaning back as she rose onto her tiptoes. “I trust you. I trust you with myself. I trust you with my heart, okay?! It’s yours and it’s always been yours. I’ve just been too stupid to see it. Fuck. Fuck you and fuck your ‘terrible person’ shtick. I’m fucking done with it.”

He went cross eyed at her finger. She flicked the tip of his nose. “I’m so fucking in love with you, Batsaikhan, that I’m not even scared. You make falling easy. You make it fun. You make it safe. I know you’ll be there for me when I reach the bottom. And if you don’t love me back that’s fine.”

She huffed, throwing her hair over one shoulder. “But I had love ruined for me. I’ve had it used against me, chaining me down and letting me drown. It’s been tainted and terrible. I wanted you gone because you scared me with how fast and how hard I was falling. It was scary and I wasn’t ready. But you…” she let out a low cry, shoulders shaking as she inhaled and exhaled in gasps. “You make it easy.”

“But I-”

“Yeah yeah. You’re ‘terrible’ so you’ve said. But if you’re a terrible person then I am unforgivable. If you don’t love me back that’s fine. It’s all fine.” She blinked, moving away from him. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling sick. “It’s fine. I know you…you don’t feel the same,” she whispered, choking down a tiny sob. “And that’s okay. It’s okay.” Her voice cracked. It wasn’t okay. She was a fucking liar. She wanted him to love her back. She was selfish and awful. 

She didn’t deserve him. 

“But never doubt that I love you. I know you’re...scared and you’re hurting. I can’t...possibly imagine what you went through, I can’t. But you’re...good. You’re lovely and kind. You make life seem...lighter and I love you. You’re so...bright and wonderful you make me feel like...I can be good too. That I can be good like you.”

Her hair fell into her face as she turned away from her, pain thrumming in her chest. She swayed, stumbling a little. “You don’t have to feel the same. I know...I’m not good. But you are. And you make me want to do...better. More. You make everything more...colourful. When I’m with you everything seems okay. Knowing your past won’t scare me away from your future.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, taking in a shuddering breath. “I-I’ll just go. I’m sorry,” she whispered, moving to the door. It was all so quiet, swallowing her up and making her dizzy. 

He was right. Nicolas, was right. It was always her fault. Always. Her palms slowly cooled down as she sniffed again, trying to stop crying.

“Wait.” His voice was soft, his touch even more so. She let out a tiny sob at his hand against hers, heart lifting against her will. He didn’t love her. Why would he? She wasn’t good like he was. He was beautiful and good. 

She was unforgivable. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, as she turned around. He trembled, and she knew she was staring in the face of a scared child. Broken, scared, longing. 

Fragile. 

“I-I am terrible,” he sniffed, letting her arm go and backing away a step. 

She reached forward, tipping onto her toes as she cupped his cheek. He let out a small hiccup as he watched her with wide eyes. Her hands were cold against his skin, the warmth settling in her stomach as she ran the pad of her thumb against the freckles on his cheek. 

He stared for a moment, shuddering as he leaned into her touch.

“No, you’re good,” she murmured, tears spilling from her eyes again. “That’s my choice. I think you’re good. No, I know you are.”

He shook, melting into her hand. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing heavy and shuddery. 

She placed her other hand on his chest, kissing the tip of his nose. His heart was fluttering and fast under her touch.

He wrapped her up in a hug, almost lifting her up off the ground. He buried his face in her neck, she stiffened for a moment. 

Slowly, she wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning back onto her heels. He tilted forward, hands on either side of her head to balance them. 

“I lo-lov...I love you,” he whispered, her skin erupting with goosebumps. 

He slowly moved his head so she could look at him, hair falling into his eyes. She brushed it back, laughing through her tears. He was crying now as well, face red. 

“D-Don’t laugh,” he sniffed as she swiped at his cheeks. She kissed the tip of his nose as she squished his face, leaning against the door. 

“You really need to get your head out of your ass,” she murmured, kissing his cheek. 

He huffed, sniffing quietly. “P-Please don’t...don’t leave me. I-I’m sorry, d-d-don’t go.” He was crying more now, brows soft. “I don’t want you t-t-to leave.”

She sobbed, wrapping her arms around him again, heel smacking the door. 

He whimpered, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I’m not going anywhere,” she murmured, running her hands through his hair. “I’m not going anywhere.” Not again.

He blinked, his face splotchy now. His nose brushed hers as he kissed her with such reverence she almost whimpered. Her nails scratched his scalp lightly as he pressed her against the door, heels tapping the floor. He caged her in with hands on either side of her face, but kissed her so softly she couldn’t feel much else. 

“I love you,” he murmured softly, breath warm against her face. He kissed her again. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered, cupping his face in her hands. He kissed her palm, staring at her with wounded eyes. Such soft affection, those big blue doe eyes of his. 

She wrapped her arms around him, slowly sliding down the door to the floor. Her dress made a soft ‘puff’ sound as she landed hard, dragging him with her. She rested his head in her lap, hair falling like a curtain between them. 

So soft it was. Soft affection, soft kisses, soft words.

The scars, the anger, the sun, the hurt, were marked along his skin. Her fingertips danced against all of them, taking him in. 

He was a good person who did bad things. 

And maybe...maybe, she was the same way. He made her feel like she was good. She wanted to be good like him. Then maybe she’d… 

He reached up to push some of her hair behind her ear. 

No, she didn’t need to earn his love. It wasn’t even about earning it. 

It was realizing she didn’t need to, because she had it anyway. 

“I love you.”

[gingerwritess]

Theo, my girl, my idol, my star, my main bitch, I gotta read about the first time that Loki is seen out and about after he's been released pleeeaaaasseeeee (and some sexual tension wouldn't hurt)

part 18 of predating idiots, in which you speak with that idiot for the first time since…everything happened. (he hasn’t exactly been released, but close enough ;))

warnings: long ass chapter with blood, injuries, pain, alongside some denial and awkward moments :))

Life without a fake-boyfriend has become rather, well, quiet.

No more surprise visits with only the excuse “I’m dying” being given, no more lying about the exceptional dates you’ve been on…no more ridiculously attractive doctor on your arm.

No one’s stealing your bagels anymore. That’s a plus.

But work is slow, suddenly. The weight of the secret, sneaking Loki into your office to eat and sleep and rushing him home on lunch breaks for a shower, was, in it’s own twisted way, exciting.

Loki admitting to the fact that it’s been “centuries” keeps floating back into your consciousness. You continually choose not to dwell on it.

Your first day back after Tony gave you a four day weekend to recoup went smoothly, without a single hitch nor a word from your special alien. Asking about him while trying to remain casual didn’t get you far, so you resigned yourself to a quiet day at your desk, sometimes sending Marcus off to make copies for you when even he looks bored.

“I’ve gotta admit,” he pipes up one day from his station at the doorway, “I kinda miss Lucky. Thought maybe I’d get to stop a bad guy, that’d look good on a résumé.”

You shake your head with a laugh, scrolling through a file of release records. “Sorry you’ve got to just watch me all day. Can’t be the most exciting thing.”

“I don’t mind.” He shrugs. You don’t look up.

Another day ticks by, then another, and then a whole week and you still haven’t heard a single bit of accurate information regarding Loki.

Plenty of false information is circulating though, and you pick up bits of pieces around the break rooms and bathrooms.

“Yeah, he got the chair, they wouldn’t have kept him alive.”

“No, they’re rehabilitating him. He’s of use, he’s basically another Thor, don’t you think shield would want to hang onto him?”

“What, make him a new avenger?” The voice by the sinks laughs, and the faucet shuts off. “Just what we need. Another superhero. Jesus, I can’t keep up.”

Break rooms are to be avoided as of late, since you can’t go near another coworker without them jumping you with questions, assuming you must know what happened to him.

“Wish I knew,” you always reply. It’s not exactly a lie.

This fine morning, you pass the god of thunder on the way to the copy room. He gives you a grimace of a smile, lifts a hand, and turns to walk back the way he came before you can call out to him.

Strange. You haven’t seen Thor since the day Loki confessed.

Assuming he’s been busy helping his brother, you hadn’t worried about what he’s been thinking of you. Granted, his impressions of you haven’t been of the greatest, most respectable caliber, from asking you if you were attracted to his brother to watching you rip his brother’s shirt from him while straddling him on a bed—

Yeah, it’d be better not to dwell on what awkwardness Thor may have started to feel towards you. You’d rather not know his thoughts.

Then the next day, Thor is there again. You manage to get in a wave this time, giving him your politest please-don’t-talk-to-me smile and heading for the copy room again.

This time, the god follows you, fidgeting with the strap of mjolnir.

“I would like to talk to you,” he announces, trying to lean casually in the doorway. It doesn’t work well for him, so he straightens up and goes back to fidgeting with the hammer, staring at you.

“Okay…go for it.”

“I’d like to-to—” he breaks off and clears his throat. Finishing your copies, you turn to him with your eyebrows raised.

“Yes?”

“I’d, uh, like to apologize.”

Your brow knits in confusion and you cock your head at him. “What for?”

“Not to you,” Thor clarifies with a nervous laugh. “Sorry. Do I owe you one?”

“No, not really, I guess.”

“I’d like to apologize,” he tries again, “to, uh, to my brother. You know, Loki.”

“Ah.” You nod with a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m acquainted with him.”

Thor lets out a relived laugh at that, tossing mjolnir in the air and catching it. “Of course you are. The only trouble is, I don’t quite know how.”

“And you’re coming to me because…”

“Because you may know this Loki better than anyone.”

“Right.” Biting your lip, you stare at the crease in Thor’s brow. This Loki. A bit of a terrifying thought, really, but he may be right. However unpleasant, your interaction may have been the first semi-normal one Loki had had in a long time. “Well, um, how can I help?”

“How…bad is he?”

That’s a loaded question, and you pretend to look through your papers while you think. “He’s in a bad state,” you venture to say, “he’s definitely hurt. Somebody hurt him, and not just physically.”

“Right. Alright.” Thor nods, tossing his hammer back and forth between his hands. “I can work with that. Sensitivity, I’m getting good at that.”

“Good for you,” you laugh. “Be careful with him. I mean, I don’t know him very well. But I know he’s not one to open up, so…go slow. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the apology.”

In all reality, you have no idea if Loki will give a shit about Thor’s apology, but in theory it sounds like a good thing to happen. It can’t go terribly wrong.

“Just be gentle with him, will you?”

Thor nods. “Of course.”

You rifle through your papers, gaze dropping to them to avoid his. “Where, uh, where is he, by the way?”

Your stomach flips at the sound of the question leaving your mouth, but hopefully you can pass it off as casual curiosity, keeping your gaze trained intently on the papers in your hand.

“The healing wing,” Thor replies with a growing smile. “The two-hundred and third room. I am sure my brother would be happy to see you, my lady.”

“He hates me,” you answer way too quickly, flashing him a forced smile and pushing past him. “He won’t—no, he doesn’t—heh. Just curious. Thanks.”

—

Curious enough to go find him on your lunch break, that is.

Room 203 is a drab white room that reeks of disinfectant, one single bed in the center next to stacks of monitors and a cot-like couch beside it. It’s an improvement from the cell, you’ll give them that, but the pure white gives you a headache the moment you enter, and Loki still looks trapped.

Trapped, and deliberately expressionless upon seeing you sneaking through the doorway.

“Hello.”

He says it carefully, eyes narrowing at you as you wring your hands with a sheepish grin.

“You’re, ah, looking better.”

More like an angry cat who just had to resign itself to the fact that baths are inevitable, but better nonetheless.

“I feel like my limbs have been filled with lead,” Loki replies. He limply tries to lift his arms for emphasis.

“Nothing a god can’t lift, I’m sure,” you laugh, taking the few steps needed to be by his bedside. His piercing gaze tracks every one.

Checking his water jug and the tray of food still untouched by his bedside, you give him a mildly disapproving look, one he certainly disapproves of. “I bet you’d feel better if you ate something.”

“Not interested.” He sinks back into the pillows, watching you with hawk-like precision. “Why are you here?”

You give him a casual once-over, disguising it with a quick look about the room, as well. His arm is in a sling—that’s new, he must be cooperating at least a little if they’ve been treating him.

“Uh, curious,” you decide to answer. “I’m curious, just, y’know, want to make sure you’re being treated right. You healing up?”

Loki nods. Yes, he is healing, technically, but at a glacial pace that’s nearly historic for asgardian abilities. Maybe he had pushed his limits a little too far with all the illusions and covering undressed wounds for so long.

Your not-so-discrete scrutinizing of his shirtless body doesn’t slip his notice and reopens a whole other wound, but he can’t think about that right now. Or ever.

“You’re wearing a sling,” you lamely point out, desperate to fill the silence, and mentally slap yourself.

“That I am,” Loki replies, and can’t help the smug little smirk that starts to turn the corners of his lips. You’re a bit out of sorts—this could be fun. “Did you miss me, darling?”

Your face goes sour, crinkling at the nose. “Don’t call me that.”

Loki breathes deep with a grin, and Dr. Laing takes his place in the bed, lounging much more seductively, injury free and on his side, with an arm draped over his hip.

“You missed me, didn’t you.”

“If you weren’t on the verge of death and in a hospital, I would slap the shit out of you.”

Laing laughs as he fades back into Loki; it’s a tired sound, scratchy and painful and rattling in his chest, but somehow he manages to sound so disdainfully full of himself that you don’t know if you want to soothe his aches or cause him a handful more.

He does look better though. Weak, definitely still as weak as before, but better. Not so gaunt.

“Have you been eating well, then?” You ask, pulling up a chair beside him. “You’ve filled out a little.”

“Define well,” he replies with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“More fast food, I take it.”

“If I wasn’t close to death before, I am now.”

“Well, take what you can get.” You reach over and give him a pat on the arm, just one awful pat before you think better of it and immediately hate yourself for doing that. “So, uh, what was the verdict? On your…y’know. Crimes.”

Loki shifts on his pillows, trying to sit up a little straighter, and his blanket slips further down to his hips as he struggles to with one arm.

“My crimes…right, trying to conquer the planet. Those crimes.”

Without thinking, you lean in and straighten his blankets for him, tugging them back up to lay just under his arm.

His voice dies in his throat, and he stares.

You stare, too, but unfortunately at the bruises littering his ribs and the scar racing right over his heart.

“There you go staring again,” he says, clearing his throat. “Are you quite finished?”

Ripping your gaze from his chest, you meet his narrowed eyes and swallow thickly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Are you…are you using any illusions right now?” You gesture at him, emphasizing his relatively scar-free face.

“I may be,” he replies.

“Why? You should be healing, not hiding anything.”

His eyes roll and he sighs. “I do still have some semblance of a reputation to uphold. Maybe no longer with you, and something must be done about that, but as for the others, they don’t need to know any more.”

“I don’t really care about your reputation,” you tell him, and he laughs as if that were obvious. “Or any image you’re trying to make of yourself, just so you know.”

“Oh, you did miss me, mortal.”

“No,” you snap, “I just…well, I don’t want you getting any more hurt than you are. And…maybe might have been a tiny bit worried.”

The last part you blurt, staring out the window with a burning gaze. You would like him to know, just for the sake of knowing that he’s not necessarily alone in this, but when you say it out loud, like that…

Loki appears to have swallowed something sour, when you glance back at him, and he stares at you.

Confusion, maybe?

Or maybe just shock. Or maybe he has morphine pumping through his veins; that’s a very possible answer.

“Are you on morphine?” You whisper when he doesn’t move, still staring. “That stuff can kill you, y’know. Careful.”

Slowly, he nods, lips parted.

“I…am.”

“On morphine?” You give him a sad smile. “That’s why you’re being friendly. Well, by your standards.”

“No,” he cuts in, cocking his head at you. “Still using an illusion.”

You nod, glancing down at your hands in your lap. “I figured. You can take it off now, I’ve already seen the worst of it.”

Room 203 falls silent for a moment, nothing but the air conditioning whirring in the background as a wave of green energy passes over Loki’s body.

“Just for you,” he clarifies when you look back up at him, “only for you.”

“Of course. I won’t tell.”

Taking a steady breath, you scoot forward in the chair and begin your inspection, ghosting along the parts of him you can, too used to cleaning him up to the point where it’s almost routine. He sits quietly, you point out to him which bits he should really show the others, berate him again for waiting so long to tell the truth.

“I lie,” he murmurs, and you almost catch a smile playing at his lips. “It’s what I do.”

“Roll on your side,” you simply respond. “You’re letting them treat your back, aren’t you?”

He grimaces, but doesn’t move. “In a way.”

“Please? Can I see?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“I don’t know if you realize this,” you exhale, exasperated already, “but I’m a little more trusted here than you are. I can help you, if you’ll let me.”

He squares his jaw, fighting with himself for a second longer—then rolls his eyes yet again and turns to face the other direction, exposing his back to you.

“Loki, come on.”

“I tried,” he cuts in before you can berate him further on the hideous state of his lashed back. “Really, I tried, but they can’t treat them yet. It’s not a flogging like any that have happened on Midgard, believe me.”

The thought of something worse than a flogging makes your toes curl, and you gingerly brush your fingertips over his shoulder before the sight makes you retch; one of the few unmarked patches of skin left on his back.

“You’re still bleeding.”

He nods, face turned from you. “I would imagine so.”

“Bled through your sling…” a quick look around finds the spare cloths and towels in the cabinet under his bed stand, and you take a couple soft rags. “Want me to, y’know, clean you up?”

He’s silent for so long you wonder if he’s fallen asleep, but then he nods, just once.

“I would–I would appreciate that.”

His whole body jerks with every few dabs of the cloth, trying to at least stop the trickling and sop up what’s pooled in the bony dip of his shoulder blade.

You try to tell Loki which cuts desperately need stitches, but he just chuckles dryly and explains that these cuts aren’t meant to heal; that they rip and open any stitching or bandages applied to them. Each attempt to close the wound is predestined to worsen it.

“So you’ll always have these?”

“Until I can find a way to heal them,” he grunts, letting you help him sit up, “yes. It’ll be wonderful for when I’m feeling nostalgic.”

The sling, as it turns out, is covering a much deeper gash than the rest, one that the skin around the edges looks burnt—but weirdly enough, also looks almost crystallized where it should be scabbed. Almost…icy.

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just continue in silence to switch out his sling, sick to your stomach. Nothing you could possibly have to offer, any assistance from anyone on earth could make up for that.

It’s been a couple months now, since New York. There have been no other attacks, clean up has been relatively successful with the camaraderie of the nation. The avengers have been assembled, tested, and proven effective.

Loki’s in custody, no longer hiding, no longer blackmailing you into keeping his secrets while he runs. He hasn’t stepped out of line since, he’s been offering his knowledge, he’s been cooperating.

Yet he’s the only one still bleeding.

“Loki,” you say quietly, glancing at the door, “are they actually helping you?”

He gives his shoulder a testing roll with a wince. “That’s too tight,” he tells you, tugging at the fresh sling. “I’m being treated. Accordingly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve received the help I need.”

“I don’t believe you,” you reply with a huff, fighting with the knot in his sling. “I mean, has Thor even come to see you? He told me he wants to talk to you, but he’s the only person who’s mentioned you…”

Loki gives you a nod when you finish with the sling, finally lifting his head to look at you with an illusion-less face, ripped flesh around his lips where a cord stitched him silent.

A fist closes around your heart, clenching it and leaving a hollow ache in your chest. Your skin burns at the sight of him.

“You’re staring again.”

“Sorry.”

The stitching was crude, unevenly spread along his upper lip, and the left side has a couple gashes where the skin is torn all the way through. Must’ve had to rip out it himself.

“Don’t victimize me,” he warns. “Don’t make me into something I’m not. Don’t.”

Your jaw clenches, eyes flitting from his lips to meet his gaze. “How do you expect me not to?”

He drops his head back to his pillow, shutting his eyes.

“You should leave.”

“Yeah.” You stand, and he doesn’t open his eyes. The closer you look, his scars are fading again, back under the facade you broke. “I probably should.”

Before you can stop yourself, your hand moves to touch him, just once on the back of the hand that’s draped over his chest. He grabs your wrist before you can.

“I don’t think I trust you,” he whispers, eyes still shut tight.

A lump catches in your throat. “You–you can, you know.”

“I know.” He takes a shaking breath, wincing as his blood soaks the pillows. “That’s why I don’t.”

—

You give him a week.

You hadn’t gotten even half the answers you had gone in there for, leaving with more questions than before, if anything.

It’s hard to tell if he was pleased to see you.

So you give him a week. No visits, no telling him he needs to eat, no mention of him behind his back.

That week passes as normally as it could be.

By the next, you find yourself outside room 203 once again, psyching yourself up to just walk in there and cut right to the chase, not giving him even an inch over you.

But you open the door and he’s on his stomach, fists ripping the sheets as a nurse with a needle stitches the lashings on his back shut.

He’s bleeding. Badly.

“No,” you blurt, “stop, don’t do that–”

Your tongue falls limp in your mouth, and completely against your will, you walk straight to the couch beside the bed and sit.

Nothing you can do will allow you to move, and you spend the next few minutes struggling against invisible bonds, shouting silently into oblivion that you’re making it worse, horrified at the sight of Loki’s serene expression as he stares at you.

You can see it getting worse; each stitch undoes the last, reopening the wound from the beginning so that by the time she’s moved to the next cut, the one just finished is a fresh, open wound.

Even with his face perfectly calm, his gaze stone-set on you, his body betrays him. He jerks with every pierce of the needle, the vein on the side of his neck bulges, and he’s ripped the sheets by his fist.

It looks like pure agony, and you can’t do a single thing about it.

So you sit there, frozen to your seat and silenced, until the nurse gives up and apologizes for another failed attempt, promising that they’re trying to find a type of material that can hold as she tries to soak up the blood. She wraps his torso and he stays silent the entire time, knowing full well that nothing will change, and doesn’t move after she’s left the room.

You take a deep breath as Loki does, and the restraints on your body and tongue fall away.

“What the hell, Loki?!”

“Please don’t yell.”

“I think it’s warranted,” you cry, stomping over to his bedside. “You have a death wish, god, you–you–what the hell were you doing?!”

You’re shaking, half from the horror of having to sit there and watch him endure that, but mostly from rage—he could’ve stopped her.

“Why the hell didn’t you say anything?!”

“Shh…”

“Oh, don’t you shush me, I’m so sick of this–I-I can’t believe you made me watch that—”

A cold hand curls around your wrist and yanks, and you fall to your knees by the bedside, nose to nose with the god of mischief.

“Let me bleed,” he grits out, each word ripped painfully from his throat.

“What?”

“Let me…let me bleed.” This time it’s on an exhale and his eyes close, his hand dropping from your wrist.

You can’t find it in yourself to move away from him.

“Why’d you do that, you idiot?”

Half his face squished into the mattress, he manages a hoarse laugh. “Punishment for my sins.”

“That’s not your call,” you hiss, grabbing him by the arm. “You need to roll over, you’re laying on your injury. C’mon, move.”

He actually obliges and the two of you struggle to roll him onto his uninjured side. It’s not exactly comfortable, for either of you, and you realize after the fact that you had to practically hug the guy in order to haul him onto his side.

That’s probably why he went so stiff.

And…why he’s staring at you as if you’d sprouted wings, trying to catch his breath.

“Sorry,” you mutter, a little out of breath yourself from trying to lift him. “You’re a fucking masochist, you know that?”

“Oh, don’t act so surprised.” He forces out another laugh.

Always laughing.

Always bleeding, always laughing. It’s exhausting, not to mention unbearably irritating when you’re nearly writhing in pain for him.

“Do me a favor, darling.”

“Don’t call me—oh, wait, do you want me to slap you?”

Another dry laugh, but this one sounds truer.

“Don’t make me beg,” he grins, and you almost find yourself wanting to grin back; it’s a breath of fresh air, after all the blood and pain. “Please, would you do this for me?”

“Yeah.” You can’t help the tiny smile you offer back, hidden behind your exasperated sigh. “Yeah, of course.”

“Tie my hair back?”

You swear his cheeks burn bright red, but he doesn’t let his empyrean expression waver, sinking subtly deeper into the pillows and handing you a thin strip of leather.

“Sorry,” he says when you take it, voice muffled, “it only gets matted with blood if I leave it down. I’d cut it, but I can’t be wasting strength on that in this condition—”

“I get it,” you assure him with a smile. “Don’t worry. You’ve already ruined your reputation with me.”

“Right. Thank you for the reminder.”

Biting back a grin, you pull the strip of leather between your hands. “I’ll do it, on one condition.”

“You are unbearably difficult.”

“Thank you.” You lean towards him, a tiny, smug grin just turning at your lips. “You answer any question I ask while I’m doing it. And no lies, trickster.”

He mulls it over for a moment, halfheartedly glaring at your smug self. You do look sure of yourself, leaning onto his bed, eyes narrowed playfully, his leather cord taut between your fingers. Daring him to disagree.

It’s not a bad look. Confidence, he supposes. Power.

The day has reached sunset, and in this moment of weakness Loki can’t help but notice—the light filtering through the lone hospital room window hits your face in a rather flattering way.

That, or maybe it’s been so long since someone smiled at him, laughed with him, teased him—maybe it’s…nice.

Maybe it’s been missed.

Maybe…that would be alright.

―   ―   ―   ―

~ masterlist link in my bio ~

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@toozmanykids @brooklyn-times @nonsensicalobsessions @londonisacountry @peterparkerbabyyy

[natromanxoff]

Sounds - April 13, 1974

Queen street

Erskine does it again! This week, Queen`s drummer Roger Meddows Taylor

Gosh it would be so easy but I don`t think I can trash on a man who says he hated “Bridge Over Troubled Water” even if he does fruit about with a band who, it has been decided, are the new persona non grata.

Are Queen really that obnoxious? You tell me. I wouldn`t rightly know, never having heard them you see. I tried but the albums never arrived in time. They were despatched no doubt, strapped to the horny hindquarters of a rheumatic tortoise still making its way past Victoria Station.

So anyway, at least they`ve inspired extremes of opinion and a predominantly negative reaction from the press all of which is good for business because then the kids who buy the albums and go to the gigs can feel that they know something we don`t – and they could just be right.

A rather smug lady who figures she discovered the band has finished her interview and is flicking through the papers sneering at this week`s putdowns of her new pets and she also figures she knows something the rest of us don`t and makes quite sure everyone in the office realises it. I tell you, socially your rock clique has to be the most exciting thing since the day the paperclips arrived.

“I don`t pretend to understand the workings of the journalistic mind.” Drummer Roger Taylor`s looking svelte in felt – a black jacket with piped seams festooned with chains and silver coins. There had, it appeared, been a problem with the publicity shots. The one that you won`t be seeing on this page because it was too blurred and boring was officially approved. It had a `yes` scribbled on the back. The shots we are using instead are not approved. The smug lady shrinks in horror at the thought and my o my I`d sure like to stick one on her… Julie Andrews ain`t got nothin` on this doll.

Anyway, it`s hot and clear outside and I would much rather be cruising slowly round South London looking at office girls with trim little jugs and downy earlobes, but onward we go serving and returning the cliches like your verbal Ken Rosewalls.

“There are really only two things that hurt,” he continues, “firstly when we`re called a hype – that`s one thing we`re not. We`re making it in the old-fashioned way which is initially through selling records through playing concerts… enabling the record company to get behind you for the second album. The other thing is that they cast doubts on the musicianship which is one thing we`re really sure about… obviously we think we`re bloody good… oh yes, and we`ve also been accused of being a part of supermarket rock – which is a bit much when you write your own material.

“Considering the abuse we`ve had lately, I`m surprised that the new album has done so well. I suppose it`s basically that audiences like the band.”

Yes, I `spect it is.

“We`ve had the name for four years now, believe it or not – most people don`t – and it was Freddie`s idea. It was just a reflection of the social world we were in at the time, when he and I were working together on Kensington Market – it was good then. In those days there was a pretty eccentric crowd there, people in sombreros and a lot of them were gay and a lot of them pretended to be and it just seemed to fit in. I didn`t like the name originally and neither did Brian, but we got used to it. We thought that once we`d got established the music would become the identity more than the name…”

And how about this “New Zeppelin” tag with you in the States?

“Oh that`s happened here too, but it seems mainly an American thing. We haven`t been there yet but the first album did quite well there. Apparently we`re known to an extent on the East coast and in the South… sorry to go on about journalists but it seems to be a trait to describe any sort of band that the journalist isn`t particularly aware of in relation to other bands.

We`ve been compared to Alice Cooper, Rod Stewart, Zeppelin, Purple… everybody, even Geordie and Nazareth. In fact, Geordie`s album was reviewed the other day and they got accused of sounding like us which made me laugh…

“There must be parallels but we`re not aware of them. Obviously we have our heroes. I personally think Zeppelin and the Who are the two best rock bands in the world. I`ve got all their albums and I`ve listened to them a lot. I still think John Bonham is one of the most underrated rock drummers, so I suppose we`ve absorbed some of that somewhere…”

The debut Queen album was universally ignored but is now selling in increasing quantities whilst “Queen II” has been universally panned and is selling in even larger quantities.

“We took so much trouble over that album, possibly too much, but when we finished we felt really proud. Immediately it got really bad reviews so I took it home to listen to again and thought Christ are they right? But after hearing it a few weeks later I still like it. I think it`s great. We`ll stick by it.

“There are a lot of things on the first album I don`t like, though, for example the drum sound. There are parts of it which may sound contrived but it is very varied and it has lots of energy… but then I think one of the best albums last year was the “Mott” album and that had loads of inconsistencies and rough bits…”

Roger has `O` and `A` levels, a biology degree and is a former dropout from dental college. He also says he learnt from observing such luminaries as Pete Townshend and Ian Hunter who, he says, has “an interesting philosophy”. He is, Taylor adds, “far more intelligent than you might give him credit for”.

We are digressing. Could Roger see himself slipping into a Rick Wakeman lifestyle?

“To be quite honest I`d like to have a house here, one in Cornwall, a house in Greece and move back and forth between them but still be totally involved in music, but perhaps getting to that level removes the necessary paranoia that keeps you going.”

Oh yes and Roger says the stages were too small, the gigs too crowded, and in general the sound was bad on their recent British tour and I have to wonder because, as I say, I know very little about Queen, but to me it seems like rampant craziness to be starting yet another rock and roll band on the rise up the slippery pole at this point in time with all those prospects of marathon Stateside tours and continuing abuse from the press and an image which to say the least, has become a trifle hack-kneed. Although Roger claims it to be totally uncontrived although Zandra Rhodes is their stage costumier which must mean something… perhaps, as the lovely and indubitably Polish Pete Makowski says, that they are trying to straddle two markets at the same time – your progressive can-crushing and your pretty-boy teenscream, but I don`t know. It`s a nice day outside, the public bar awaits me and I have to investigate that torso of a man in his mid-40s and subsequently I have to put the cat out and mow the lawn…

Credits to Geir Myklebust.

[lactodebillus-bulgaricus]

regarding that post I recently made about volga bulgaria and hetalia

imagine if the two bulgarias regularly visited each other

even though there are no recordings of any diplomatic relations between danube bulgaria and volga bulgaria

imagine the prank potential if they are identical twins

***

v. bulgaria *visits his brother*

d. bulgaria: hey bro wanna prank someone

v. bulgaria *agrees*

*some time later*

serbia and d. bulgaria are standing in the outskirts of some town

serbia doesn’t know about v. bulgaria

d. bulgaria: hey serbia wanna race me to the city square? the winner gets to dump yogurt on the loser’s head

serbia: hmm... *imagines himself dumping a bowl full of yogurt over bulgaria’s head) sure!

d. bulgaria: though I know I’ll win cuz ur so much slower than me

serbia: no u won’t u loser I’m much faster than many others I’ll be faster than u too u’ll see

d. bulgaria: you know, I’ma give you some advantage just so you can stand a chance against me

serbia: I don’t need any advantage, I can face you on equal ground

d. bulgaria: lol whatever guess you really want yogurt dumped on ur head better make sure to wash it afterwards are u starting?

serbia: I’ll show you yogurt! *starts running* (thinking: whatever I won’t let this asshole win I’ll use the advantage he gives me to beat his arrogant ass at the competition, I’ll smear yogurt all over his empty head)

d. bulgaria: what a dumb loser

*a few minutes later*

serbia: *runs into the town square while sweating and breathing heavily, face red from the effort* did... I... win??

but then he sees someone who he thinks is the person he raced

serbia: wait. NO. FUCKING. WAY. HOW DID U EVEN COME HERE BEFORE ME? WHEN U GAVE ME A HEADSTART?? AND UR NOT EVEN SWEATY... OR TIRED?! YOU MUST’VE RIDDEN A HORSE!

v. bulgaria: omg dude ur such a sore loser chill here want some water? *sticks a jug out* or yogurt I just bought it

serbia: everyone! DID THIS GUY COME HERE RIDING A HORSE

and the people at the town square are like ‘nah we saw him walk in’ (which they actually did)

v. bulgaria: this is a very small town, running or riding a horse doesn’t make that big of a difference but it’s not like u’d know that. see I’m much better than u

serbia: U MUST’VE CHEATED (thinking: what could he have done? maybe he rode a horse and got off it at the last moment? but I didn’t see him getting on one at the start of the race, still I’d have been faster, also it’s true that the distance isn’t that much, by the time he’s gotten onto a horse I’d have reached the town square. does he know magic? cuz he definitely wouldn’t get God’s grace, being such a bully. did he teleport with magic? what’s going on?!) U MUST’VE- ARRGH! *a bowl of yogurt gets dumped on serbia’s head* I HATE U SO MUCH U SMUG BASTARD UR SUCH A JERK *cries*

v. bulgaria: *laughs at his misery like a total jerk*

***

holy shit these two would’ve been terrible bullies

[mermaidcashton]

i hate to admit it

author: claire (@mermaidcashton) ship: michael clifford/reader prompt/AU: this is a gift for the wonderful @h0tsos who wanted soft, subby Michael in an enemies to lovers capacity (and i snuck some coffee shop!au in there as well, and some weebness because, well, it’s Steff and Michael) wordcount: 4k+ warnings: swearing, alcohol mentions, explicit sexual content a/n: • written for @maluminspace & @h0tsos ‘s 5sos fic writers collab (which was a gift exchange this time around) • i do not give permission for this (or any of my writing) to be reposted, by anyone, on this or any other website. please don’t do it! • title from ‘this means war’ by mariana’s trench • ‘my hero academia’ is a manga/anime series. there are references to it and a few of the characters in this but you don’t need to know anything about it to understand what’s going on.

i hate to admit it *** “So, they’re like...superheroes?” 

Luke sipped on his glass of rosé, nodding like he understood whilst making a face that showed he absolutely did not.

“Yeah, dude, pretty much!” Michael nodded along with your co-worker with so much enthusiasm he looked like one of those dogs people put on their dashboards. Except less cute. Wait, no - not cute. Definitely not cute at all. Good save, you. Couldn’t have your own internal monologue thinking you felt anything for the moron you were forced to work with 3 times a week was anything more than an annoyance you had to endure. With a butt that wouldn’t quit. Dammit, self! 

Michael took advantage of Luke showing an interest in his (and yours) favourite anime, and began bombarding him with half baked theories, predictable favourite scenes and shitty character analysis. He nearly knocked his own hat off as he flailed his hands around in an attempt at explaining the dynamics of a battle from the second season. Luke smiled politely. 

You snorted into your drink as you drained the last of it; you were definitely going to need another. If Michael started fanboying over Deku again, you were going to scream.

As you placed the empty bottle onto the wood of the coffee table, you took another glance around the apartment you were in. You’d never been up here before, despite spending a minimum of 20 hours a week in the coffee shop downstairs. But after this evening’s staff meeting tackling such issues as ‘who forgot that milk needs to be kept in the fridge overnight’ (Luke), ‘who is putting too much whipped cream on hot chocolates’ (Michael), and ‘who wrote ‘THIS COFFEE IS HOT, BUT U R HOTTER ❤ ) on a customers caramel macchiato’ (Luke again), Ashton had invited you all upstairs for a ‘employee chill’. You had been surprised a week or so into your employment when you had found out that the manager was also the owner who lived in the apartment above Screamin’ Beans; he was only in his mid twenties, but the more you’d experienced his drive and determination, the more your surprise had dwindled. Ashton really was a great guy, with one big flaw; Michael. They had been best friends for years, hence him moving into the apartment when he came back into town and the job Ashton had given him; which in your humble opinion was the equivalent of setting a monkey loose on the milk frother.   

Michael had sealed his fate with you the same day he’d started work. He arrived 10 minutes late (from upstairs), sleepy eyed and shy smiled. His fluffy blonde hair was spilling out of his beanie, and he kept biting his very pink lip bottom with sharp little teeth. The way he pronounced your name was adorable. You’d burned your hand on the espresso machine. Strike one. Things unravelled quickly after that. He was ‘too shy’ to take orders and work the register so you were stuck there all day talking to goddamn customers about why it wasn’t a good idea to have 3 pumps of every syrup while he hid behind silver machinery and dirtied way more jugs than you deemed necessary. Strike two. And then he’d dropped a latté into that ladies bag - sorry, very expensive bag. Michael had let out a ‘uuuhhh’ sound like a malfunctioning robot without moving for so long that the furious customer had stopped trying to yell at him and focused her rage on you instead. When he had eventually come to whatever passed for his senses, Michael had power walked into the employee bathroom and didn’t return until Calum arrived to join the shift and assured him the woman had left, twenty minute later. You were beyond strikes. You’d been so sure you could talk Ashton into scheduling you together as little as possible. There was no reason to put you down to work nearly every shift together, especially shifts where only two staff were on! Except, apparently there was because he kept fucking doing it. Every time you pressed Ashton on it, he’d say something about how he needed Michael ‘trained by the best’, or ‘matching availabilities’, or he thought their ‘energies combined well; auras are meshing, y’know?’ The one might have been on you for catching him as he was returning from his Vibe Check Yoga class at the studio down the street. 

He’d also emphasised that Michael needed more friends now he was back in the city, and you two had loads in common! You both liked pop punk! You’d rolled your eyes. And Italian food! A ‘tch noise. And anime! Okay, you’d bite. 

The next time you’d gone into work, you’d engaged Michael in a conversation about ‘Tokyo Ghoul’ and recommended ‘Demon Slayer’; things started to pick up. You didn’t fantasise about locking Michael in the walk-in fridge the whole shift. And then…

“You watch ‘My Hero Academia’, right?” “Uh, yeah! I love it.” “Me too! I just ordered a Todoroki tee yesterday. And another Deku one, of course; gotta rep my main man!” “Oh..cool! He’s your favourite?” Of course Michael was a basic bitch. But hey, that’s fine. Deku was fine. He was the main character, after all. And he’s a little less whiny in the recent manga issues, you guess. And the way Michael’s face was right now - open, comfortable, lit up like the 4th of July? That was good, too. His eyes were so green.  “Yeah! Who’s your favourite character?” “Well, I would die for a bunch of ‘em, but I’m a Bakugou girl at heart.” You laid a palm flat on your chest, choosing to ignore the feel of your heart beating faster than it had been five minutes ago beneath it.  Michael wrinkled his nose. “Bakugou? But he’s like...he’s so mean! And angry!”

Oh no. You’d had this conversation before. You locked eyes with Michael, hoping he could see the warning in your eyes. Don’t do it, ho.

“Like, he’d probably make a better villain than hero!”

“You okay, boo?” Calum slid into the space on the couch beside you, holding out a fresh beer for you to take. “You look deep in thought.”

You hummed and accepted the bottle from him, letting go of your train of thought as you caught sight of Luke trying to prove he could get his overly long leg behind his head. Michael and Ashley F. were both actively trying to avoid getting kicked in the face with a sparkly boot, whilst Ashton was just monitoring the situation very intently; you’re not entirely sure when he last blinked. 

You snorted again as Luke’s foot slotted into place in a position you were 85% sure he would not be able to get out of again without assistance, possibly from the emergency services.

“I’m fine. Gotta be one of us capable of thinking here, y’know.” You teased, looking sidelong at Calum. He laughed, rubbing a hand over his freshly shaved hair; he’d always been as easy to get along with as he was obnoxiously handsome. “Hey! You’re lucky I know you’re talking about the human pretzel over there! And I guess, your boyf-” Big brown eyes glittered at you over the hand you’d slapped over his mouth. “-fwendth.” Narrowing your own eyes at your friend, you hissed. “Shut up! I would rather die.” Calum waggled his eyebrows incessantly at you until you relented and dropped your hand. “You knew who I was talking about, though.” Ugh. Smug was not a good look on Calum. “You know, smug is not a good lo-oh fuck, is that the time?” The clock behind Calum’s head showed 8:58; your auction ended at 9:00. You fumbled into your bag for your phone, unlocking it and flicking straight to the app you needed. Phew - still the top bid. “Whatcha doin’?” Calum hooked his chin over your shoulder, blowing your hair out of his face before settling down. 

“Bidded on a really cool, limited edition figure. One of my all time favourite anime characters. The auction is about to end.” You explained,  making sure Calum could hear you other the cacophony of sounds associated with Luke trying to get his other leg behind his head. You both watched the seconds tick down, your username sitting securely by the words ‘Winning Bid’. At two seconds to nine, the page refreshed, then refreshed again; it was over.

‘Winning Bid: BIGRED69’ “Uh...what happened? That’s not you, right?” Calum asked, tilting his head to look at your face, and the rage it contained. BIGRED69. He’d done it again. 

“Uh oh, Y/N - what’s wrong?” Ashton’s voice pulled you out of your internal screaming, and you looked up at him. 

“She’s losing her weeb shit at a heavy eBay loss” Calum answered for you, nodding solemnly as he pulled away from you, giving you room to bonk him with a cushion. “Oh! That’s too bad, but that’s another thing you and Mikey have in common!” Ashton beamed. “Mikey!” Oh no. Oh no, no.

“Yeah?” Michael sloped over, getting his black boot caught on the corner of the leopard print rug as he did. Ashton caught him with an ease you suspected (knew) came from practice. “Why don’t you take Y/N to see your anime dolls? She collects them, too!” Ashton looked so pleased with himself and his suggestion for further ‘bonding’ for you and Michael, and Michael looked like he’d been force fed raw lemon at the phrase ‘anime dolls’, so you let it go on your own behalf. Except now Michael was waiting expectantly for you to follow him to his room and Calum was shoving you off of the couch to get you moving. Fuck your life. You sighed as you got up and started walking. “Fine, let’s go; you can show me your Todoroki body pillow and then we can get on with our lives.” Michael let out a small hiss like an angry kitten, his cheeks colouring a pretty pink. He spared a glance at everyone left in your wake. “I, um, don’t have a body pillow, you guys.” “Suuuuure!” You rolled your eyes, waiting for Michael to enter his bedroom so you could follow. The blonde flicked the light on and moved slightly further in so you could pass him, before shutting the door with a small ‘click’. You decided not to comment on this action, looking around at the posters on the walls and figurines on the shelves instead. You were undecided on whether or not you were going to comment on how cool a lot of Michael’s shit was. A ‘Full Metal Alchemist’ poster over his bed, a full shelf of Funko Pops from movies you loved, framed prints of album artwork by Waterparks and The Maine. Fuck. You were really aware of Michael staring at you with an almost hopeful (?) look on his face as you let your eyes travel around his room before he could show you his ‘anime dolls’. Fuck. Your stomach felt fluttery, and you thought you might have a serious problem here, before you caught sight of a very different problem on Michael’s desk. 

A rare Kirishima Eijirou statue - box signed by the voice actor - you’d been outbid on last month. By BIGRED69. What were the chances a different one was sitting by Michael’s laptop?

“So,” You said, trying to keep your voice neutral and non-murderous. “Where do you get your collectibles from?” “Forbidden Planet, Tokyo Toys, eBay…” Michael rattled off, until you interrupted him. “Where did you get that one? Looks rare - it must have been difficult!” 

“Oh! eBay! It was, but I have an app for it, so…” Michael grinned, looking pleased with himself. An app? “An automatic bidding app? You sniped me?! That’s cheating!” You squeaked; you could not believe this. It was unbelievable.

Michael blinked at you, head empty. “BIGRED69?!” You managed to make the world’s stupidest screen name sound like a terrible accusation. Which it was.

Comprehension dawned on his stupid, beautiful face all at once. “Oh my God! That was you that I’ve been fighting for this stuff? No way! But you didn’t know it was me?”

“Why the hell would I know it was you!” You threw your hands up, and Michael just stared dopily back at you.

“‘Bigred69?! Obviously I assumed you were 12!” Michael let out a squawk of protest, before folding his arms defensively across his chest.

“Clifford!” “What?” Michael’s tone became more insistent. “My last name! Clifford!” You pulled an exaggerated ‘so?!’ face, throwing your hand in the air again. 

Michael had the unmitigated gall to huff, like you were the biggest idiot in the room; like he wasn’t always the biggest idiot in every room, all rooms, ever, in the history of rooms. “Clifford the Big Red Dog!” He said, insistence heavy in the words.

You often swore you could almost hear the old internet dial up tone trilling inside Michael’s brain when customers at the coffee shop asked him such difficult questions as “What dairy alternative milks do you carry?”, “Where is the bathroom?”, and even once - you swear - “What’s your name?”. In Michael’s defence, that last one had been asked in more flirtatious-than-not tone by a brunette who clearly had some kind of vision problem (he’d been dressed more horrendously than usual that day beneath his uniform apron; was that a utility vest?!), but had fluttered her eyelashes at your idiot colleague so hard, for so long, you’d been concerned she’d be leaving without what little vision she’d arrived with. But still. Idiot. Michael, not you. And yet, now it was you with your brain puttering through the information you had with the shrill electronic sound of the 90’s in your head. “Clifford the- are you for fucking real?” This could not be real life.

“It’s totally clever!” Michael asserted, continuing in earnest once you scoffed in reply. “No, listen! Because of Clifford, and also, I had red hair when I made it, and 69 is funny - it is! - and, well-” His face flushed slightly before he puffed his chest out a little, apparently deciding to commit to his defence of his screen name. “I’m big, so it works on like, loads of levels!” 

This could not be happening to you. You were decidedly not standing in the bedroom of a coworker you simultaneously couldn’t stand and also couldn’t stop thinking about kissing as you restocked the counter fridges in the evenings, as he explained that his auction site handle was a combination of a previous dye job, an insinuation about his dick and a massive fucking dog. You could not let Michael have the upper hand here, but you were floundering. So you fell into more familiar, more pathetic territory. 

“If you were called something like ‘deku-loving-loser’, then, sure - I would have known it was you!” “Who’s 12 now?!” “Uh, still you!” Okay, so this wasn’t your finest moment, but you were in it now. And you’d really wanted the Kaminari figure tonight. Michael didn’t even like him that much!

“The point is, you totally sniped me! And you get stuff about basic canon wrong! And your understanding of the characters is one dimensional! And, and...your hat is stupid!” Well, shit. In your defence, Michael’s hat was stupid. You could feel how hot your face was, and Michael’s eyes looking right at it was only making it worse. You couldn’t read his expression at all; he looked like he was searching for something, and you didn’t know what it was, or if he’d find it. You could only assume he had when he took the most decisive steps you’d ever seen him take, reaching you in two huge steps and cupping your face with both hands. Michael kissed in a way he didn’t do anything else; he felt sure and certain as he pressed his lips to yours, moving them with intent. Your brain became overtaken with television static almost immediately as you moved your mouth in time with his, opening your mouth immediately at the questioning press of his tongue. You had enough of yourself left aware to yank his stupid fucking hat off his head as you tangled your fingers in his blonde hair, Michael’s hands sliding down to clutch at your waist as you swayed with the kiss. As Michael pulled back ever so slightly, you took the opportunity to press your teeth into his plush bottom lip, the way you’d thought of doing in afternoon slumps on shift. The whine that came from deep in Michael’s throat made a split second decision for you. 

You pulled back further from Michael, yanking your top off in one go and starting in on the buttons of his black shirt before he fully registered the sight of your bra and the top of your full breasts.  

“Shit, Y/N, are you…” Michael trailed off as you pulled his sleeves down his arms, and the shirt off this body. Your eyes met his as you popped the button on his black jeans and placed your hand on his zipper. “Do you really want me to overthink this, Michael?” A moment’s pause, then he shook his head vigorously, leaning down to pull his boots off once you’d yanked his jeans to his knees. By the time he was left in his (funnily enough, black) boxer briefs, you’d discarded your own jeans and were knelt at the foot of his bed in your soft, lilac underwear. Michael’s breath hitched as his gaze drifted down your body, taking it all in under the artificial light of the room. “Get over here, Clifford…” You teased, trying not to second guess what was happening. Michael broke out of his trance and more or less threw himself onto the bed, settling his head on the pillows and pulling you on top of him for another kiss, and then another, and another. By the time you pulled back to catch your breath, your head was spinning. You braced yourself on your forearms on the bed, taking the time to admire Michael’s body beneath you. 

You’d seen the tattoos on his pale, strong arms before, but they looked different in this context; the contrast between the milky skin and dark ink made your stomach swoop. The blonde hair on his head is also a contradiction; to the dark hair on his chest and the hair trailing down his stomach and disappearing under his waistband. Your mouth felt very dry as you let your gaze continue downward, to the straining bulge beneath the fabric.

You flicked your eyes back to meet Michael’s in question, your fingers suddenly resting on the waistband of his underwear. Michael swallowed thickly, and then nodded once before fixing you with a gaze of pure anticipation. 

No use waiting around. You propped yourself up onto your knees over him and pulled on the fabric decisively, not stopping your motion until his underwear bunched up at his ankles. Holy shit.

You always knew Michael had to have at least one redeeming quality, and you’d finally found it. His cock was huge, hanging heavy and hard between his fuzzy thighs. The head was flushed the darkest pink you could ever remember seeing, and the slit was already shiny with precum. 

If a voice in your head that sounded unfortunately like Calum pressed that Michael had lots of qualities you secretly found redeeming, you ignored it in favour of getting straight to business.

“FUCK! FUCKIN-” 

Apparently, Michael hadn’t been prepared for you to take half of his impressive length into your mouth in one go. You sucked with intent, casting your eyes up to take in the sight of him. His pupils were already starting to blow, and you’d barely done anything. God, that was so sweet.

But then Michael threaded his fingers through your hair, his hand pressing ever so slightly into your scalp. The blonde wasn’t pushing down, but his grip was firm. You could feel the weight of his hand on the top of your head as you held his cock in your mouth, and that shit? Would not stand.

You grab the wrist brushing your hair a second before your other hand finds his idle one, fingers twisted loosely in the sheets. Once you’ve captured both wrists, you guide both to the same point above Michael’s hips, before slamming both into the mattress with purpose. 

If you’d had time to think about it, you’re not sure how you would have expected Michael to react. He didn’t really put out the energy of a man who’d properly fight you for control, either in a domineering way or with more of an air of fragile masculinity. Perhaps a bit of questioning but ultimately compliant as long as he got his dick sucked. But the wanton moan that kicked out of Michael’s chest as you settled into a tight grip on his wrists where you had them pinned on the sheets with intent? That was unexpected. That was interesting.   

Your mouth had remained still on his cock whilst you got his wrists pinned down, more cockwarming him than blowing him. But now you had him so pliant and under your control, it was go time. You pulled back up his cock, wrapping your lips tightly around the head of Michael’s cock, and sucked with gusto. Another groan from above you. You worked your tongue all the way around the head before pulling back enough to flick it into Michael’s sensitive slit. “Oh my fuuu- Y/N, God, I-” Michael was starting to writhe, his hairy legs rubbing into the sheets beneath you. You could feel his wrists moving along with the rest of his body, but you knew you’d made it clear you’d wanted him pinned, and he made no move to get his hand free. Good boy. You sank steadily back down Michael’s length, at least to the six inch mark, before pulling back up, hollowing your cheeks as you went. Back down a little further, then up, back to teasing the head, using your tongue. Michael couldn’t predict what you were going to do next, and it was clearly pushing all of his buttons. You could taste the precum that his cock kept kicking out into your mouth and throat, and see the flush spreading down his neck. By the time you’d pulled, drool beginning to build at the sides of your mouth, Michael was a mess, moaning as much as he was breathing. This could get addictive, you thought to yourself as you let your mouth drop to his balls, and your thumbs press into the pulse points on his wrists. You hummed before you released his left ball from your mouth with a wet pop, and that’s when Michael started begging. “Please, please, Y/N, I wanna-” he panted, cutting himself off over and over. “You’re so beautiful, lemme- God, fuck, it feels so amazing, you’re- I’ve been good, I’ll do anything, please…”

You pretend to consider his pleas as you dragged your tongue over his right ball, dipping into all the creases and leaving them wet behind you. Drawing back up onto your knees, you released one of his wrists so you could push his sweaty blonde bangs back from where it was plastered to his forehead, drinking in the vision before you. His green eyes were nearly completely black, blown out with arousal. The sheen on the skin of his face and body made him glow. His lips were chapped from his teeth tugging on them, and the pink of the matched the flush spread from his cheeks down his chest. And the wrist you were no longer restraining hadn’t moved a centimeter, still pressed firmly to the mattress. Michael was a good boy. And you knew how to treat good boys. With no preamble, you took Michael back into the wet heat of your mouth, relaxing your throat and not stopping until your nose was buried in the soft thatch of trimmed hair on his crotch. You took a moment to situate yourself and enjoy the deep whines bursting out of Michael’s throat into the quiet of his bedroom, before you began to move again, swallowing around his cock. You saw his thighs begin to tremble to the side of you before you heard him speak. “Fuck, fuck, Y/N, please, I’m gonna-” You hummed as hard as you could, pushing Michael’s wrists with that little bit more force into the bed as you did. Michael let out his loudest whine yet - bordering on a sob- as he came, shooting down your throat as he writhed beneath you. 

You swallowed everything he gave you, and when you were sure he was finished, you pulled off slowly, and gently, releasing his wrists as you stood back up on your knees.

Michael looked blissed out, staring dreamily up at you with bright, adoring eyes. He still was yet to move his hands. “Hey.” “Hi.” You smirked down at him. “I believe I heard something about you’d ‘do anything’?” You shot a quick glance at the figurine on his desk, and down at yourself. “I had some ideas…” 

collab masterlist • my masterlist

[supernaturalfreewill]

Words: 5,190 Demon!Dean x Reader Warnings: None really! A/N: This is part of a series! Read the other parts first! Part 1 :: Part 2 :: Part 3 :: Part 4 :: Part 5 :: Part 6 :: Part 7.

Your name: submit What is this?

Some years ago

“Fuck!” you slammed a hand against the steel door, but it was useless. You had heard the heavy bolt click into place clearly and with a resonate echo heavy with foreboding. You were trapped. “Goddammit!” You suppressed the urge to kick the door, knowing that at best you’d end up with a broken toe and no closer to freedom. “Now what? We honestly should have expected something like this from Bobby...”

Dean was moving around behind you, searching every square inch of the room for some hint of how to deactivate whatever panic button you and he had unknowingly switched on. “Yeaaaah. Should have predicted that we wouldn’t be able to swing by and a have a quick, flawless search.”

You leaned your back against the door and rested your head against it. “I figured it wouldn’t be flawless considering the sheer amount of papers and books in the house—it’s like searching for a needle in a haystack—but I did not expect to be locked in a windowless panic room.” You shut your eyes. “Fuck.”

Dean straightened up, disheartened. He scratched the back of his head and peered down at the panel he had just discovered. “Well… here’s something…” he said, but you noted that he didn’t sound particularly hopeful.

Dean blew out a long exhale and straightened up. Your hand dropped from his shoulder. “Yep. We are pretty fucked,” he agreed.

You stared up at the ceiling. “This has got to be solid iron. An underground panic room—no cell service. Complicated electrical panel. Probably requires a numeric password or something, which was known by one person who is now deceased. Guessing he probably also programmed it so we only are allowed a limited amount of wrong guesses before something horrible happens to us in here. Locked in,” you summarized, finally catching Dean’s eyes. “Great.”

Dean sighed again, at a loss for what to do next. “The downside is that this place was set up by Bobby. But… on the other hand, the upside is that this place was set up by Bobby,” Dean said, gesturing to the shelves stacked to the ceiling with supplies—jugs of drinking water, MREs, emergency blankets, flashlights and headlamps, sleeping pads, medical supplies, everything one could want while trying to surf out a zombie invasion or the apocalypse. There was even an actual bathroom, which you had both first mistook for being a closet.

“Wait—wait! What is that? What IS that?!” You said, pointing vehemently at a shape behind Dean so shrouded in dust it was almost camouflaged into the wall. “Is that a fucking landline?”

Dean followed your gaze. “It looks like it,” he said guardedly.

Then reality crashed down on you. The likelihood that that old line was still functional was probably in the 0.000 – 0.001% range. “Please tell me there is a dial tone,” you said, looking desperately at Dean.

He laughed gruffly. “I will bet you $500 that there isn’t.”

“Do you even have $500?” you countered.

“Thanks to Mr. Chip Killway and his checking account I have more than that,” he said with a smirk.

You laughed. “Chip Killway? What the hell kind of name is that?”

“I know, right?” Dean said. “I thought he sounded douchey. Makes me feel less guilty about stealing his money.” Dean stepped around some boxes and hovered a hand over the phone. “So, are you in? $500?” he joked.

“It’s somehow less enticing now that I know it isn’t your money,” you replied with a smirk.

“Alright—fine. If there IS a dial tone when I pick up this phone, I will take off all my clothes. If there isn’t, you take off all YOUR clothes.” He finished with a boyish smirk and wiggled his eyebrows at you. You crossed your arms and gave him an appraising look, trying to ignore the rush of heat you felt in your cheeks.

“How is that fair? I lose either way.”

“Oh! Ow! Ouch!” Dean dramatically clutched a hand to his chest, eliciting a light laugh from you.

“Would you just pick up the phone, you idiot?”

Dean lifted the mustard-colored, plastic receiver and held it up to his ear. “Nothing,” he said. “Sorry, Y/N. Time to get naked.”

“Dean!”

“I don’t make the rules—”

“You literally made up those rules—”

“Don’t hate the player—hate the game,” he said.

You rolled your eyes at him and sat down on a nearby crate. “Okay, Casanova. In all seriousness, what are we going to do here?”

“I think we only have one option.”

“Dean, if you say ‘get naked’ one more time I will shoot you with this flare gun—”

“God, get your mind out of the gutter, you perv. Jesus…” You chucked a package of dehydrated food at him and he laughed. “I was going to say ‘wait.’”

You groaned. “I was afraid you were going to say that. Sam won’t be here for another day or two and then who knows how long it’s going to take him to figure out a way to get us out of here.”

“Well… if he tries to call us and gets no answer he will probably get worried, and he’ll probably hurry…” Dean ran a hand through his hair and set aside his jesting at the worried expression on your face, your characteristic knit brow, with the little worry line appearing by your left eyebrow. “Hey. We’re fine. We’ve got everything we need in here—it’ll be okay.”

You chewed your bottom lip. That wasn’t exactly what had you so agitated. “I know. I know. We’re—we’ll be fine…”

Suddenly, the air was as thick as molasses as Dean and you both realized that you were trapped together in a confined space. Alone. Unlikely to be interrupted. For an extended period of time. The hair on the back of your neck stood up like a chill breeze had just rushed over your skin.

You’d spent time alone together before. Of course, you had… but there was always some life or death crisis to draw your attention or the chance that Cas or Sam would walk in at any moment. Or as soon as you started to feel—something—one or the other made some excuse to leave or break the tension or back away from it...

Even now just at the thought of it your heart was racing and you suddenly couldn’t think of a damn thing to talk about—to say to him.

You watched him looking over the contents of the shelves, the muscles in his back easily visible through his thin t-shirt as he moved boxes and bins around. You felt your cheeks grow warm. “Guess we have some time to kill,” he said, grabbing something from the top shelf and turning around, immediately catching your gaze. You both looked at each other for a moment and then down at the sleeping pad in his hands and back up at each other. You felt yourself blushing more fervently and quickly averted your eyes while Dean laughed nervously.

“Heh—for—for the floor. For sitting on! Um,” he scruffed a hand through his hair awkwardly, feeling heat rising in his chest. Smooth, Dean. Smooth. God, what was wrong with him? Suddenly he felt like a giddy school boy. Why did that always happen around you? He’d be fine one minute and then the next—BAM! His heart would start racing and he would suddenly be very aware of the color of your eyes and the sparks of light they threw and the shade of pink of your lips and their perfect Cupid’s bow and the way you would chew on the bottom one when you were thinking and— “Do you want one? To sit on?” he offered. You waved him off.

“Maybe later,” you said. There was a long silence and the air was still heavy as you avoided each other’s eyes, trying to think of something to say. You swallowed at the lump in your throat, willing it to disappear to no avail. What the fuck?! This was Dean! You’d lived in the bunker together for years! You’d seen each other on your worst and best days. You’d tolerated early morning and late-night bad moods. You’d patched each other up after hunts—though you admitted that the intimacy of that sometimes got to you. Christ, why did this always happen?? What was wrong with you?!

“Hey,” Dean said suddenly.

“Yeah?” You seized on it, hoping he had some topic of conversation in mind which would distract you from how goddamn green his eyes were.

“Wanna play a game?”

“…like?”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know.” He thought for a moment. “20 questions?”

You laughed. “What, are we eight?”

Dean laughed gruffly. “Alright. Fair… Umm… Never Have I Ever?”

“Isn’t that supposed to be a drinking game?”

He gave you a knowing smirk, and pulled a bottle of whiskey off a nearby shelf. “You’re goddamn right it is.”

You looked at him hesitantly, one eyebrow raised, studying him. “I don’t know…”

The green in Dean’s eyes seemed to spark. “Come on! It’ll be fun! I promise I will keep my hands to myself when you are inevitably waaay more intoxicated than me,” he grinned.

You raised an eyebrow and looked at him for a long moment. “Well… there’s nothing else to do. I guess this could be interesting,” you said.

Dean settled more comfortably on the sleeping pad he was sitting on. “Oh, yeah. I plan on finding out all kinds of new things about you,” he joked.

You laughed, but you did suddenly feel a little warm and you were quite sure your face was tinged pink. “Be careful. You might.” You wondered just what you were getting yourself into.

Dean gave you an unsure look, but smiled. “Okay. I’ll go first.” He thought for a moment and then cleared his throat. A wide smile grew on his face. “Never have I ever crashed my car into a fire hydrant.”

Your mouth dropped open. His expression was smug. “Hey, that was—I had a head injury!”

“So? You still did it. Drink!”

You bit your bottom lip and looked at him with a tight smile. “So, that is how you’re gonna play it, hmm?”

Dean laughed. The gruffness of his laugh with the way his eyes crinkled at the corners killed you every time. “That’s how I’m gonna play it.” He shrugged.

“Fine. Give me that,” you said, snatching the whiskey bottle from him with a sassy look and taking a sip. “My turn.” You seized him up with your eyes.

“Never have I ever… had a one night stand.” You punctuated the end of the sentence by shoving the whiskey bottle back at Dean and giving him a satisfied smile.

He took it begrudgingly but there was a curious expression on his face. “Wait… seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously,” you said. You felt your cheeks growing a little pink again. “What?”

Dean shrugged and took a swig from the bottle. “I don’t know. I’m just surprised I guess. I mean, you’re—” he cut himself off, and suddenly looked down at his feet. “Uhh…”

“I’m what?” you pressed him.

He shrugged. “I guess it’s just not your style,” he said. It wasn’t really a question. “Can’t imagine you never had the opportunity,” he said a little sheepishly, avoiding your eyes. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck nervously.

You nodded, catching his eyes again. The warmth in your face was growing and you were quite positive it was bright red. You fiddled with the hem of your shirt. “Yeah… Not my style. I’ve never been good at—at just sex.”

“You’re not good at sex?” he joked. “Damn, what a disappointment. Well, I could give you some pointers… Maybe help you practice—”

“Dean! You know what I said!” Dean laughed heartily and caught your eyes again. “Your turn, Winchester. What have you got?”

Dean decided to go a little more serious after that last one. “Right. Umm… Never have I ever—been to Prom?” He looked at you questioningly for a few seconds but you showed no sign of reaching for the bottle to take a drink.

You only gave him a small smile.

“Wow, I thought for sure I would get you on that one. You didn’t go to Prom?”

You shook your head. “Nope. No Prom.”

“Why not?” Dean asked, studying your expression.

Your eyes turned downward and for a moment Dean thought you were blinking back some emotion. In another second, you were back to your old self, giving him a sarcastic smile. “It’s called ‘Never Have I Ever,’ not ‘20 Questions’.”

Dean let you get away with the deflection, but he could sense that there was something there you were holding back… “Alright, alright. Um. Never Have I ever…” Dean snapped his fingers and pointed at you, “flirted with a bald valet for information!”

“What?! That is WAY too specific!”

“Hey, we didn’t lay out any ground rules! That is totally valid!” he argued back.

“That was for a case! You’re such an ass!” You grabbed another dried food packet and whipped it at him, catching him in the chest. Dean tossed his head back and laughed before shoving the whiskey bottle at you.

You snatched it and took a sip. “Oof,” you said, swallowing the burn in your throat. “Should have known Bobby would have booze in his end-of-days bunker.” You were definitely starting to feel that familiar giddiness, a warm buzz from the liquor.

“The man kept a well-stocked pantry, that’s for damn sure,” Dean said, admiration clear on his face.

“Never have I ever been arrested,” you said with a wide, satisfied smile. “I feel like you should drink like ten times for this one,” you said, handing the bottle back to Dean. His fingers brushed yours as he took it, rolling his eyes at you, and you startled a little at the contact. It was like a hot spark had jumped up your arm.

“In our line of work, if you haven’t been arrested, you’re doing something wrong,” he argued, pointing vehemently in your direction. He took a big swig and smacked his lips afterwards.

“Nah, I’m just a waaaay smoother talker than you. I should have been arrested,” you counted on your fingers, “six times.”

“Six?”

“Six. Also, it helps that I’m much, much cuter than you,” you said, wrinkling your nose at him.

A small smile accompanied by a peculiar expression came over Dean’s face. “I can’t argue with that…” he said.

You felt yourself blush and stood up. “Umm, bathroom break,” you said. Ugh. Chicken! you mentally scolded yourself. There you went again… as soon as you started to feel something you tucked your tail and ran the other way. What were you so afraid of?

“I’ll be here,” Dean replied, leaning back so he was laying flat on his back on the sleeping pad he had spread out.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“You’re drunk,” Dean accused you, laughing at how you had just slurred your words.

“You’re drunk!” you argued back, indignant.

“Not as drunk as you,” Dean said, shaking his head, a wide smile still on his lips. “Here. C’mere. Give me that,” he said, taking the whiskey bottle from you. Dean stood up and capped it, replacing it on a nearby shelf. “We need to get some food and some water in you,” he said. “Or you’re gonna have a wicked hangover tomorrow and I don’t want to be trapped in here with you in that state.”

“Whatever. I’m a delight,” you said.

Dean was digging through some of the dehydrated food packs on the shelves. “Do you want beef stew orrrr… hmm--beef stew?”

“I guess I’ll take beef stew.”

“Beef stew it is!”

You crossed the room to another set of shelves and stood on your tiptoes, trying to reach the sleeping pads and the sleeping bags, tired of sitting on a crate. Your balance, however, was somewhat compromised due the imbibed whiskey and you knocked a plastic water jug off a high shelf when you mis-stepped while reaching for what you wanted. “Shit!”

You ducked the water jug, but if Dean hadn’t quickly turned and steadied you, you would have been splayed out on the floor, possibly with a new bump on the back of your head. The cookware that had been in Dean’s hands was clattering and ringing on the floor harshly but the two of you were frozen. Dean’s hands were on your hips. He watched your lips part slightly and his heart was hammering in his chest. The way you were looking up at him, your eyes a little wide with surprise but fixated on his—he gulped at the sudden tightness in his throat. But he suddenly realized that the moment he should have let go of you was long past and he quickly withdrew. “You okay?” he asked.

You couldn’t get any words out as you stepped back from him and you only nodded.

He anxiously ran his fingers through his hair, still taking in your expression. “Heh—I told you you’re drunk.” He turned and grabbed a sleeping pad and sleeping bag for you from the shelf.

“Yeah. Thanks,” you said, still a little stunned. “Umm, you always did have good reflexes.” Dean clenched and unclenched his hands a couple times, trying to shake the tingly feeling in his fingers.

He nodded. “No problem.”

Dean picked up the cookware and you set up the sleeping pad and sleeping bag on the floor, trying to get as comfortable as you could. You felt suddenly sober and you couldn’t figure out if it was almost cracking your head open or Dean’s hands on your hips that had done it… but you suspected the latter. You could still almost feel the weight of them on you and god, your heart was absolutely pounding.

A half hour later you and Dean had both eaten and he had insisted on continuously refilling your cup with water. You did the clean up after your camp-style dinner and when you finished you noticed Dean flopped down on his sleeping pad, paging through a book.

You sank down next to him. “What’s that?”

He flipped another page, a vague crooked smile growing on his face. “I haven’t seen this in… probably ten, maybe fifteen years,” he said. He partially closed it so you could see the cover.

“Monsters and Myths,” you read aloud.

“When Sammy and I were little, my Dad would drop us off here at Bobby’s if he had a hunt he didn’t want us anywhere near, or if there was a job in the area. I would sneak this book off the shelves and we’d stay up late looking through it, reading about all the monsters and talking about how Dad would take them down—whether he had ever fought any of them for real. It used to scare the crap out of us,” he laughed gruffly.

“It’s kind of still scary now,” you said. “Knowing a lot of these probably do actually exist.” You leaned toward him to read the entry he was on about Kludde, a Flemish beast from Belgian folklore that wandered the countryside in the form of a massive, winged, black wolf.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “It’s weird though. I wonder why Bobby chose this out of all his books as one to bring into the panic room,” he said.

“If I had to guess, I’d say it’s because he had memories about it just like you do. Nothing got past Bobby. I’m sure he knew you used to sneak it off the shelves.” Dean looked over at you and met your eyes. You were side by side, both laying spread out on the floor. You were close. Your faces were only a few inches apart, both propped up on your elbows. “Probably some of his fondest memories of Little Dean and Little Sammy,” you said with a small smile. “They would be good company if the world outside was burning.”

Dean felt like he melted. He loved that little smile—it filled your whole face with light and warmth. It felt like all the air in the room had stopped moving and the stillness was electric. You held his eyes as long as you dared before you shyly blinked away and looked down at your hands. But Dean was still studying your face, and he turned more toward you.

“Will you tell me?”

You gave him a questioning look.

“About Prom. Why you didn’t go.”

Your brow automatically drew down over your eyes and your lips pouted in a soft frown. You considered his question for a long moment, and then spoke with some effort. “My dad was sick,” you said with a sad smile, your eyes a little misty. You shrugged. “Prom wasn’t important.”

Dean easily recognized the grief in your eyes. “I’m sorry. What was it?”

You cleared your throat to ease the tightness from emotion there. “Pancreatic cancer. He passed away the summer before my senior year in high school.”

“God, I’m sorry.” Dean watched you fighting emotion.

You nodded and forced yourself to heave in a shaky breath. “Yeah. It was hard.”

“You never said anything to me or Sammy before.”

You shrugged. “It’s still hard to talk about. And—everyone has lost someone one way or another.” Your eyes found Dean’s again and you felt a chill, or electricity run up your back.

Suddenly, Dean reached up and gently moved a stray strand of hair away from your face, his fingers gentle on your skin. His eyes seemed to be flitting between yours and your lips and you felt like there was something pulling you toward him—something magnetic, and you wanted to give into it so badly. You were teetering on the edge. You subconsciously bit your bottom lip and that’s when Dean couldn’t stand it anymore. He closed the distance between the two of you, his lips meeting yours, and you leaned into him desperately, feeling his hand gently cupping your face, his fingers trailing softly down your neck. That kiss stoked a wave of warmth in your chest and you relished his lips on yours, soft at first, but growing more pleading, more passionate, almost desperate, like a dam had broken.

But all of a sudden, Dean pulled back and his eyes were searching your face, his lips still just inches from yours. “Wait—” he said, his voice a little raspy, “—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—you’re drunk.” It took every ounce of his willpower to break contact with you.

You couldn’t have looked away from his green eyes if you had wanted to, the fire in them was all consuming. “No,” you said vaguely, breathlessly, one corner of your mouth curving up in a smile. “I’m not anymore.”

That was all Dean needed to hear. “Oh, thank God.” He crashed into you again, even more hungrily now and you gave in, eagerly wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling his hands in your hair and tracing your curves. Soon you were both pressed together completely, your legs tangled with his. Dean’s tongue flitted over your bottom lip. You parted yours and he kissed you more deeply, with more fire. And then he was over you and you were flat on your back. You slipped one hand barely underneath the hem of his shirt and your fingers floated over his skin, across his back, tickling at his hip, sending tingles up his spine, making him smile into the kiss. Dean slid a hand over the silky skin on your arm, pressing it up over your head, lacing his fingers with yours, kissing you more insistently, his hips pressing into you.

You slid your fingers into his hair and were lost. Both of you were lost in that kiss—it was fireworks, it was heat, it was—it was so much better than either of you could have guessed. It was effortless, kissing him. Your lips and bodies moved in sync without thought.

Finally, Dean’s kiss grew softer again and he pulled away just enough to look into your eyes. Both of you were out of breath, and smiles grew on your faces. You felt your cheeks coloring bright red, and you bit your bottom lip. Dean rested his forehead against yours and he shut his eyes, still riding the wave of that high.

“That was…” but he didn’t even have a word for it.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“I—I better just try to be a gentleman and stop here or I will not be responsible for my actions,” he said with a gruff laugh, repositioning from where he was over you to lay down next to you again.

You were still trying to catch your breath, staring straight up at the ceiling.

Dean couldn’t take his eyes off you and he studied your profile, the gentle slope of your nose, the way your eyelashes whisked upwards away from your cheeks. “I wish I had done that a long time ago,” he said quietly.

You turned to look at him with a small, shy smile. “Me too,” you laughed, feeling a wave of heat in your chest. Dean could see you flush and he leaned in again to give you one last soft kiss—this one sweet and slow.

Neither of you wanted to say anything more. You just wanted to drink each other in. It was perfect—it was vulnerable and intimate and honest. After a little while, Dean grabbed the book again and with a tilt of his head and an outstretched arm as an invitation, you cuddled close and watched as he paged through the old volume.

Some time later, you were both asleep--Dean’s arm under and wrapped around you and your head on his shoulder and a hand gentle on his chest.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You startled awake the next morning to a banging sound followed by a familiar voice.

“DEAN!”

It was, unmistakably, Sam.

You and Dean both sat up stock straight. “Sam?”

“DEAN! Can you hear me?!”

You looked up toward the source the sound. “It’s coming through that vent,” you said, climbing to your feet. “SAM! WE’RE DOWN HERE!”

“Y/N? IS DEAN WITH YOU? WHAT’S GOING ON?”

“I’M HERE, SAM! WE’RE STUCK IN BOBBY’S FUCKING PANIC ROOM!”

“WHAT?”

“BOBBY’S. FUCKING. PANIC ROOM!”

This was followed by more loud banging sounds and some sort of metallic clanking and squealing.

“Can you hear me better?” Sam’s voice was clearer.

“Yes! Sam, thank God,” you yelled back. “We were worried you wouldn’t be here for another day or more!”

“I tried calling both of you like ten times with no answer! I got worried.”

“Awesome. Now, figure out how to get us out of here,” Dean chimed in.

“Uhh…How?”

“We tripped the system somehow. There’s some kind of computer panel in here. Maybe there’s another one outside or in the house somewhere. Maybe you can hack it somehow and override the lockdown?” you offered.

“Alright… I’ll see what I can do. Just sit tight.”

Dean caught your eyes and laughed wryly. “Not like we have any other choice, right?” he said. That was the first time since you had woken up to the chaos from Sam that the two of you had really looked at each other. You immediately felt your cheeks flush. Dean’s lips curved in a gentle smile as he took in your bashfulness. “How’s your head?”

You nodded. “Fine. How’s yours?”

“Just fine,” he said, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. He nervously rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “So… that really happened, right?”

“What?”

He cleared his throat at averted his eyes back up toward the vent Sam had been talking to you through. “I mean—last night—we totally made out. I didn’t… dream that?”

You bit your bottom lip and smiled nervously. “We… definitely made out…”

Dean gave you one of his classic boyish grins. “Awesome.”

Sam was surprisingly fast at cracking the system, with a little help from Charlie over the phone. He had you and Dean out within an hour. You grinned at him as he finally pulled the door open from the outside.

“Hey,” he said. “You two interested in rejoining the world?”

You laughed and gave him a quick hug. “Our hero,” you said.

Dean patted Sam’s shoulder as he stepped past him. “Way to go, Sammy.”

Sam stepped forward to peer inside the panic room. “Geez. Well, it looks like you had everything you needed. Bobby was always prepared for anything. How long were you stuck in there?”

You checked the time on your phone. “About 18 hours.”

Sam laughed. “Yikes. What the hell did you do to pass the time?” He turned toward you and Dean again, shutting the door behind him. You were willing your cheeks not to turn red. Based on Sam’s curious expression and Dean’s unwillingness to meet his eyes, you were pretty sure Sam knew something was up. He raised his eyebrows. “What’s with you two?”

“What? Nothing,” Dean said. “Let’s get out of here.”

Dean turned away to head back up the root cellar stairs into the streaming sunlight and Sam gave you an inquisitive look. You awkwardly cleared your throat and avoided his questioning eyes. “Ready?”

“…Sure,” he agreed. He followed behind you, but he could sense that something had changed between you and Dean.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Current day

You sat sideways in what once was Crowley’s throne, legs draped over one arm of the seat. The heavy door to the room was shut to drown out the sounds of Hell. There was a laptop in your lap and you opened a web browser. “Huh. Hell has surprisingly good Wifi,” you wondered aloud to yourself. “Now, to find who is next… You searched through recent court case acquittals until the squeaking of metal hinges interrupted your attention. You sighed heavily but didn’t look at the demon who had just entered. “What?” Your tone was bored, cold.

“We--we think we’ve found it,” the demon stuttered out.

You sat up straight, swinging your feet to the floor. “Well?” you prodded.

“We can take you there.”

You rose from the throne completely and locked your eyes on the demon. “And he’s there?”

Something which looked an awful lot like terror was on the demon’s face, but he nodded.

”Take me there,” you demanded. “It’s time I meet Lucifer for myself.”

[soyforramen]

BHDC Day 2

Day 1 Here

Graduation

It didn’t really matter, he reminded himself.  It was just college graduation.  And it wasn’t as if he’d be able to use the degree, being a vampire and, oh, right, majoring in Victorian Lit.  Not much of a market for vampires who fit the Byronic tropes, after all.

Jughead waited in the arena lobby, hoping to see a hint of flaming red hair or over worn flannel.  Happy families swarmed around him, their emotions palpable and overwhelming.  Any other time he’d have been bowled over by the sheer force of emotions surrounding him, the smell of life thick on his tongue.  Instead he was focused more on his own dreary thoughts.  

He’d finally graduated after six long years of late nights, early mornings, and a lot of odd jobs to pull together the money for the ridiculously priced classes.  And he was alone again without anyone there to cheer him on.  It was something he’d grown accustomed to - first his parents, then his sister, then Toni.  But it still stung when the two people who’d always been there for him, no matter the circumstances, were missing.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he could have done this himself.  Not without -

His junky old phone chimed and he answered, turning into an alcove to block some of the noise.

“Jug.”

Fred’s familiar voice was soothing, enough to quell Jughead’s morose thoughts.  That was dashed quickly when Fred continued, his voice tight with worry.

“You haven’t seen Archie, have you?”

Worry grew, its small, biting teeth cutting through Jughead’s stomach.

“No, I thought he was with you guys.  He hasn’t responded to any of my texts.”

“Mine either.”  

Jughead could imagine Fred pacing the floor and rubbing at his forehead.  A single father, he’d never been comfortable without hearing from Archie.  And when Jughead unofficially joined the fold, Fred had worried just as much, if not more, about him.

“He’s done this before,” Fred continued.  “But never for this long.”

“He texted me a few nights ago.  He’d mentioned a club, but -“

“Did he mention the name?”

Jughead shook his head, guilt over not getting more information.  “No, just that he’d met someone.”

“Thanks, Jug.  And I’m sorry we missed it.”

“I would have missed it too if I’d known -“

“No, I didn’t want you missing your big day.  I’m sure I’m just being a worry wart and Archie’s off somewhere chasing some girl …” Fred trailed off.

The silence between them stretched on as families posed for pictures and made plans for lunch.  In any other reality that could have been him.  His parents, smiling and proud, JB teasing him.  But in this one he only had himself, and the Andrews to rely on.

“What can I do?”

“Not much right now.  Archie will call,” Fred said with a certainty that felt forced.  “Rain check on the celebration?”

Jughead agreed, and they hung up, each promising to let the other know when - if - they heard from him.  He wandered around after that, lost in his thoughts.  Archie was a rover, sure.  But he’d never leave like that, not without letting Fred or Jughead know where he was going.  Werewolves were pack animals and they were always in constant communication with the other.  If one went silent, something had to be wrong.

It occurred to him, as he wandered through the arena, that there was one person who could track Archie down.  Someone who owed him, majorly.  The same person he’d sworn never to talk to for the rest of his life.

With nothing else to go one, and trusting that Fred had tracked down every lead, it was a sacrifice Jughead had to make.

His phone rang through to voicemail and he cringed at the sugary sweet message.  Everything about it made him want to hang up.  It wasn’t as if he couldn’t do this alone; if anyone could find Archie, it was Jughead.  They’d grown up together and knew each other better than their own self.

It was a self-soothing lie and he knew it.

The message cut off and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Veronica.  It’s Jughead.  I’m calling in that favor.  Meet me at the diner off East Riverdale, at sun down.”

Now all he had left to do was wait.

Two Truths and a Lie

“Well?”  

The fae grinned, smug in its little game.  

Betty scowled at it and shifted against her bonds.  There was little worse than fae - self-assured tricksters, liars, and thieves - and yet she’d had to deal with far too many of them to get to this point.  If this is what it took to find Polly, she’d damn well better get more at Christmas than a hand-made scarf and a store bought card.

“Just tell me where my sister is, you weirdo.”

Reggie chuckled and leaned forward in his seat.  He curled a lock of her ponytail around his finger, and Betty almost fell over trying to jerk away from him.

“Oh come on, Betts.  I thought you enjoyed our tete-a-tetes.”  

“I don’t have time for this Reggie.  Polly is missing.”

He raised an eyebrow.  “Did you check with her new beau?”

Betty narrowed her eyes.  “Polly hasn’t dated anyone since -“

He hummed.  “I thought you two told each other everything.”  

Reggie examined his fingernails as the realization hit her.  The late nights, sneaking out, hiding her phone, clandestine calls.  It all made sense now why Polly had gone distant the month before her disappearance.

“That bitch,” she muttered, pained by her sister’s betrayal.  Betty had done all this, asked favors from all her contacts, joined up with a vampire for Gaia’s sake, and all because Polly decided to go on a mini-honeymoon with some man!

They told each other everything, and Polly didn’t even hint that she was seeing someone.  Secrets, lies, hopes, fears; nothing was unknown between them.  Polly even knew about her unintelligible crush on Mary Shelley!  

With one single, huge, looming, omission, Polly had broken ties with her, casting her on the same level as their mother.  They were sisters, in blood and magic.  The whole coven was in uproar over her disappearance and yet -

Reggie snapped to bring her attention back to him.  He preened when he saw her turn towards him.

“You can stew later, Betty.  I’m right in front of you, and I’d hate for you to lose this visual opportunity.”

She rolled her eyes but forced her indignation to the back of her mind.  Reggie might be a swell enough guy, for a faery, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t the most narcissistic man she’d ever met.

“Fine.  What else do you know about my sister.”  She cut him off before he could be coy about fae rules.  “And what do you want in return?”

He held up two fingers.  “Two truths,” he paused to hold up one more finger on his other hand, “and a lie.  I get to determine which is the lie.  If I’m right, you stay here and entertain me for a while.  If I’m wrong, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Betty huffed, ready for this to be over with.  She’d spent far too long here trying to assuage Reggie’s vanity and Jughead had probably gotten bored and wandered off by now.  

“Fine.”

“What’s your relationship with the odd-ball outside?”

“Business.”

Reggie raised an eyebrow and Betty fought back a groan.  Of course that wouldn’t be enough.  Fae were the biggest gossips in the underground that the appearance of anyone outside of their regular patterns drew the curiosity of all.

“His best friend went missing at the same time and same place my sister did, The Woods two weeks ago, and we’re trying to find them.”

Reggie seemed to accept that answer, mulling it over in his mind.  “Truth.  Question number two.  How far have you two gone?”

Flashes of crimson light, teeth grazing her neck, early morning sunlight in an unfamiliar bed…

“We can’t stand each other to be in the same room.  He’s almost bit me twice -“

“Kinky.”

“- and I tried to catch him on fire.”

Well, she didn’t try to catch him on fire.  Not entirely.  She’d warned Jughead three times not to cross the lines.  

Reggie mulled her answer over like a fine wine.  Betty hadn’t quite followed the rules of the game; her answer wasn’t quite a lie, but it also wasn’t entirely the truth.  

“I’ll decide that one in a minute.  Question three: When was the last time you thought of me naked?”

Betty’s cheeks flushed and she cursed herself for not seeing this coming.  Her ex always had been fond of riling her up, but she didn’t think Reggie would take the opportunity to do so now.  

“Before we came to see you,”  she blurted out, knowing it was a lie.  

She hadn’t thought about Reggie in any way other than an information source, not since her excursion into the Vixen’s Den.  Whatever spell they’d put on her there, she hadn’t thought about Reggie until this morning.  Even then he was just a means to an end.  Any lurid thoughts she might have had ran towards the darker, colder side of the world.

Still, Reggie seemed pleased with her answer.  Ego stroked, he couldn’t help but smirk.  “That’s the truth,” he said confidently.

The bindings around her fell away, and his face turned into the true mask of the fae.  Elongated and wrinkled, it looked more like an old wooden mask than a creature claiming humanity.  At the fear in her eyes he took a deep breath, his face returning to its normal handsome countenance.

“All right.  A deal’s a deal.  I’ll tell you what I know about your sister,” Reggie promised.  

Betty breathed a sigh of relief.  As annoying, frustrating, and untruthful as the fae were, at least he was bearable.

Chatroom/Discord Server

“They responded.”

Betty surged forward, the coffee in her hand barely surviving the movement.  She crowded next to him on the couch their knees knocking together.  Jughead instinctively moved away and rebalanced the distance between them.  There were rules about these things. Rules that polite society dictated, and vampires were sticklers for polite society.  Something to do with longevity, he supposed.  

This witch seemed to throw all those rules out the window.  Perhaps the covens had different rules, but regardless.  There were rules.

She ignored, or perhaps didn’t even recognize, his distaste, her eyes fixed on the screen.  

“Tell them I’m Polly’s sister,” she ordered in response to the on screen question.

Jughead rolled his eyes but did as told.  Bossy as she was, her ideas had worked so far.  Well, all except the one with the ice cream and motor oil.  He’d never get that stain out of his hat.  

A thinking bubble came up on screen, then disappeared, as the person on the other end wrote and deleted their message.  For a long time the screen was blank and he let out a heavy sigh.  Betty stared at the screen and worried at her bottom lip.  

She smelled like coffee now, the lavender and rosemary long gone.  Cheap, burnt coffee from an overpriced cafe.  Nothing like what he’d drunk when he was alive.  It had been one of his vices, the one thing he was willing to pay far too much of his precious earnings for.   He wondered what it would taste like now, whether it would be as bitter as it smelled, or whether the taste of her lips -

The computer dinged and he shook himself out of it.  These strange feelings bothered him; the sooner they figured this out the quicker he could go back to his mostly solitary life and away from this witch trying to draw him under her spell.

She glanced at him, waiting for his reaction.  “Well?”

He shrugged and leaned back against the couch trying to discreetly read the screen.  

“Anyplace we suggest they’ll likely turn down unless it’s clandestine.  If this is who really is behind the disappearances they’re not going to want to take the chance of getting caught.”

Betty’s face fell and she pulled at the sleeves of her sweater.  It stung to see her like that, and he reminded himself he was here for Archie, not some strange puppy crush.  

Wait.

“The South Side park, just off of West 9.”

She glanced up at him, a moue on her face that made him want -

“Isn’t that were territory?”

He nodded.  

“And you’re …?”

He nodded again.  “It’s … complicated.”  She gave him a look, one he was quickly learning she was filing information away for later, but thankfully didn’t ask anything else.

“Noon, tomorrow at the abandoned parking structure,” she said.

Jughead’s fingers flew over the keyboard and, with a final glance at Betty, the message was sent.  This time, the answer came right away.

They both breathed a sigh of relief at the response.  For the first time in a month, the tension eased from Jughead’s body and he allowed himself a moment of relaxation.  

“So, you and werewolves?”

He rolled his eyes and stood.  “Noon, tomorrow,” he reminded her before walking out of the cafe.

[psyleedee]

Sweet, Spice and Everything Not Nice.

(Inspired by the iconic™ hot chilli Jen/Danneel/Misha moment but Destiel).

dean/castiel, secret relationship, accidental coming out, crack, humor, implied blowjobs, poor sammy.

-2k words.

-psyleedee.

There's a new diner opened up just a mile away from the Bunker, and already, Dean has heard so much about it. Last Tuesday, when he went for a milk run and stumbled into Ms. Davey, she was strangely keen about the new chilli poppers the diner was serving. Dean had smiled and brushed her off with a sure, I'll try it out, and he'd gone his way. Come Thursday, he'd stumbled into Chris, the local pawn shop owner, and they'd fallen into easy conversation, before Chris had spoken up about the diner. Said they had the best damn chilli poppers he'd ever seen. Dean didn't need anymore convincing.

Turns out Sam did.

And after weeks of goading Sam and riling him up to the point where he slammed a fist on the table and said Jesus Christ, Dean, you say the word chilli poppers again and I'll shove one right up your ass, Dean had succeeded. So what if it meant his dignity had crumbled to ash? At least he'd get to eat some good, greasy food, the one he's been craving for so long.

Besides, he oughta' take Cas out on a date too.

Ever since they ended up drunk in bed one long, fateful night ago, things have been slightly different between the two of them. For starters, they smile at each other a lot. Even when they're not looking at each other in tandem. They always end up on the same side of the couch or the dining table, thighs pressed together, hands brushing. They argue a lot, over the most mundane things, like washing the dishes or doing the laundry, but sometimes, after a hunt, when Dean is gushing blood, there will be this one broken glint in Castiel's eyes when he tries to heal him. And that night, they'll make slow, gentle love in Dean's car, away from the rest of the world.

However, there's a slight catch.

Sam doesn't know. He knows nothing. At least Dean hopes so.

And hey, not like they're trying to hide stuff from Sam, 'cause come on, they're practically breathing up each other's neck with only the three of them in the bunker, but it's just that Dean has a specific plan in his mind.

A plan about coming out to his brother. And it'll be heartfelt, of course, 'cause this is not just him establishing his relationship with Castiel, but also him coming out as bisexual. Sure, forty's a little late to figure out your sexuality, but better late than never, yeah?

So that's how it goes.

Maybe they can have a nice, brotherly chat over beer and chilli poppers.

"So, here we are. At last," Castiel says, as they stand against the Impala, all three of them, studying the creaky wooden sign which reads: Donny's Diner– home to the famous Habanero Chilli Poppers.

Okay. They're at the right place then.

"Habanero? Is that like, hotter than jalapeños or somethin'?"

Dean asks, as he stuffs his hands into the pocket of his jacket, and glances at his brother.

"I don't know," Sam says, so Dean turns to Cas, who almost passes as a rugged, buff lumberjack with the way Dean's flannel and AC/DC shirt hug his chest. He has his arms folded across him, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes as he studies the diner.

"I was too busy leading armies in Heaven to really pay attention to the chillies on earth."

"God," Dean sighs, exasperated, "-just say no."

Castiel's lips twitch in the slightest of amusement, and Dean hates the smug look spread across Castiel's face.

Okay, fine, he loves it.

Whatever.

"Let's go eat some fucking chilli poppers," Sam sighs, and Dean, ever ready, follows behind him. Castiel joins them, and all three men enter the diner, which in truth, is a normal, rustic style place. The tables are wooden, the chairs quite simple, a single order station at the front, and a few women, dressed in black shirts and jeans, running around with trays in their hands. It seems casual and laid-back, just the way Dean likes a diner to be, and at once, he quirks his bottom lip, already impressed by the minimal decor and the light chatter in the diner.

"Hi!"

Both Cas and Dean jump a little at the loud, enthusiastic, squeaky voice from in front of them, and standing before them is a young, short woman, with a pixie cut and cute, black-rimmed glasses on her nose. She reminds Dean of a high schooler. Maybe she is.

"Erm, hey."

"I'm Dana, and I'll be your server today. Follow me please, I'll grab you guys a seat."

Dean smiles at her, and the trio follows her along to a booth at the corner of the room. Sam slides in one side, while Castiel and Dean slip in across him. Dana allows them to settle for a moment before piping up again. Seriously this girl has got some real hard enthusiasm for a waitress.

"So, do you guys have anything in mind already? Since a lot of people come in here for the poppers, but if you want, I can get you the menu."

Dean shares a look with Sam. Dean shares a look with Cas.

We'll have the poppers. Oh, and uh, Dana, are the poppers uh, spicy? Like, reeealll spicy? Or spicy spicy?"

Dana chuckles, and shrugs.

"On a scale of one to ten, I'd say a solid eight. But you don't need to try them if you don't want to. We have normal jalapeño poppers. Those aren't as spicy."

"We'll have the really spicy ones, since Dean has been so insistent about them," Castiel says, and the waitress nods. He turns to Dean with a challenging spark in his eyes, "-or are you scared, Dean? I mean, you haven't been known to be quite tolerant towards chillies."

"Shaddup," Dean grumbles, and watches as Sam sends him a silly look, before turning to the waitress.

"The habanero poppers, please."

Sam smiles, and the waitress walks away with a brief nod.

Dean turns back to Sam, who fixes him a dry glare, before turning to Cas.

"Alright, I'm gonna' go use the restroom for a minute," He says, and glances at Dean, after which he proceeds to slide out of the booth and walk away.

Alone at last.

Dean shifts his weight onto a single thigh and turns in his seat to face Castiel. Castiel looks at him with a soft, tender expression, before reaching out to twine their fingers together.

"Are you happy, Dean?"

"'Course I am, Cas. Are you?"

"With you I always am."

"Sap."

"I prefer the term honest."

A smile spreads across both of their faces, before Dean leans in, and presses his lips to Castiel's, who melts at once, giving in to Dean, hands grazing Dean's jaw as they kiss, tender, longing, passionate, hot... Okay too hot, abort, abort.

Dean clears his throat and backs away, glancing around the diner to find a few curious pair of eyes on them, and he sends each one a glare, linking his arm around Castiel's back to show them what's theirs. Castiel shakes bis head with a hopeless smile, and steals a peck off Dean's lips, just in time, since Sam returns not a moment later.

Dean jerks his hand away. Castiel seems a bit hurt.

"So, what'd I miss?"

"Nothing," Castiel scoffs, and looks away, setting his chin on his fists on the table.

Sam looks between Dean and Castiel, and as much as Dean hates the way Sam is suspicious, he doesn't say much.

Patience, Sammy, patience. Dean's going to come out soon. He promises. Or something.

Dana returns just in time to soothe the rising tension at the table, and at once, the prominent scent of spices, oil, and chilli wafts around them, tickling Dean's nostrils in the best of ways, and he follows his nose to find a steaming, hot plate of sizzling habanero poppers held in Dana's hand. There's almost eight to nine poppers on the plate, and each one looks downright delectable.

"Alright, I would advise you to grab yourself some water, because these can be very spicy, and we don't want another paramedic in this diner."

"You have a paramedic in this diner?"

Dean asks, incredulous as he stares at the plate of poppers.

Dana laughs. "Uh-huh, over there, that's Kenny, he's the medic."

"Woah."

Castiel sighs, and watches as the waitress sets the tray down before them.

"Anything else I can get you? Besides a huge jug of water?"

Dana smirks, and all three men gulp at once, eyes fixed to the plate of poppers.

Man up, Winchester.

"Nothing, honey."

Dean smiles, and Dana returns it before walking away.

Now.

The poppers.

Before Dean can even speak, both Sam and Castiel are swiping their hands at one, holding it up and staring down at it.

"Guys, I don't think that's it's a good idea to–"

Gone. The poppers are gone. The ones in Sam's and Castiel's hand? Gone. In their mouths.

Dean stares, wide eyed, awestruck, torn between looking at Sam and Castiel, but then–

"Oh my god," Castiel gasps, mouth stuffed full, chewing on the popper, and Dean watches as his fists clench on the table.

Yup. Dean is not touching those poppers with a ten-foot pole.

"Jesus," Sam mutters, and holy shit, the guy's actually red, and fuck, so is Cas, they're literally burning red at the cheeks and the nose, and Sam's drooling, wiping his nose, there's tears at his eyes, Castiel is swatting the table, groaning, tears streaming down his face as he chews on the popper–

This is a fuckfest.

"Dude, what's happening?"

Dean yelps, shrinking away from his brother and boyfriend, as they pant, gasp and cry.

"Hot, hot, hot– too hot," Sam cries out, and Dean almost feels bad for the bugger. Serves them for being impatient.

"Dean, oh my god, argh, hot, hot, this is the hottest thing I've ever put in my mouth?!"

Castiel screams out, banging his fist on the table, and yes, Dean knows the time isn't right, but obviously Castiel has had hotter things in his mouth before, and those things are sitting right next to him, so how dare he.

"Excuse me?" Dean scoffs, to which Castiel sends him a dry, enraged glare.

"Food, Dean! Food."

Castiel squawks, and slaps the table, but a loud, deafening yelp catches both of their attention.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!"

Sam bellows, and oh. Oops.

"I don't wanna' listen to you talk about your sex life when I'm literally dying?! Dean, what the fuck are you sitting for, ask for some water?!"

Wow. This Sam is... Not nice.

Dean falters, trapped between two impatient, burning, overreacting men, and he rises up from his seat, watching as Dana scurries towards them with a water jug, but she doesn't even have a moment to react before Castiel is snatching it out of her hands and oh, oh god.

Castiel holds the jug above his face, and Dean jumps away from the table as the water gushes out, pouring into his mouth, over his shirt, everywhere, and before Castiel can even quench his thirst, Sam is grabbing the jug, pouring it over his face just like Castiel, the water drizzling every where, and a horrified, stricken Dean simply glances up at Dana, who seems... Strangely calm.

"Oh, it's more common than you think. I'm used to it," She says, and Dean wonders vaguely, if they're paying her enough for this, before providing help in the most menial form ever, by tossing his handkerchief to Castiel.

"You, Dean, are not getting away with this. You're the reason we almost died?!"

He growls, and yanks Dean onto the chair.

"Dude, I didn't ask you to pop it into your mouth literally a second after it came out."

Dean yells, shrugging away in defense, when a loud gasp draws their attention to Sam.

"You guys are fucking each other?"

Oh. Uhm. Cat's out.

"Yes, we're fucking each other, Sam, now could you pass that jug over here?"

Dean stares at the two of them, completely normal, going about passing the between the two of them.

That was... Not how he planned on coming out. Nope.

"Yeah, uh, Sam, Cas and I are dating. And uhm, I'm bi."

Sam shrugs, and holds the jug above his face, when it seems to click him.

"Wait. Was I not supposed to know that?"

Dean rolls his eyes.

"No, you weren't. How'd you know?"

Sam laughs.

"I don't know, maybe the oh my god, faster Dean, or the oh, you feel so good, coming from your room each night might have something do with it."

Dean blushes. Hard. Too hard. Castiel doesn't seem the slightest bit bothered. I mean, well, save for the water he's practically guzzling down.

"Whatever."

Dean grunts, and slides back in next to Castiel, who pushes the jug away, and slumps back against the booth.

Silence follows both Sam and Castiel's heavy pants.

Only for Castiel to grin again.

"That was awesome, I'm trying another."

[floatingpetals]

Call Of The Mountains || Ch. 1

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes (Werewolf AU!)

Warnings: Nothin

Word Count: 1700+

Summary:  (Werewolf-AU!Stucky x f!reader) Life had begun to overwhelm her. Work was insane and her life was a mess. There was a tug in her soul that called her to take this trip, deep into the forest away, where there was the peace and stillness of nature. She didn’t know why, but she knew she needed to listen. It was meant to be a relaxing trip, but one misstep on some moss sent her tumbling into the rapids of the flooded river. She thought she was gone and the earth decided it was time to reclaim her. She didn’t expect was to be pulled from the river nor the creature that saved her. Her entire world is turned upside down and all it took was an accidental step to the left. (18+ Only Story)

A/N: Aight, so this is one I’ve been wanting to write for a while but made myself wait until I got a few stories done. Now that’s done, I can write this! It’s gonna get spicier in later chapters, and I’m exccciittteeeed! I hope you all enjoy this new story and the wonders it’s gonna contain! Let me know what you think! Enjoy! ❤

The gifs are not mine, credit to the owner.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Series Masterlist

This wasn’t a really bright idea.  She knew it. However, that didn’t stop her from packing up her car with a tent, duffle bag filled with essentials and enough food for a week or so in a bear-proof cooler. She needed a break. Things had gotten crazy at work and life was stressing her out to where she was nearing her breaking point. If she didn’t take this vacation, she’d lose her ever-loving mind.

Fortunately, her boss understood and gave her the time off she wanted. The very next day, Y/N packed her car up, let her friends know she was going to be gone without cell reception for a week or so and drove off towards the mountains and forest. There was a campsite she and her family had been to a few times before; they were more outdoorsy than her, but something was calling to her. A little voice inside of her was craving to be surrounded by nature and away from society, tugging her towards the distant mountains. She needed to unplug and unwind. And so far, the little voice hadn’t steered her wrong.

The drive was long, but it helped her being to decompress and leave the stress behind her. The closer she drove, the thicker and taller the trees began to grow. Eventually, she reached the exit her mother wrote on a sticky note. Very quickly Y/N felt a peace wash over her as she took the quiet country road towards her destination.

She checked her location on her phone and noted her service was at one bar and kept dropping, not that she minded. She was about half an hour from the turn into the reserve and still had a few hours left of daylight. Good, she’d be able to pitch the tent and get a quick dinner started before the sun began to set. Maybe she could go for a quick dip in the river nearby. It had a lovely waterfall that flowed from a spring somewhere along the mountain. It was the perfect place for her to unwind.

Half an hour later, a smile spread across Y/N’s face when she spotted the sign and entrance. The ranger at the booth at the reserve's entrance was happy to help point her in the right direction, chatting with her for a moment and explaining how things worked. She was one of the few campers there, and while she might run into one or two if she went out hiking, the campsite she requested was far enough away she didn’t have to worry about seeing people all the time. Just what she wanted. He did, however, warn her that due to a large amount of rain they were getting, the rapids in the river were quite high and fast in the area and to make sure she kept an eye on where she stepped on the soft ground beside it.

Following the directions the ranger gave, Y/N drove further into the reserve and was unable to keep herself from admiring the green around her. Living in the city meant she got very little to none of this. True there were trees here and there, but nothing like this. Parking her car in the marked spot beside the site, Y/N stepped out and took in a deep breath of the clean crisp air. No loud sirens or shouting filled in air, or the smog and dingy stale air from the city. All she heard was the sound of the trees swaying in the breeze and the happy chirps of the many birds in the canopies. The weather was supposed to be sunny and relatively cool, with a slight chance of clouds later in the week. The perfect weather for camping in the perfect setting. Yep, she thought, this was what I needed.

The unpacking took her a little longer than she thought. The tent was new, one of the dome ones big enough to fit six people. Her father bought it on sale, something about it being almost 70% off and he just had to get it. The tent was comically large for Y/N, both in height and width, but she wasn’t going to complain. She didn’t want to go out and spend an inordinate about of money for one camping trip. There’s no telling when the next time she’d get a chance to do this again. Her father was also the one that gifted her with the cooler, which he reminded her to keep in the car locked up tight at night as well as a few lanterns, a swiss army knife, plenty of matches and lighters, a few jugs of water, a camping GPS tracker, and the fishing poles Y/N doubted she’d use. But considering she had no idea what she was going to do while here, Y/N didn’t argue. Her mom wasn’t so sure about this, going out alone into the woods, but Y/N just needed to do it. That tug kept growing inside of her and the only way to make it stop was to answer the call.

The rest of the afternoon went smoothly. After the slight struggle figuring the tent out, Y/N made a quick dinner with her packed food and started getting her things ready for sleep later that night. But first, Y/N wanted to go find the waterfall with the scenic pond that turned fed the river. Going off what the ranger said, Y/N assumed the waterfall would be much larger than the last time she’d been. She had plans to go back in the morning but didn’t want to wander around trying to find it.

So lacing up her hiking boots, she snagged a flashlight in case it got darker sooner than anticipated and followed the little marked trail that led her through the woods. The trail was familiar. She hadn’t been here in a few years, and normally her parents would camp further down the river, but once she found the main trail that followed closely alongside the riverbank, Y/N knew where she was. She paused at the sight of the much higher waters, the usually calm waters roaring with life. The ranger wasn’t joking about the current. It looked like it could drag a person under and downstream before anyone had a chance to blink.

Keeping a close to the trail along the forest, away from the soft edge, Y/N walked against the stream of the river and towards where the waterfall should be. Usually, when she was alone with her thoughts, Y/N would find herself full of anxiety, constantly thinking over everything and anything that could go wrong in her busy life. She hated how her mind fought with itself, constant warring with her about this and that. Trivial meaningless things she’d have little to no control over. Yet right now, with her breathing calm and her footsteps unusually light, there wasn’t a single anxious thought insight. The forest seemed to soothe her as if a spell was cast when she stepped foot on the land.

As she began to turn a corner, Y/N heard the waterfall first. It was roaring, echoing off the mountain beside it and the rocks and trees surrounding it. She felt a little flutter of excitement as she turned the corner and gasped. What was usually gentle and slight, the waterfall was twice its size. It caused a cooling mist to form at the bottom, shrouding the little clearing. Where the water pooled was twice in size as well. She spotted the top of a rock she would usually settle on beside it nearly submerged five feet from where the water line began. Fortunately, there were still plenty of places to sit and read around the area, the waterfall loud but not overly so. It was just enough to keep her thoughts at bay in case they crept back in sometime later in the week.

As she stood there staring in awe about how quickly nature can turn from mellow and serene into an impressively dangerous beast, a strange feeling took over. At first, she couldn’t quite place it. It sort of felt like someone was watching her. Frowning, Y/N turned from the waterfall, eyeing the surrounding forest across the water.

The sun had begun to set, leaving shadows to grow under the trees. With the added combination of the mist, Y/N couldn’t make out the other side very well. But the feeling was still there, growing heavier as whatever it was watched on. It wasn’t angry or even annoyed. No, it didn’t make the hairs on the back of her neck raise. Instead, it was almost curious, watching and waiting to see what she’d do next. It made Y/N want to see who it might be, so she chanced a step towards the water. Her eyes followed the waterline, looking and searching.

A shadow moved out of the corner of her eye. It made her jump, her attention snapping towards the spot. She couldn’t have been certain, but she swore she saw a large shape through the trees. Squinting, Y/N tried to make out what it was. But a bird cried loudly behind her, startlingly loud. It caused her to jerk and jump away from the edge of the water, surprised at how close she had gotten without realizing it. She glared at the smug-looking bird that sat on a low branch staring everywhere but at her and turned back to the shoreline on the opposite side. However, the feeling and whatever ever was there was gone.

Letting out a sigh, Y/N deiced that was enough excitement for the night. She shot once more look over her shoulder before heading back towards the way she came. Shaking the strange feeling off, Y/N decided not to dwell on it. It was the first day, there was no point in worrying about something she may or may not have seen. It was just a trick of the light, she tried to reason. Either that it was another hiker who happened across the same spot as her. Yeah, she thought, that was it.

The forest was a mysterious thing. It had its secrets, both good and bad. More often than not, the visitors that would come through never saw the magic that it was made of. There were a lucky few that would see the enchanting wonders it held, whether they stumbled across it or the magic was brought to them. Then, there were the unlucky ones who could see how unforgiving mother earth could be. The trails could lead her down many different paths. It was up to her to determine which direction she would end up taking and what the Earth had decided.

NSFW Tag: (Open- MUST BE 18+, NO EXCEPTIONS)

@cherrynat  / @221bshrlocked / @theapologies / @lusts-of-the-flesh / @rowencarter3 / @littlehellflame / @buckyb4rnacle / @diinofayce / @sincerelymlg / @punkrockhippiefromthefourties / @slytherinlifeislove / @moderapoppins / @nirinael-the-rising-demon / @girlwhoisfearless / @whatisanniedoin / @xxashy999xx / @cinema212 / @sergeantjbuckybarnes / @lokigodofsasss / @myforeveryoungblog /  @serpentbaby / @palaiasaurus64 / @electra-hxart / @libbymouse / @disaster-rose /

Call Of The Mountains Tag List : (CLOSED)

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Pining

I can’t decide if this was the most or the least obvious route to take, but here we go: day 11 of @drawlight​‘s advent challenge.

Totally lighthearted fluff this time, since the chapter I posted to AO3 was pretty dark. But it was fun!

11 - Pine (1,642)

Pine: To yearn intensely and persistently for something unattainable.

The first thing Aziraphale ever remembered wanting was a twig of evergreen.

“It’s the smell I miss, really,” he explained over the campfire, out of sight of the humans in their camp. He and Crawley sometimes waited out the nighttime hours together, mulling over their thoughts of the world. “The other plants just don’t smell the same.”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Crawley, who hadn’t actually paid attention to the smells in Eden. “Any particular kind?”

“Oh, I don’t know. White pine? Or black? I don’t think it matters.”

The next day, Crawley disappeared, as he sometimes did. Aziraphale kept a sharp eye on the humans, to make sure the serpent wasn’t causing trouble again, but no sign of him there.

After almost a week, the demon returned, bearing a branch of black pine, the sap still sticky and fresh. “Saw some of this when they sent me up north,” he said, handing it over.

It smelled even better than Aziraphale remembered.

--

The first thing that Aziraphale really missed – in a deep, intense way – was a song played on a reed flute, the words lost to time.

“I don’t know why I miss it so,” he sighed, a century after he’d last heard it. “It just popped into my head one day and I felt... sad.”

“Nostalgic, probably,” corrected Crawley, sampling a new ale. “How did it go?”

“You know the one. “Dee-dum-dee-dum-dee-da-dee-dum.”

“Devastatingly beautiful,” Crawley laughed. “That could be any song!”

“Fine. It was the one we heard that first time we went to Knossos.”

The demon nodded slowly this time. “Ah, that was a lovely song. Whoever wrote it really understood pain.”

“I don’t know about pain, but…” Aziraphale sighed, looking out the window, feeling the strange lethargy take him again. “Lately I’ve not been able to get it out of my head. Something to do with the long nights and cold weather, I’m sure.”

Four evenings later, Aziraphale suddenly heard a strange, high wailing sound outside the inn where he was staying. He rushed out to find Crawley with a reed flute he’d made himself, carousing drunkenly in the street, trying to play the lost tune.

The angel had very nearly laughed himself sick before taking the flute for himself. By the morning they’d managed to mostly reconstruct the song.

They invented new lyrics – in Aziraphale’s, a tiny bird flew home in the spring; in Crawley’s the bird ate some strange berries and got very ill all over town. The angel wanted to scold him, but he was too busy laughing.

--

The longest Aziraphale ever yearned for something, was during the years he spent in Rome, working alongside the imperial family, influencing the younger members towards good.

He would never admit how draining the job was, how isolated it made him feel. He longed for simple companionship, someone he could talk to, even just for a day. Someone he could be himself around, instead of playing a part.

Then he’d heard a familiar grumbling – turning to the counter of the thermopolium, he saw a figure in black toga (if you could call that a toga) and red hair. He jumped up, abandoning his table and his game, determined to seize this opportunity no matter what.

Though he probably should have taken a moment to come up with something to say first.

Still, several plates of oysters and copious amounts of wine later, they ambled back up the street, passing the last jug back and forth between them, Crowley quite nearly smiling.

“My dear fellow, what is that thing on your head?”

“Oh, I forgot.” He pulled off the laurel wreath, studying the silver leaves where they reflected the moonlight. “Won this, you know. Fair and square.”

“You had a sussez-suckstes- victorious military campaign?” Aziraphale took another sip of wine. “Awarded a triumph an’ all?”

“Nah. Just arm wrestled a general.” He chuckled, tossing the wreath in the air, and trying to catch it – missing it, so that it clattered and rolled away up the street. “Caligula said it was the greatest military victory he’d ever seen.”

“I’m starting to think that child does not have much of a background in warfare,” Aziraphale opined as Crowley snatched the wine away.

“You get executed for saying things like that,” Crowley scolded.

The angel gave his best look of utter shock, rubbing at his throat, until he and Crowley both burst into gales of laughter, stumbling against each other in the street.

--

The thing Aziraphale wanted the most was for Crowley to be safe. This, perhaps, went on longer than any other desire, but it rose and fell, moved from the front of his mind to the back, pushed aside but never fulfilled.

He felt it in the fifteenth century, and the sixteenth, and the seventeenth. Meeting in taverns and tea houses and theaters, trading jobs, planning miracles and temptations together.

Again and again a worry rose within him, this could go wrong, they could find out, they could hurt him, destroy him.

But he didn’t allow the desperate fear of it to overtake him until the day he thought Crowley might destroy himself. “Just insurance,” he said.

Aziraphale put his foot down. He couldn’t – wouldn’t – give Crowley the means to end his own life, to take that smile and that laugh and those beautiful eyes out of the world, even if it was to end his suffering.

There was only one other way to keep him safe.

And so for over 80 years he didn’t want anything. Even if the demon hated him, even if they never saw each other again, Crowley was safe, and what else could possibly matter?

Until the day Crowley danced up the aisle of a church and back into his life, saving him, saving his books, and giving him a smug grin and a lift home.

And Aziraphale realized that wanting things could get very complicated indeed.

--

One August night when the world hadn’t ended, Aziraphale stepped onto a bus back from Oxford, his mind racing with wishes and fears and regrets and things longed for but never named.

When Crowley sat down, the angel sat beside him, shaking hand grasping the edge of his seat, so close the knuckles were just shy of where Crowley’s fingers lay limply at his side.

“You must have wanted this,” Aziraphale suddenly spoke, breaking the silence of at least ten minutes. “For a very long time.”

“Hmm?” Crowley, exhausted, emotionally wrung out, had nearly fallen asleep where he sat. “Wanted what?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, but found that he didn’t have any words. Not for the first time that night, the tears filled his eyes.

“Hey,” Crowley turned toward him, their knees just touching. “Don’t…don’t be afraid. We’re going to think of something.” How could his voice be so gentle? So calm?

“I…I don’t think I am afraid.”

“You’d be mad not to be. Isn’t this what you’ve been worried about all along? That they’d find out about…about us?”

“Oh, I’m terrified of that.” Aziraphale almost laughed, still trying to blink his eyes clear. “But… us. I don’t think I’m afraid of that anymore.”

Slowly, carefully, with utmost certainty, his hand drifted across the last few inches of space and clasped Crowley’s.

Behind black lenses, the demon’s unreadable eyes stared at their hands. “Are you… are you sure? Is this what you want?”

Aziraphale wiped his eyes with his free hand. “I don’t have the first idea what I want. I just know…” with a watery smile, he lifted their hands to rest together where their knees met. “Any time I’ve ever wanted anything, it’s been you there to bring it to me. Even when I didn’t really know what I wanted, you were always there.”

Crowley turned his hand, threading the fingers through Aziraphale’s, letting the warmth of it fill them both.

“And I think…” the angel continued. “I think that’s what I want. Whether we have another six thousand years or only tonight, I want you to be there. With me.”

“Ok.” It wasn’t even a whisper, just a movement of the mouth, a nod. Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand, brought it to rest against his cheek. “Ok.”

He couldn’t help shivering just a little from the thrill of it. Aziraphale had to almost fight to keep from doing something that would ruin the moment. “So, ah, so that’s why I said. You must have wanted this for a long time. I’ve…I’ll admit I’ve not thought about it nearly as much as I should, but I suppose I at least missed out on any pining. You, though…”

“Pining?” Suddenly the gentleness was gone from Crowley’s voice. “You think I’ve been pining?” He threw back his head and laughed, hands falling again to rest in his lap.

Embarrassed, realizing he’d ruined the moment anyway, Aziraphale tried to pull his hand back, but Crowley only clasped it harder.

“Angel, all I’ve wanted for six thousand years is to see you happy. And you were, most of the time, so I was, too.” He finally let go of Aziraphale’s hand, but only so he could clasp both shoulders. “People who pine are idiots who don’t appreciate what they already have. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but that is one I have never, ever made.”

Without thinking, Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley, pulling him close, resting his head against his demon’s heart, feeling those thin arms surround him, the long fingers bury themselves in his hair.

“Oh, my dear Crowley. I think it would take another six thousand years for me to learn to appreciate you.”

Aziraphale could feel the nod as Crowley’s chin brushed against him, felt the shaky breath pass his ear. “Well. We better make sure we’re around to enjoy that, huh?”

[love-and-music-r-life]

Riverdale 4x11 ramblings

That was a good episode!!

First and foremost - BUGHEAD. I love them so much it hurts and this episode was filled with them and I’m so thankful! my babies :) The routine of them at Jughead’s room at Stonewall.  The whole Yale thing, where Jug is worried for Betty and trying to help her to get in was so cute and I wish they would somehow both go.  Their argument was painful to watch but the reconciliation was amazing :) Him coming to comfort her after the whole cemetery thing was just gold. I loved Jughead going over the rules of the secret society so he could kick Bret’s ass. Protective Juggie is so cute:) All in all, *happy happy sigh*

And btw, I didn’t get the “bigger game” Bughead are playing.. is that beating the shit out of Bret? fingers crossed.

Bret Weston Wallis. The mother of all UGHs. Man, I hate him and his smug face. Getting under Betty’s skin and being a complete jerk, the whole quiz show business and digging that page out of the trash. CANNOT wait for Bughead to kick him both figuratively and physically.

If Riverdale team didn’t win in the end, does Betty still get another chance at Yale? It was so sad that Betty didn’t get in because of her dad, leave her alone and let her be happy, will you?!?!

Nice to see Alice being motherly. I was so happy she showed up at the cemetery for Betty and even her “gift” which was wrong but her intentions were right.   

I liked seeing Charles and it’s really hard to remember he is actually working with Chic. Ugh. He is being a good brother to both Betty and Jughead.

Uncle Frank reminds me a little of Fred and it makes me sad:(  Also, I want to trust him but I don’t, because Mr. Keller is right, he is trouble. I like seeing Archie doing things to commemorate his father.

I hate Hiram. 10,000th time of me saying that.

Cheryl and Veronica are killing it!! It’s so nice to see them being friends and working together to empower themselves, even is it doesn’t make sense that they are high school teens having 2 businesses. 

I missed Kevin and Fangs. The whole tickling for the camera issue is weird and I wish Kevin (for once) would do normal teenage things. Why does he always get the weird storylines?  

One last thing, I hope the storyline of Jughead being dead *which is no way true* will be figured out soon because at first, they made it seem as if he might be dead, but now he is.