#so by the time i reached blonde boy and the bull i had already fed all my poms into dio’s cast

[maeo-png]

r.i.p that one run where i beat asterius and the other guy in under a minute with the best build i think i’ve ever had

[dancing-the-hellfire-rumba]

Dear Hannah,

Pairing: technically Destiel, but that’s not what this is about Word Count: 4.9k (wow wtf) Warnings: mentions of self-harm, cancer, shitty father John (as per usual), angst and angst and father-daughter love and angst. Summary: When Dean, strapped to a bed, coughing up a storm, catches sight of his newly-adopted baby girl, he decides that, if he is to leave this world, he has to leave something behind for his favorite person. So he writes a booklet, trying to tell her all the things he would’ve if he was alive. Author’s note: This was originally done for @welldonebeca​ ‘s 2019 Song Challenge but I fucked up thinking the deadline was the 31st of October instead of the 15th. Whatever the case, my prompt was movement, by Hozier, which I interpreted as Dean being fascinated by his daughter enough that he’s inspired to write a letter book to her. Of course this wouldn’t be the entire thing, but I had to keep it under wraps.

Feedback is always welcome! No beta, all mistakes are my own.

~~~~

Hannah,

Christ, it’s the third time I’m starting this. The truth is, I’m coming up with blanks as to how to actually start. This has got to be the best I’ve got.

I’ll tell you the moral of this story, my story,  from the get-go. Life’s a fucking bitch, okay? I want you to know that from now. I’d try to hold back on my swearing, but I want you to know me as the person I am, the person I’ve always been. I know what having an absent, terrible father’s like, as you’ll soon see, and I don’t want that for you. I wish I could tell you all this up close, give you advice, tell you all my crazy-ass stories as the dumbass of the teenager I was, and all the shenanigans your uncle (wow, Sam really is a friggin’ uncle!), by a campfire, while you drink your first beer.

Sadly, my odds aren’t looking so great, honey. So this is all I got. I know it’ll never be enough but something is better than nothing.

Enough with the chick flick introduction, though. Let’s start.

The pen’s heavy in his hand, and it’s equal parts the mental heaviness, the weight of the task, as it is his fatigue. Dean’s really just started this. He can’t believe it. The heaviness of uncertainty, of whether or not he’ll get enough time to finish it settles on his chest like an anvil. There’s a solid chance he doesn’t make it before his time comes.

Hannah’s sitting right there, carelessly looking at the plastic, grinning stars above her crib. She’s so innocent, skin creamy, chocolaty and bright, a young, fearsome woman that’s gonna turn out to be so incredible, he’s certain. A small baby who’s soon to walk.

Dean already knows, this kid is destined for great things.

She’s gonna grow up, past the tutus and the miniature racing-car collections, she’s gonna have a movie she’ll play on repeat for ever and ever, with a song that he’ll learn by heart after having heard it so many times. She’s gonna go to high school and she’ll be bullied but she’ll learn to kick some serious ass. She’ll develop interests, she’ll have mediocre grades but a fiery passion and a love for anything alive.

She’ll, then, go to college. She’ll fall in love, with people and life itself. She’ll do what she loves most and she’ll be so damn good at it, she’ll excel.

And Dean… Dean will be nowhere near her to see all of it.

The bitterness… it makes his eyebrows stitch together, his lip curl in clear frustration and sadness. After everything he’s been through, finally finding the person he loves most and creating a full-ass apple pie life, and it’s all gonna be gone as soon as it started. Because, as he told his favorite Hannah, life’s a fucking bitch, and there’s no denying it.

As he lays there in his bed, pale as a sheet, watching her giggle for a while, reaching for the stars, soon yawning, small eyelids shutting softly and rocking just slightly, he… he falls in love with her. This tiny, tiny happy-beyond-words creature that could ask anything of him, and he’d do it, god damn it. He really would.

A giant bubble grows in his chest, a bubble that makes him feel like he’ll protect her at absolute all costs. He’ll grab the moon and fucking move it if that’s what she needs. And all she has to do is yawn and fall asleep.

A tear appears in the corner of his eye, lingering and falling down his ashy cheek. He can’t believe he brought this bright ray of sunshine to this world, and he’s about to make her live with an absent father. That he won’t get any memories with her at all. It’s torture. All of it.

He doesn’t know what else to do, so he grabs his pen with more determination. If he’s to leave her with something, it’ll be a part of him and that is that.

~~~~~

I was born on January 24th, 1979, the first son of a, dare I say, colossally unlucky family. Your uncle, Sam, my brother, is four years younger and will ALWAYS be a wimp, don’t let the height fool you. He always had terrible, shaggy hair and was always the sharpest tool in the box. Hell, the boy went to freaking LAW SCHOOL of all places! That’s kinda crazy!

My parents, your grandparents, were Mary and John.

Mary was a sweet, incredible, fearsome blonde woman, kindest of them all. She’d cut the crusts off my toast, sing Hey, Jude to me before bed and tell me angels were watching over me. (While we’re on the topic of the Beatles, make a note to listen to them. “Hey, Jude” must be your first song, but beyond the classics [Let it Be, Hard Day’s Night, I Saw Her Standing There, I Wanna Hold your hand etc] I hope “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds” will hold a special spot in your heart, much like me.)

So, Mary. Sweet Mary. She was a real badass, you know. This one time, Sammy was hungry, so I decided to make, get this, French fries. I think I was seven. She caught me getting ready to pour oil in a very hot pan. When I say she swooped in, I mean it, quite literally. I think she saved me a hand that day.

Now, about John…You’ll have to forgive the mess that I’m about to make with this, but John was a fucking sorry excuse of a father, alright? He got piss-drunk every night after Mom died, and naturally, Sam and I were the punching bags, sometimes literally. The best nights were the ones he wasn’t home.

For years, the house was silent. Sam and I tried to keep everything clean, stock up on canned food, because at times we would only have ten bucks to hold us for over two weeks. I took him to school, fed him, made sure he studied –not that I really had to- and kept John of his hair. At sixteen I picked up a shift at Bobby Singer’s garage, a man that, at this point, deserves the Dad title significantly more than John.

Whenever Sammy was sick, it was my fault. Was anyone loud? Dean’s fault. House dirty? Dean’s fault. Did we wake him up? …Let’s just say we learned not to do that.

I tried to put myself before Sam, did anything I could to protect him. There were times when that wasn’t even enough.

I dropped out of high school at seventeen. The second I saved up enough money, I rented a hole of an apartment at the other side of town, in an attempt to help Sam have a normal life, and we hauled ass out of there.

Before I tell you about our shitty apartment, let me tell you about the highlights of my high school career. Starting off with me “unintentionally” kicking a ball at my least favorite teacher’s face (and hitting him) ((Don’t take your father’s example, kid, violence isn’t the answer.)) (Did feel pretty good at the time though), making out with Jenny in the Janitor’s closet and with Arthur at the locker rooms afterhours (I don’t know what age you’re reading this at, but I sure hope it’s over 16). Also, that one time I pulled a prank at my friend, Cole. I spray painted his entire locker. He didn’t like me very much, to be honest…

~~~~~

An important story I feel inclined to share with you, would be the fact that I was once a bully.

Kids are just mean, but also, I couldn’t understand that troubles at home, traumatic pasts and anger are not to be taken out on other people who are not at fault. Instead of finding a healthy way to deal with everything that was happening at home, I decided that every happy person that was weak enough to meddle with, didn’t deserve any happiness.

I picked on a couple of people, but I think the one I will always regret will be Kevin Tran.

Kevin was a freshman when I was in junior year. He was in the Math club, the Science club and the Robotics club. He had maybe two friends, he was skinny, short, shy as hell, he drowned himself in oversized clothes and always carried a neon green book bag around, that worked on me like red cloth to a bull.

Every time I spotted the bag in the hallway, the drill would start. Shoving the poor kid against the locker, calling him names and laughing at his face for no apparent reason. I’d steal his calculators when I found out he had chemistry tests, spray paint the door of his locker and cause rib bruises from my shoving him against walls and furniture.

I soon find out Kevin was severely depressed. In fact, I saw him in the back of the school, where I’d usually go out to smoke because I thought it was cool (it’s not, it makes you light headed, unfocused and struggle to breathe. Just an all-around terrible experience, but this is just a side-note.)

It was a Friday after school. I didn’t wanna go straight home and Sam still had one more period, so I decided to go smoke and listen to some music in the back of the school building. And that’s where I found him.

I don’t know into how much detail I should go here, but Kevin was harming himself. With a small pocket knife, he sat on an old basket and made incisions on his arms, tears running down his face like a faucet. My God, Hannah, I’ve never felt like a bigger piece of shit in my life, because I knew, and I knew very well, that at least part of those incisions were caused by me.

I called out to him, and the look on his face, as he scrambled away from me, made me feel so much worse. I was the scum of the earth at that moment. I was the biggest asshole on the planet.

My initial reaction, I’ll admit, was pretty harsh. I grabbed the pocket knife out of his hands and threw it as far as possible in the grass. I grabbed a small first aid kit I had in my bag (in case anything happens to Sam), made him sit down by force and bandaged him up. He’d been reduced to sniffles by the time I was done.

Somewhere in between, I remember, he asked me why I was doing this. I didn’t answer.

Eventually, when I was done, I sat on the ground in front of him, ripping blades of grass from the ground. I apologized. Something along the lines of “I didn’t know, not that that’s an excuse. What I’m going through is not an excuse, but I hope it makes you understand that it was nothing to do with you. I’ll stop. I’m sorry. Don’t do this to yourself, man.”

That evening, Kevin was one of the very first people who found out about John. His own dad had passed away, and things at home were rough with his mom. That, along with the whole depression thing… it wasn’t a good combo.

After a solid two hours of talking with him, making amends, apologizing profusely and getting my apology accepted (which I absolutely didn’t deserve by the way,) we made it back out front.

From then on, I stopped picking on anyone. Kevin and I actually became really good friends, though we drifted apart eventually. I think he works in Google now.

This is really important. I want you to pay attention and take heed of my words. There are a couple lessons in this story.

One, be kind. Always  be kind. To everyone. It doesn’t matter if they’re going through a rough time or not, the same way it didn’t matter that Kevin’s father was dead. You don’t know the other person. There’s never a reason to not be kind, if the person has done nothing to you. A smile can make somebody’s day, a compliment can go a long way, and being open and honest and kind will make people who are looking for help find you, it will make other’s lives better, and if you’ve helped even a single person, your life has been successful.

Two, never, and I mean never take your emotional pain out on yourself, or others. There are healthy ways to deal with ugly emotions. There are people who can help. Find a new hobby, as silly as it sounds. Start doing something creative, something that draws your attention elsewhere, like art of any kind, or, in my case, fixing cars. Something to keep you busy. If you’re in trouble, emotional or otherwise, there are people who love and support you, who will do their mightiest to be by your side, and if those aren’t your friends, they’re definitely your family.

Bottling up emotions, or dealing with them in horrible, unhealthy ways has been my go-to. Don’t be like me. Express yourself in different ways, and don’t keep your feelings shoved under the carpet, because it will, absolutely, unceremoniously explode, and you’ll take people down with you. And that’s when you’ll feel like the worst person in the world. The guilt, the residue of said ugly feelings isn’t worth it. Trust me.

If you make mistakes, if you hurt people who don’t deserve it, learn from it, grow, be better. Do not sink into yourself , don’t hate yourself. Apologize, make amends and move on, try to never do the same thing. It’s okay. We’re all human. The only thing that matters is that you try to be better.

No matter what, remember that I will always love you.              

~~~~

So. Our apartment back in Kansas was, as I told you, a real dump. It had a tiny-ass kitchen with a miniature stove, two mattresses that were creaky and lumpy and were left there by the previous owners, as well as the TINIEST bathroom you’ve ever seen. It didn’t have shower walls, it had a shower head and a drain on the floor and was not in any way separated from the toilet. The walls of the place were peeling, the floor was tiled and cracked in a bunch of places and the humidity must’ve been over 80%.

I fucking loved that place.

On our third day there, I borrowed some spray paints from Cole, carried them in a cardboard box up the claustrophobic, green stairs, and opened the door in absolute triumph. That day, Sam and I opened the two windows, scratched the paint off the walls with two spatulas and went WILD. It must’ve been the only day Sam didn’t study.

Actually, no, now that I think about it, there was another time, when little ol’ ten-year-old Sam fell off a ledge and freakin’ broke his arm. I dumped him on Cole’s bike and pedaled to the hospital like a maniac. That was the first day he didn’t study.

Anyways, that apartment wall made our crappy little living situation a home. Our own sanctuary. We finally got agency over our lives, from staying up late, to choosing which type of dish soap we’d use because it smelled better and didn’t remind us of the terror chores once were. Eventually, we got soft blankets, books, board games, decorations… Finally, after 18 years, we’d started our lives.

I think one of my favorite memories would be coming home from my first date with a guy. I was just 18 and Benny, the dude, kissed me before I left, his fists clutching at my flannel. I was driving home with a giant, dopey-ass smile, stretching from one ear straight to the other. That same night, with new-found confidence, I told Sammy to drop his book, bought ourselves some beers and snacks, and drove to my favorite clearing.

There, right under the stars, with Sammy trying out his first beer, I told him I’m bisexual, and the cute bastard hugged me and told me he loved me no matter what. That same night, he thanked me for everything I did for him while living with John. We talked until the sun was rising.

I’ll tell you this right now, kid, in case you haven’t gotten it yet. I love Sam. Love him to bits. I raised that kid all on my own and will do anything to protect him. I know he cares for me, I know it kills him to see me like this, in a bed, pale, miserable and coughing every three seconds. I just want you to know, honey, that whatever you need, anything at all that, for some reason, you don’t want to tell Dad, you go to Sam, okay? You can trust him to be supportive, loyal, to be there for you when no one else is and to love you like you’re his own daughter and best friend. I promise you, he will always, always be there when I’m not.

That night made us grow so much closer. The lesson here, I’d say, is be bold and confident in what you believe in and who you are. Be your own, unique self, be brave, and love whoever you choose to fully and with your whole heart, without shame, ever. If you are yourself, I promise, you’ll find the people that love you for you, not the person you’re pretending to be. You’ll inspire other to be themselves.

A good example of this would be my best friend, Charlie. When I came out, I was armed to the teeth to deal with whoever wanted to bully me for that part of me. To tell you the truth, my school coming out was a mishap. It takes nothing but a risky make-out session in the janitor’s closet and nosey students that rip doors open far too violently. Nevertheless, I was literally out of the closet, fists up. And that’s exactly when I met Charlie.

With her comic book stories and her books, her bubbly personality and bright smile, she wiggled her way into our lives and permanently stayed there. She was a freshman when I was a senior, but she seemed to find sanctuary by my side, as I did by hers. She was just one of those people who clicked, you know? Far too mature and interesting for her age, with an obsession with computers, even back when they were barely even a thing.

She now lives with her long-term girlfriend, Gilda, who owns the best bakery in the state. Ask for the apple pie, you will not be disappointed.

Charlie demanded of me to tell you, first off, to watch Marvel and screw DC right to hell (with which I have to agree, though Batman still remains one of the coolest Superheroes of my childhood (and Joker, the coolest villain)). She also told me that, if you read this, go ask her for her comics, She’d love to let you borrow them and she’s certain you’ll love them. Second off, she asked of me to tell you the Impala story…

It’s not as grand as she makes it out to be, honestly. However this is the part where you’ll learn all about the one and only Bobby Singer.

Bobby was my boss, an old friend of dad’s John’s and the first person who ever saw the bruises under my sleeves. He gave me a job, a family, and later on… a car.

Bobby owns a scrapyard. He taught me everything I know about cars, including driving, and for my seventeenth birthday, he brought a dusty, beat-up car in my workspace. The hood was bent, the seats were torn, and the engine needed immediate replacing. The customer never paid the price for the compartments the garage had paid, so under store policy, the car was ours.

Hannah, I can’t exactly describe to you how long it took me to repair that car. Buying the spare parts and assembling them would’ve probably taken less time. I built her from the ground up, it took me almost a month and a half of daily, eight-to-six work, but I made it. I fixed her up. She was in prime condition, and I had completely fallen in love with her.

I finished working on her early January, dreading the moment I would see her drive away. Bobby had seen all the effort, by then I’d worked at his place for over a year. So, on the day of my birthday, I opened my locker to put on my jumpsuit, when I saw a box placed on my neatly folded clothes. I’m sure you’ve guessed it by now. Yes. It was the keys to my dream car. A beautiful, sleek, black 1967 Chevrolet Impala, the one I had brought back to life. And it was all mine.

I don’t think I’ve hugged Bobby any tighter since then. Hell, I don’t think I’ve hugged him period.

That car… That car is probably the most stable thing in my life, apart from Sam, obviously. I’ve cried in that car, I’ve escaped from my terrible past, I’ve laughed, I’ve had my first time, I’ve been through breakups and I’ve spent my best days with it. I cherish it more than any other item I know. It’s not even an item, it’s my baby. I love it almost as much as I love you.

I met your dad, and kissed him for the first time in that car.

It’s actually a pretty fucking hilarious story. Cas was on a date with this guy who was completely disgusting and creepy as hell, so in true  movie fashion he decided to, get this, jump out the bathroom window and escape.

Yeah.

So just as he was running out of the bar, the guy must’ve caught wind of him or something, because he stepped outside in order to find Cas. What did your dad decide to do, I hear you ask? He ducked behind a car in the parking lot, opened the first unlocked door he found, and jumped in.

Spoiler alert. It was my car.

I was sitting in the front seat, fighting with Sam through text when the door opened. It was highly comical, watching this guy duck behind the bench seat, mumbling “oh God, oh God, oh God, please don’t see me, oh God.” I cleared my throat.

“Oh, I see you, buddy.” That’s the first thing I told him. The look on his face and the genuine yelp, made me laugh a full belly laugh, and completely forget about my fight with Sam. He apologized profusely, explained panicked what had happened and begged me to stay in my car just for a couple minutes so the guy can lose him.

Long story short, we ended up going out ourselves. I don’t know how to explain it… we just clicked immediately. Like, there was a connection. Him and his big words, his baby blue eyes, his steady, deep and rough voice… I knew right away that all I wanted was to spend time with him, learn everything he was willing to share with me.

I’m so glad to have met your Dad. He was, is and always will be one of the best, kindest, most humble and genuine people on the planet. He sees the world from such a beautiful point of view that contradicts my eternal realism (he enjoys calling me pessimistic.) He’s a genuinely great person, and I can’t wait for you to figure so out yourself, if you haven’t already.

Of course, it wasn’t all fine and dandy. Meeting his parents was hellish. Let’s just say, Chuck and Naomi aren’t… the best people. They tried really, really hard to stop us from seeing each other, and eventually, they completely disowned Cas. He doesn’t like to talk about them much. His brother, Gabriel is an asshole, but a loveable one, while his other brother, Michael, you probably don’t know about. And you shouldn’t. Let’s just leave it at that. If Cas wants to share that story with you, he’ll do it at his own time.

I’m sure there’s a lesson to be learned here. Something about, when finding your person, to keep them, fight for them, don’t stop loving them because everyone else is telling you (unless of course that person is toxic). But I don’t think I can give you solid love advice through a dumb book. Every relationship is different, and your Dad’s better at this than me anyways.

--

I don’t know exactly how long this thing is, by this point, but I’ve almost finished the pages of this booklet. I was really, really worried I wouldn’t finish it in time, but here we are. However many thousand words later, and I’m clueless as to how to wrap this up.

My life isn’t over yet, however it looks like it soon will be. I will confess to you, I’m scared, but most of all I’m angry. I’m angry at the world, at life and fate, if that’s even a thing, at God even. I’ve fought my whole life for peace and quiet, and right when I have found it, it’s being ripped from under my feet. Cancer fucking sucks.

No matter, my chin is up, and so are my fists. Winchesters don’t give up easy. I will fight this until my last breath, even if the chance of watching you grow up and being able to tell you everything I’ve written face-to-face, is nothing but a sliver. After all, impossible odds were always my favorite.

Sweetheart… I don’t know what to say. This might be the only thing you have left of me for the rest of your life, and it tears me up inside. Of course, I will not be able to write thirty five years of experience in a small book such as this, but this is a part of me, memories you can keep all to yourself. Ask Dad or Sam about any of it, I’m sure they’ll fill some gaps, tell you things I haven’t written.

I don’t want you to cry much, even though I’m not sure you will at all, given the fact that you’ve never met me. Either way, whether you feel or think anything of me or not, I want you to know that I love you so much. I’ve only known you for a couple of months, and, already, you’re the brightest ray of sunshine in my life.

I promise I will be by your side no matter what happens, through every milestone and hardship, I will love you from wherever I am.

Honey, please stay true to yourself. Never give up, no matter what curveballs life throws at you. There’s always reason to keep going, even if you can’t see it. Always keep fighting, ‘till your last breath, ‘cause you’re a Winchester and you’ve absolutely got this.

If there is something I want you to remember from the scribbly mess I’ve made, it’s this:

I love you. I’m proud of you. I believe in you.

Go get ‘em, tiger.

 Bonus:

Tears streaming down velvety soft cheeks, dainty fingers gripping the book tightly, like her life depends on it, Hannah stares at the ceiling and groans at the mess she is. It’s the second time she read that last bit, and just as she thought she’d gotten over it, here she is, crying just as hard as the first.

She gets off her bed, pulling on her sweater sleeves. Feet in slippers, she makes her way down the corridor, knocking on the door, and opening when she gets an answer. Her fingers grip the doorknob, the other clutching the book, and she stares at the bed, watching as green eyes look up from his laptop.

“Why did you give this to me, you ass, you’re not dead,” she sobs, and Dean pushes his laptop to the side, arms opening wide to invite her in them.

“Aw honey,” he coos, a gentle, loving smile on his face. Hannah climbs on the bed and slides to his side, curling up in his arms. “It’s okay.” Fingers stroking her hair gently, as sobs wrack through the poor girl’s body. Dean almost feels bad.

Just then, Cas appears in the doorway, having heard Hannah’s cries. He sees the booklet clutched in her arms, her face buried in Dean’s neck, hidden behind her spring-curly hair. He makes eye contact with his husband, a knowing half-smile on his lips, as he leans on the doorway.

“I love you,” Hannah says, nose stuffed and running. “Thank you for not giving up on a relationship with me, even when you didn’t think you’ll survive.” Tears wet Dean’s eyes, as he presses a kiss on the crown of her head.

“I love you too.”

[yamaguccikun]

Omega Endeavor AU

Written because I was reading a bunch of Endeavor redeems himself fics and decided to try my hand at writing him in a similar but still different to canon way, like he's still kind of an ass because I believe that's just his way and he definitely still wants to be the best but he's... Not as bad?? Hopefully I did well with this. If you need any further explanation about anything then feel free to message me or leave an ask at your discretion~

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Todoroki Enji presented as omega just a bit after the beginning stages of puberty. With his father off on a business trip to seal some deal with whatever company he was in negotiations with at the moment his cautious mother was quick to buy him the safest scent blockers proven to work on the market. For a few years he never felt any reason to be ashamed of his status but dutifully kept quiet about it at his mother's insistence, never joining in with his peers while they bragged about whatever mundane skills they learned that week. He had no interest in stereotypical omegan hobbies and was far from an ideal omegan body type with his quickly increasing height and broadening shoulders. Of course he was very aware that the entire notion of petite curvaceous omegas was a completely artificial concept pushed forward heavily by the adult reading and film industry as a way to validate and profit from the emotional fragility of top and low ranking alphas alike. But really it wasn't like his speaking out would do much to change things. At least not yet. So he would clench his teeth and bare it until he could graduate from UA and get hired into a good agency.

His father eventually found out because of course he did, Enji never expected the man to remain oblivious forever. That didn't stop him from being angry at himself for just how exactly he was found out. It was the day of his graduation from UA and he was ecstatic, vibrating and in the verge of spontaneous combustion the entire day. So excited in fact, that he had been sloppy in his morning routine, blockers hastily applied without a single as thought to whether they would shift or fall off throughout the day and his father didn't hesitate to notice it during an overjoyed hug, the sweet scent of omega.

Things truly went to hell after that, his father was an influential and close minded enough person that he made it impossible for Enji to be hired to any and all hero agencies. The only explanation he received came in the form of a reproaching comment that the man was done humoring Enji and it was time that he fulfill his duty to marry a good alpha and bear healthy pups.

Rei really was not at fault for anything, had in fact tried with some success to stop the whole thing but was ultimately too soft spoken and not opinionated enough to deal with a man like his father, so by the time he was married to her three year later he was already well on his way to hating himself, his body, and everyone who wanted but couldn't stop this from happening. He was full of only anger on his wedding night when he was force fed some black market drugs that pulled him into an artificial heat and his now wife fed ones that would incite rut. He could never bring himself to truly hate her even as he went through almost two days of painful labor to pups he didn't want. As he stared down blankly at four squirming balls of newly born flesh he felt one of the worst feelings that had ever formed within him, something he had only read shaky descriptions of in well hidden blogs or difficult to find omegan autobiographies. His omega was rejecting the pups, feeding off of his disgust for the entire situation and forming none of the bonds that made omegas so notoriously overprotective.

Only some months after was when that his wife left. She said she could handle, could understand, his aversion to showing her any form of affection given their circumstances but that every day she was forced to watch as he stared at her pups with dead eyes and refused them even as they begged and whined to be cared for was too much. He was far from surprised really. Their bond was quickly dissolved and their divorce finalized almost in the same week. It was just his luck that his father's years of raging about and drowning himself in hard liquor and cigars caught up to him just a month before the birth of the pups.

Enji knew he should have been more saddened than he was, and some deep, desperate part inside of him cried out to him to go and prove to the female alpha that he was good enough, but a larger part of him was relieved. He'd finally be free to do what he had always wanted to do. Become a top ranked hero.

Of course his father's handy work was still at play but he wasn't above pulling his own strings with the help of his family name until he had dug up enough dirt that he could force an agency to hire him. It wasn't long until Endeavor was a well known name and as years past so did his popularity grow until he saw himself become the No. 2 Hero in Japan.

It was only a short time after he had adjusted to his place that he was introduced to that particular alpha. The one that didn't incessantly try to offer him a drink him after every joint mission. Who complimented his hard work, not his sugary scent. Who seemed to understand that he didn't become a hero because or in spite of his secondary gender but because he wanted to be a hero and that said gender had never even come to mind as he worked himself tirelessly reach that goal. The infuriatingly endearing alpha who softened him with his megawatt smiles without even meaning to, winning him over with his honesty where others tried to buy his affections with scathing insults pathetically disguised as compliments and shiny nicknacks he had no need for and made of point of burning as swiftly as he received them.

Oh but he was far from the first omega hero, because for as backwards as society can be about secondary genders no one could deny the tendency for powerful quirks to be bestowed to omegas. That's not to say that alphas or betas had weak quirks but the odds were that if a child had signs of an exceptionally powerful quirk that they would probably present as omega. This fact alone made it possible for omegas to become heroes as powerful quirks were always in demand. So no, he wasn't the first omega to become a hero but he was the first to break past the top 10 in rankings.

It was two years before the strange alpha hesitantly, almost nervously, asked him to accompany him on a date. Enji blinked once before smiling one of his own close lipped things that equated to one of the blonde alpha's most blinding. And so they went on that date followed by plenty more. However as much as Enji cared for and was smitten over his.. significant other (Enji refused to use such an infantile a term as boyfriend and they'd still not crossed the line to lovers just yet) he noticed that Toshinori had slowly become something not himself after the first encounter, nothing too completely off from the usual but just a bit more dull, more distant in his smile than he had grown used to from the larger man. When Enji's irritation finally came to a peak he snapped at his partner, saying in not so kind words that he needed to stop acting and he he truly didn't want to be with him then he'd have to speak up about it.

Luckily for him Toshinori had long since grown used to his abrasive, sometimes bordering on abusive, attitude and brushed it off with a small exhale of empty amusement and a promise that he'd explain everything that weekend. So as the very weekend rolled around Enji was told the story of a villain and his brother and a mentor who was like a mother. He was told the truth of his partner's gender, that for some reason he had only presented as alpha when he first gone into his All Might form and his no less muscled but still smaller normal state was very firmly a late presenting beta. Enji took the news with as much grace as he could and as things settled back down for the couple they went on plenty of outings, now in both of Yagi's forms.

They decided together, but it was brought up first by Enji, that pups weren't an option. He had suffered through it once before and the thought of going through it again made the contents of his stomach roll around in ways that were far from pleasant. Toshinori agreed readily enough however when he remembered that their positions and 1st and 2nd heroes would only place that much bigger a spotlight and target on any children they would potentially have. In return Toshinori had suggested that they not bond as alpha and omega as there was no way of knowing what would happen when he shifted back and forth from his All Might persona. They did however have a quiet wedding hidden away from the press in one of the many Todoroki estates.

More time past as it usually does and the couple lost themselves in each other and in their lives as heroes. One day Toshinori came home to recount the story of bumping into a most peculiar boy who had gushed and cried over meeting his idol, had desperately wondered if he could become a hero when he had no quirk only to be crushed as Toshi displayed his usual lack of brain to mouth filter and promptly said no. Of course Enji took it upon himself to give the No. 1 hero a scolding of epic proportions that burned both metaphorically and literally.

The very next day one Midoriya Inko was certain that her son was about to keel over any second as what they had planned to be a quiet weekend of video watching and comfort food eating was crashed by a nervously shuffling All Might who was closely followed by an intensely unamused Endeavor. The starstruck glimmer in Izuku's eyes only increased as he was informed over tea that due to All Might having the tact of a bull thundering through a china shop with a beached whale tied to it's back that the hero was planning to make it up to him by taking it upon himself to train the boy to become a hero in his own right. And Endeavor for all his lack of anything even remotely close to child rearing skills would possibly maybe help on occasion but would mostly just give suggestions here and there.

The boy flourished under their tutelage and it was only two years later that Enji noticed that glimmer in Toshinori's eyes. The one that formed just before he did something so completely moronic that his omega husband skipped through several stages of heart failure and went straight to catatonic with worry. A look that hadn't form since the year before when he went off on a fight that had almost cost him half his body had Endeavor not shown up with backup just in time to prevent disaster because there was no way in any universe that Enji could let himself sit around while his husband got himself killed. He really shouldn't have been surprised when he came home from patrol the next week to see a flustered Toshinori who promptly explained how he reacts did try his hardest but he was just so proud of Izuku that he broke down and told him the truth of his quirk and wanted to make the boy his successor. The man enjoyed helping others now just as much as he always had but he'd held the position of Top Hero since before Enji was even in the business hand he'd had enough of his time in the spotlight. Was even wondering if he could go into teaching the next generation of heroes.

Four years later Midoriya Izuku stood at the gates of UA by recommendation of both top heroes Endeavor and All Might.

But before that happened another significant event occered. It was during his time watching Toshi interact with Izuku, as he had seen the boy grow from easily startled to confident in his own skin he began to wonder about another person in his life who was perhaps too soft hearted for their own good. Where was she now? Was she happy? Did she meet someone new? Enji was never cold-hearted enough to completely separate himself from her life without a backwards glance. He knew she had kept his family name though for her safety she was on records as a distant cousin he had never met. And he had, for a time, exchanged messages with her over email and even sent money to provide for the children. But that was before he had been thoroughly entrenched in the life of a well known pro hero. It had been some years since they had spoken at all, though he did still send the occasional care package. Now he wondered what would happen if he tried to regain contact with her.

But Enji had not chosen the name Endeavor for no reason so shortly after his musing session he did just that. He contacted Rei and went about reconnecting, it was definitely strained but he had been able to finally admit his faults in his relationship with her and she was a sympathetic woman so it quickly warmed up into a pleasant friendship. They weren't the first person the other would think to contact in an emergency but they were better now than when they were supposedly husband and wife and that was good enough for them. When he finally did meet the pu.. no, they were no longer pups but mature teens and young adults of varying ages. (A common phenomena that occurred when omegas gave birth to more than two pups at a time was that they each tended to age at different rates, no exact reason was ever found but it was not surprising at all to see that though all four of Rei's children had been born on the same day that little Touya looked to be almost out of high school while Shoto still had plenty of baby fat to shed off) The second time he met them he brought along Toshinori as All Might to introduce to Rei and the kids and the fifth time Izuku was brought along seeing as he was apparently in dire need of friends his age. Enji was self aware enough to know that he really would never really be a good father to them, a fact that was only cemented with the complete lack of recognition or memory of him beyond their shared name, but he could become a really good, maybe even great, uncle.

Todoroki Enji lived his life, suffered through it for a short bit of it but thoroughly enjoyed the aftermath. The family he built up for himself was far from ordinary but he failed to see any alternative as better than what he had. And if Toshinori ended up unofficially adopting a student or two throughout his years as a UA teacher and if they were subjected to Enji's rough edged style of fussy worrying and support then no one was saying a word. Because what kind of idiot messes with an omegas pups? Especially when said omega is the current No.1 Hero in Japan?

[ellstersmash]

Three: Eight

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Solas x f!Lavellan (Modern!AU) / Minor Cullen x f!Lavellan

Rating: T for Teen

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They drive out to Dragon’s Peak on Friday morning. Early, and she sleeps the whole way, waking up when the car slows to find the mountains filling the windows and Cullen’s hand resting on her knee. Gravel crunches under the tires as they weave through the campsites. Most are unoccupied, but it’s nice not to have neighbors when there are no walls. After a while, Sera’s car comes into view, a round yellow rusted thing surrounded by more empty campsites and the color green. They park at the next site over, get out, and stretch their legs.

It’s beautiful. The trees here are limbless for the first twenty feet, all dark wood and wonder, reaching invariably for the bright blue that peeks down from between them. A tiny packed-dirt path between the sites leads through the edge of the woods, down to a wooden dock and a small sandy beach.

Athi pulls out a french press, sets up the camp stove, and helps Cullen with the tent until the water boils.

Sera finally shows, emerging from the woods with a roll of toilet paper and a bottle of sanitizer, and Athi pours her a cup. Then the three of them sit, quiet on the dock. Coffee in their hands and the wind in their hair and their toes in the water, soaking up too much sun.

Leliana, Josie, and Cassandra show up first. They come prepared with towels and suits and Leliana brings a raft made for lounging.

Bull, on the other hand, brings his new boyfriend, Dorian. One of those guys who are handsome enough to kick the wind right out of a perfectly healthy set of lungs. He’s funny and clever, with charisma coming out his ears.

And he insists that Cullen join them for a hike.

“So, frat-boy came after all,” Sera says once they’re gone. “That’s good, right?”

“He didn’t go to university.”

“Like that’s the point.” She kicks out her legs, inspecting their color as the water drips down, then grabs the sunscreen from behind her. “Blonde. Beefy. Boring. Frat-boy!”

“How would you know if he’s boring?”

“Is he?”

“He runs into burning buildings to save people for a living, how could that possibly be boring?”

Sera bumps her shoulder, cherry blossom streaked with white, into Athi’s. “That’s not a real answer.”

“Fine, he’s not boring!”

“If you say so. Ah, shite. Got too much of this mess. Take some?”

They swim and sit and float and play, jeans and sundresses stuffed into bags, abandoned on the beach, draped over the dock. Athi goads Cass into a race to the floating island, and then loses by more than a hair. The sun trades places, east to west, and suddenly the day is gone.

Athi pulls herself onto the dock and wriggles back into her jeans. Finds her tank top on Sera’s shoes, and twists her hair up to keep the lake water off her back. When she offers to go back to camp for drinks, the response is more than enthusiastic.

To be perfectly honest, it’d be nice if someone else would fetch the drinks for a change.

Back at the camp, Varric is crouched next to a rather pathetic excuse for a fire.

“Please tell me you’re not cooking,” she says.

“Oh, I’m not. Though I’d like to think I could rise to the occasion and warm up some hot dogs. You know, if the people needed me.”

A trunk slams shut, and she startles. “Thankfully, the people do not, or they would likely all starve.”

Solas walks toward her—no not her, just the campsite. But when she catches the flick of his eyes down her form, her heart still does an uncomfortable flip-flop inside of her ribs.

No, she tells it. No, keep it together.

But creators, she must be a mess. Rolled-up jeans, no makeup, no shoes, swim top soaking through her shirt, and a hasty bun. Probably fried and frizzy. Come to think of it, she’s not even sure she’s looked in a mirror yet today. Not that it matters, of course.

Then there’s Solas. Sharp features and ocean eyes. Somehow immaculate, despite the heat, in cuffed tan shorts and an easy olive v-neck. He’d worn it to that party, all those months ago. And it’s half tucked in over the bone of his hip, not that she dwells on it.

And he’s here.

Not that she cares.

He opens a cooler by a small blue tent. Comes back with three beers and a bottle opener, and he holds one out to her. It’s ice-cold and dripping. Off the bottle, into her hand, leaving cool wet tracks down her forearm.

“Hey,” she says softly. For such a small word, it comes out awfully shaky.

“Hello.” His smile, too, is an uncertain little thing, hanging crooked on his mouth like a—

Not that she’s looking at his—

Oh, fuck.

She tears her eyes away, resting them instead on Varric’s dying fire.

“Do you want some help with that?” she offers.

“You know, I thought you’d never ask.”

Setting her bottle beside her, she uses the end of a piece of firewood to push his blackened sticks to the center of the pit, extinguishing whatever flames actually managed to survive his efforts. Then she lays it in the ashes next to the pile. More logs, arranged crosswise, more kindling in the middle, and a burning match sets it freshly alight.

“Hey, Solas! Glad you made it, buddy!” Even coming from the edge of the campsite, Bull’s voice booms in her ears.

Cullen and Dorian trail a ways behind him, talking like old friends.

“You know each other?” she asks.

“Sort of, yeah!” Bull claps Solas on the back. “I was on the squad for some big deal museum thing a couple months back, and he was there, and we got to talking.”

Solas laughs softly. “As I recall, you asked if my companion was single.”

A log slips free of her grasp and clangs against the heavy metal fire guard, but no one seems to notice.

“Mmm. Yeah, I remember,” Bull says. “Redhead. Good times! Anyway, we’ve hung out a few times since then.”

Varric leans over. “I’ve tried to get in on it, but so far, no luck. Whatever they get up to, it’s gotta be good.”

“Oh, it’s good.” Bull waggles his eyebrows, but Solas only grins, tips his bottle up, and drinks.

“So, this is where you went!”

Cassandra, walking up the path from the lake with the others, has her you’re in trouble face on. Brows knit tight, eyes fierce, voice shrill, and Athi can’t help but wonder if this is what it feels like to be accused of murder.

But Varric cuts in before she can ask for a lawyer.

“Hey, Seeker!” he says. “Fancy meeting you here.”

The look Cassandra gives him is withering. “Oh, it’s you . I suppose I should have known.”

“Sorry, I was”—Athi gestures to the now-healthy fire—“waylaid.”

Varric laughs. “Taken captive by my charming vulnerability, she means.”

“Charming!” Cass rolls her eyes. “I have never heard anything so ridiculous.”

Dorian swoops in like the guest of honor, rather than somebody’s plus-one. “Well, this has been a delightful bit of repartee,” he says, “but might I suggest we consider our supper? I’m not sure about the rest of you lot, but the three of us did just climb a mountain.”

“Not the whole thing,” Cullen admits, and is quickly shushed by Dorian.

Athi lets the fire die a bit, and over the embers they cobble together a meal: Bull grills the veggie kebabs he’s had marinating, Sera roasts up some corn, Leliana tucks potatoes wrapped in tin foil into the warm ashes, and Cullen cooks the chicken they brought on hot-dog skewers.

They make a weird bunch, she thinks as they eat and talk and laugh and tease and argue. Humans and elves, a qunari, a dwarf. Different homelands, different jobs. With the exception of Leliana, who has known Josie since high school and Cass since college, all the connections between them are thin. Sera did a couple of Leliana’s tattoos. Varric was (briefly) a suspect in one of Cassandra’s investigations. Cullen and Dorian hadn’t even met before this afternoon. Yet those bonds were struck and somehow held fast in an instant.

It’s difficult to tell where she fits. What gap she fills, what role she plays, but then Bull tells the one about the time she took him shopping, and she decides it doesn’t matter. So long as she fits at all.

Seconds and thirds, then Bull stands and pulls a handful of cigars from his shirt pocket. “Anyone want to go down to the dock? Genuine Seherons, been looking forward to these babies. Dorian? Cass?”

“Thank you, but no.” Dorian grimaces. “I don’t smoke. Besides, I’d like to wear these clothes again someday, and ‘campfire’ is going to be difficult enough to get out.”

“I’ll join you,” says Cass.

Cullen goes as well, leaves her with a warm smile. She never expected him to be so interested in socializing. Not like he ever asked to meet her friends. She’d been worried about him, thought he’d feel out of place or something, but it was needless. He has charmed them all in a single afternoon just by being his polite, well-spoken, surprisingly funny self.

“Surprised you let her out of your sight,” Sera says to Varric, throwing a piece of onion across the fire at him.

He bats it away like he’s done this before. Knowing Sera, he probably has.

“I’m just giving her a chance to miss me, that’s all.”

Everyone seems finished, fed and content. Instinctively, Athi starts to clean up. Collects the trash and plastic plates, the empty bottles, then goes for water but Solas is already elbow-deep in suds. He tells her to sit with the others; instead, she picks up a towel and dries. Feels good to have her hands busy. Feels better to be near—

No.

Josephine gasps. “Oh, Leliana, we never set up our tent!”

“Now is as good a time as any, don’t you think, Josie?”

“Now it is dark! Do you know what you’re doing? I’ve never actually done this before.”

“Well,” Dorian says, “I shall volunteer my services, as I neither prepared dinner nor cleaned up after it.” He nods gratefully toward her and Solas. “Luckily for you, I’m a natural at pointing a flashlight.”

The three of them disappear into the darkness, chattering away.

After the dishes are done and the trash packed away, Athi adds another log to the fire. Another hour or so of Sera fixating on the marshmallows nobody brought, and Varric smacks his palms to his thighs.

“All right, I think it’s about time for me to head out,” he says. “That actual, sheltered, comfortable bed is calling my name.”

“Really?” Athi teases. “It’s barely nine! I’d have thought you had more life left in you than that.”

“Hey, not all of us want to have the same special loathe-hate relationship with mornings that you have, early bird.”

Solas chuckles. “You’ve noticed this as well?”

“Yeah, I made the mistake of calling for a favor at a perfectly reasonable time of day—”

“Reasonable for who, exactly?” she protests.

“—And she picked up, swore colorfully at me in, I believe, no less than three different languages, and disconnected.”

“Oh, please. That’s nothing,” Sera says with a scoff. “She shattered my guitar!”

“I apologized for that.”

“Can’t play an ‘I’m sorry,’ now can I?”

Athi groans. “Just go, Varric. Go to your mattress and mini-bar and room service and take your slander with you.”

“It’s only slander if it’s not true,” he says, and walks away with a casual wave of his wrist.

Sera yawns. “Think I’ll turn in, too.”

“Seriously?”

If Sera leaves, she’ll be alone with him. Really alone. And if they’re alone, he’ll almost certainly look at her at some point, and her heart will do that thing it always does and is not supposed to. Athi pleads with her eyes, begs her to stay, but Sera doesn't notice—or pretends not to. She walks behind the canvas chairs and plants a kiss atop Athi’s head with an exaggerated smacking sound.

“Be good!” And she slips into her tent.

Athi briefly considers following their lead, then remembers it’s been all of five minutes since she declared it too early to do so.

“I suppose you’re the next to fall,” she says to fill the silence, hoping he is.

Hoping he isn’t.

“I could not abandon you so easily.”

Seven words, and she melts. It’s not fair, how quickly he breaks her down, leaves her bare. It's not right. His nearness is intoxicating, their solitude is terrifying, and she’s stuck somewhere between the fear and the falling. Safe, though, like he’s the solid ground. Searching, and he's an answer. Brimful, satiated. Like she’s been trying to breathe underwater, and he’s the air above its surface.

Like she's a foolish, stupid girl with a foolish, stupid heart.

He’s abandoned her once already, practically ghosted her after that stupid fucking morning. Not that she can blame him; she’d disappeared too. And Cullen—

As if summoned by her guilt, his laughter drifts up from the dock. If she blocks out some light from the fire, she can see him from here—just a shadow among shadows.

“He seems nice,” Solas says, and stares intently through the flames like he can see what she does.

“He is.”

“And you are happy?”

Yes , she tries to say. It sticks in her throat. Instead says, “He’s a good guy,” as if that’s enough.

But he accepts it, nods and leans forward to add another piece of wood to the fire. It shifts, and sparks fly. Some disappear into the dirt around her bare brown feet, some float into the air and mix with the stars.

This time, he is the one to break the silence. “Before the world was changed and much of history concealed, magic came to some as easily as breathing.”

His voice, much like a hearty red wine, goes straight to her head and its cadence leaves her giddy.

He continues. “A fire could be summoned or extinguished with a thought; without need for wood or matches to ignite it. Many feared such power, and locked mages away to prevent what they might someday do.”

A story, like the ones about the stars. He settles back into it so quickly, so unexpectedly. On the rooftop at Varric’s with the music thundering beneath them—that’s when they had started. She’d matched his rhythm, once, and the counts of the syllables. Trying to see if he noticed. Trying to provoke him. Trying to see what his ruffled feathers looked like. But he hadn’t missed a beat, only looked at her as though she was all that existed, and begun another story.

Athi tucks her feet underneath her and watches the smoke curl up into the ink-black sky. Carefully, she considers her story and patiently, he waits.

“The Dalish have some stories still, of spells that sunk into the earth and made the forest twist and grow around them. A secret gift from silent gods to keep the world from chaos, because nature has a way of running wild. So they kept it to themselves, passed down from every Keeper to their First.”

“Very good.” His voice wears a smile and a hint of pride. “I’d hoped you had not forgotten.”

“It’s your turn,” she says, still looking up.

“You are right. Give me a moment.”

Feeling indulgent, she lets her eyes rove his face. The glow of the fire on the rise of his cheeks, the focused calm, the cut of his jaw.

“At night, when people slept, they’d dream—but not the empty flailing of a restless mind devoid of stimulation. They visited the Fade, a realm of spirits who reflected expectations, memories, even desires. Waking and sleeping, each world shaped and reflected the other.”

She grows too content, watches him for a split second too long, and it bubbles up in her chest before she can stop it. “I’ve missed you,” and it feels good. Feels honest.

His eyes shift to meet hers, the calm replaced by something soft, surprised, sorrowful.

“And I have missed you.”

Her heart beats wildly against her rib cage. She doesn’t know where to go from here, but then sees a head of yellow curls and the kindest face she’s ever kissed, and Cullen walks up to stand behind her. His hands on her shoulders, he leans down to whisper in her ear.

“Come to bed?”

She wants to say no, wants to stay, but she shouldn’t. She’s lost enough ground already. So she nods, takes his hand, and fills her smile with an apology.

“Goodnight, Solas.”

He smiles back, sort of.

Back in their tent with a flashlight hanging overhead, she roots around the bottom of her bag.

“Hey Cullen?” she asks. “Is my toothbrush in with your stuff?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? I’ll check when I get back.”

“Back? What happened to bed?”

“Yes, back. I need to go use—well, a tree.” He chuckles and kisses her on the forehead and rustles off into the darkness.

Athi changes out of her jeans and her tank top and sits there in the mostly-dark, watching the target-shaped circle of light sway slightly over the blankets. Then she grabs his backpack and starts looking.

It’s not in with his toiletries, or buried under his clothes. Last, she checks the side pockets, and her fingers brush something smooth and hard and suspiciously shaped. Her gut says leave it , but she pulls it out anyway. Just to look, so she won’t wonder.

It fits in her palm. A small square box with rounded edges, black and sleek and velvet, but there’s no way it is what she thinks it is. Still, she flips back the lid. Just to check, so she won’t worry.

Inside is a delicate silver-colored ring, engraved vines climbing toward a deep blue stone. Inside the band, a tiny engraving: everlasting.

The tent zips open again.

“Any luck? Maybe you . . .” He trails off when he sees what she holds in her hand.

“Cullen, what the fuck is this?”

[believe-that-you-can-my-friend]

totallynerdstuff

replied to your post

“In the mood of writing more bughead soooo… hit me with your prompts?...”

First of all thank you so much for creating such amazing stories! I'd love to read a story involving prom/ school dance. Betty wants to go with Jughead but he's not crazy about the idea of going to a school event like that.

Hope you like it, dear!! Thank you for your lovely words and for requesting!! 

“No.”

“But, Juggie—”

“Betty, I said no.”

A childlike pout adorned the blonde’s luscious pink lips as she dropped her back on her leather seat at Pop’s, the action filling the silence with an icky squish sound. The conversation was pretty much going on and on like that since she had entered the small dinner and sat next to her beloved boyfriend, who these past days wasn’t so beloved but seemed to drive her to the wall with his stubbornness and his nonexistent desire of earning any social skills. At this point Betty was either gonna give up or smother his ridiculously handsome face with that laptop of his, that had his attention the whole hour she was trying to change his mind.

Topic of conversation: Riverdale High’s 20s decade dance. The whole school was filled with a gazillion of posters and excitement was pouring from every corridor of their high school, as this themed dance was a first time thing and very much anticipated. Needless to say, the Jones boy was grumpy and easily irritable this whole week that the preparations had reached their zenith. He didn’t quite get the big deal; it was just another event added to their long list of pep-rallies and jubilees, this being even worse, because it demanded attire from some too far gone golden era. Yeah, Jughead, wasn’t going to attend that.

However, the blonde bubbly beauty that prided in calling his girlfriend was indeed a total stereotypical teenage girl when coming to being all dolled up for such events. He knew of course that she had a soft spot for ruffle dresses and shimmery bobby pins but he didn’t quite expect the shine, genuine shine, her lovely eyes radiated once the theme of the dance had been announced. From that day on, she was constantly bombarding him with subtle hints at first but when she lost her patience and boldly asked him, earning a simple yet fierce negative answer in return, the blonde menace had tried on him every trick of her sweetness and seduction 101, in hopes to have him putty in her hands as always. It was indeed a hell week for Jughead.

“Juggie…” she tried again, her voice cotton candy sweet and soft, and rubbed herself deliciously on her boy’s side, letting her fingers dance over the strands of hair that were left uncovered from his crown-like beanie at the back of his neck, knowing that this was one of his favorite touches of affection. Jughead closed his eyes momentarily, still facing the screen, and bit his lip not to scoff or, worst, give in. She wanted desperately to make him break, he knew that much, but he had taken a vow that this time, he wouldn’t let her have her way.

“C’mon all our friends will be there and it’ll be so much fun!” the excitement in her tone was genuine and her smile bright. “You can put in use those suspenders that you always have falling over your sides too.” Betty giggled, fiddling playfully with the said item, only for Jughead to lightly slap her hand away without sparing her a glance. “Plus I’m sure there’ll be tons of finger food lying around.” She was starting to lose hope again but decided to play the food card as a last minute’s resource.  He didn’t even flinch and that brought back the pout on her lips.

“You said so yourself; finger food. That’s not even real food.” Jughead mused with no interest at all, continuing with his typing. He knew that if he stopped, he would be forced to look into her eyes and, boom, that would be his undoing and, button line, self-inclined torture. “Plus, I’m sure spiked punch will be the only dominant thing around and seriously, discourteous jocks with more alcohol in their system than blood sugar is not my idea of fun, sorry.” He ranted in his usual apathetic manor, pressing a full-stop hard in coordination with the end of his sentence to underline his point of ‘yes, I’m standing my ground here’, before casually taking a sip of his coffee.

Betty was just there shaking her head in a ridiculous manner at how unoriginal he sounded, having untangled herself from him from the moment he started his rebellious statements, and she curled her arms over her chest stubbornly.

“Why are you making it this hard?” she exclaimed in frustration.

“Because, obviously, I don’t feel like going. And you keep bugging me two days now!” he snapped back in an equal upset tone.

“I’m bugging you?” her perfect ponytail bounced with the sharp turn of her head to face him, eyes narrowed and their color a tad deeper with temper, and Jughead flinched because his choice of words was bad but, sue him, he couldn’t hold himself back sometimes. “Well, you are bugging me with this whole douche behavior of yours and your far-fetched bull—beliefs!” she changed the word last minute, because she was Betty Cooper and cursing wasn’t really in her comfort zone, face fuming now from suppressed anger and hands bawled in fists against the inside of her arms.

Jughead opened his mouth to say something but hopefully thought first and closed it, sizing Betty’s fiery stare, knowing that if she pushed her more this wouldn’t end well and, contrary to what she believed, he really didn’t wanna fight with her for something as ridiculous as a stupid school dance. Betty sighed a ‘whatever’ and dropped back against her seat again, forcing her eyes at a family of five that were seated two booths in front of them to the left, not really in the mood of talking to him more.

Jughead sighed, not quite liking the tense silence between them. He knew that maybe he was overreacting a little, sure a dance wouldn’t hurt him that much, but he was getting cold feet even at the idea of his slouchy posture amongst his hypervating classmates. Jughead didn’t like the spotlight, or even the sidelines of it for that matter, and the cold sweat and damp palms that were a friend of his at such occasions were something he deeply wanted to avoid. Especially if Betty Cooper would be standing next to him, with a beauty straight out of a Parisian catwalk.

“Is it that bad that I want to dance with my boyfriend and not go with Kevin once again, like a pathetic excuse of an arm-candy?” she wasn’t really done yet, even though she was trying to behave civilized but the nervous trembling of the foot of her left leg that was resting against her other betrayed her. In Betty’s books, Jughead was being downright unfair and mean.

“Why are you trying to change me all of a sudden?” he grimaced in frustration, snapping the words and nearly interrupting her. Betty scoffed at that, still looking away. “I thought you knew who I was and loved me because and in spite of that.”

“I’m just asking for one night for you to be with me and let me have this!” she groaned because now she was really fed up.

It was Jughead’s time now to think she was being unfair. He always let her have everything; he wasn’t backing up, period. “No.” he blurred and turned back to his laptop, Betty leaving a long childish groan in frustration.

If Kevin and Veronica hadn’t walked up to them at that moment she was going to smother him for sure.

“Hey you two lovebirds!” Veronica sing-sung but her face dropped in a pout once seeing them all frowny and pissed. “Oh no, trouble in paradise already?” she faked sadness to tease them, while sliding along with Kevin to the seat across them.

Betty dropped her palms to the table with sound, making the two teenagers jump and round their eyes at her whereas Jughead just raised a brow, his cockiness aggravating her more.

“You two! Up!” the blonde ordered her friends with her pointer, the duo across her shooting up from their seats in horror. “Jughead here” she colored his name with all the venom she could gather up and the boy in question looked up at her with his signature challenging look “needs to have some alone time to think. He doesn’t really thinks straight lately as it seems.” She mused in a stuck up, bitchy voice that Jughead didn’t know Betty Cooper even possessed and that came to hate immediately.

“Fine!” he challenged back, faking ignorance and drumming his bony fingers on the table. He wasn’t backing up, end of story.

“Fine!” she snapped back furious, knitted brows and all, dragging a surprised Veronica by the elbow to another table, the girl making faces of pain, certain that Betty’s hold was minutes away from stopping her blood flow.

Kevin just stood there with a dumbfounded smile, the comic fight of his friends truly a sight to see.

“Kevin, if you don’t want a pretty mean stain of tabasco sauce on your cashmere teal colored sweater, I advise you to keep moving.” Betty’s threatening stare and fuming whisper made the said boy round his eyes terrified and hug himself defensively, Kevin sending a brief apologetic look to Jughead, before sprinting to join the two girlfriends.

Betty’s turned back was the only view Jughead had for the rest of the evening.

If somebody didn’t know any better, they would have been sure until now that Betty Cooper was part of the buffet décor. Since the time the blonde beauty had set foot on Riverdale’s school gym, escorted of course by no other than a smiley Kevin Keller, it seemed that she had grown roots at the side of the long rectangle table, feeling like a fish out of the water in the sea of pretty dresses and patterned tuxedos.

Riverdale High was alight to say the least. The large gym was transformed successfully in what 20s dance clubs were supposed to look back in the day with yellow twinkle lights and fake chandeliers and velvet curtains and even a faux champagne tower right in the middle of the finger food filled buffet. The chaperons had opted for soda to be running down the stocked in a tower crystal glasses, a very much more appropriate choice of drink for the young people around, but still the vibe was right and Betty was impressed. If only Betty had somebody to share her excitement with.

Her long, thick eyelashes, thanks to her miracle mascara, fanned her rosy cheeks as she blinked, taking it the sight in front of her. Teenagers were crowding the makeshift dance floor at the center of the gym, swaying as best as they could to the rhythm Josie and the Pussycats were setting and trying to mimick any dance move they had seen in numerous 20s movies. The three girls on the stage, dressed in matching silver dresses, were playing 20s inspired covers of famous modern songs and all the high schoolers were ecstatic to say the least.

Betty didn’t quite expect to feel this lonely and unwanted in a room full of people. As she watched her classmates dance and have the night of their lives, she could feel the lump in her throat getting bigger and bigger but she had promised herself that she wouldn’t cry because, really, her pricey make-up deserved better than being wasted over some stupid Jughead Jones. Yes, duh, end of story, not even a tear to be shred, I see you Betty Cooper!

Some kind of 20s retro cover of Beyoncé’s Crazy In Love was being blasted from the speakers and more and more teenagers kept joining the crowd of sweaty bodies at the dancefloor. Right at the center of it Cheryl Blossom’s red tresses, wavy and pinned to one side by a feathery sapphire hairclip, were bouncing along with the sequins of her same colored dress and some meters away was Veronica, gorgeous and confident Veronica, sporting a black feather boa around her neck, over her usual pearls, and a black form fitting flapper dress, low on her cleavage and short on her thighs with million sparkling tassels decorating it whole and offering a seductive peak-a-boo of her lean legs with every twirl she took like a true flapper girl out of a black and white movie. Betty really wanted to know if she could pull off a look like that but she knew Alice Cooper would kill her before she would, something that made her sigh. In front of her was Archie, both of them dancing crazily and smiling bright like the chandelier above them. Betty felt a tug of jealousy at the sight of them, not because they had come together or because they might have been here as more than friends, but because they got to spend the night with the person they wanted, having just fun. She was allowed to want to have fun with her own boy, wasn’t she?

Feeling the lump again choking her neck, the blonde dame dropped her eyes to the floor and started picking on her dress, the dress she had chosen nearly a month ago and was so excited over wearing, because she had a feeling he would have loved it on her. It was a silk dusty pink – her color – aerie dress with draped short sleeves, shear on her torso with some seductive white lace peaking from inside, tightening deliciously on her waist with a sequined thin line and then flowing over her tanned legs up until the top of her knees, almost invisible sequins giving the skirt of the dress a delightful grace that was so Betty Cooper. A same colored sequined headband was around her forehead with a dusty pink feather decorating the left side of her head, staying true to the flapper fashion, and her hair was in small curls this time, pinned just under her ears to look short and bod-like. Her look was concluding a loose pearl necklace lying in a knot under her modest but seductive cleavage and some dusty gold, pep-toed Mary Jane heels, decorated with tasteful shapes of glitter and tiny pearls.

But he wasn’t here to see any of that, he was stubborn and a basic jerk and Betty felt so beyond frustrated at him and so beyond sad. Even Reggie was there, swinging awkwardly with Tea Miller and whispering to her ear things that Betty knew for sure were sickening but at least he was there, he was present and presentable enough, not disappeared in thin air, without even caring to call her or text her two days now. Two days!

“Alright, gentlemen. Now grab your gals and show them some loving, won’t you?” Josie addressed with a soft voice and a sweet smirk, once the song ended and the girls behind her begun playing a slow one.

The teens at the center of the gym formed pairs and the lights dimmed a little, as the first notes of another cover, appropriate for the era, echoed in the room and Josie started singing the lyrics of Stay With Me by Sam Smith. Betty just huffed and straightened down her skirt with venom, refusing to watch anymore and turning her back to the crowd. And as she kept staring the bleachers and the lump in her throat grew impossible to ignore and she kept fiddling with her stupid headband and fighting with the urge to burst into heavy tears, she felt a presence behind her along with a polite clearing of throat.

“Excuse me, miss. Would you like to offer me this dance?” the soft voice she came to love addressed her and she turned in a blink, silk and sequins twirling graciously around her knees.

She was at a loss of words. There in front of her, dressed in a black double breasted suit, was her idiot of her boyfriend, in all his vintage glory. White, almost invisible, lines were running down his perfectly ironed black tux, Jughead staying loyal to his favorite color, and a white dress shirt was peaking from inside along with a patterned black and pink tie, coordinating with the dusty pink of her dress. His hair was in its usual waves, a tad tamer now though, and he had even traded his beloved beanie for a black fedora, looking like a true gentleman straight out of a detective novel. Damn, he looked something so much more than handsome.

“Wow.” Jughead breathed, soft blue eyes scanning her up and down and shining in boyish awe. “It’s the first time my imagination fails me this miserably.” He smirked back at her, honestly finding her stunning beauty not even matching his wildest expectations.

“What are you doing here?” Betty snapped out of her own awestruck state regarding his looks and asked, not remembering that she was supposed to be angry at him, very angry. “I thought this wasn’t your idea of fun or that it would a waste of a perfect Saturday night—” she went on to quote him annoyed but he cut her off.

“I’m standing here sweating in a way too warm woolen suit, hinting that I was a jerk and subtly asking you to forgive me. Dance with me, please.” He offered again, serious now and a tad pleading, offering his hand for her to take.

Betty gave him a look under her eyelashes, then glanced at his outstretched arm and then back at him and huffed in slight defense, before dropping her white tulle glove clad palm over his, letting him walk her to the dancefloor.

They swayed for a couple of seconds in silence with him roaming his fingertips ever so lightly over the rich part of her back her beautiful dress left bare, causing goosebumps to rise on her spine. Betty loved having him this close, breathing in his scent, like sandalwood and fresh air, and having his lean torso pressed against her. She had missed him terribly and she was seconds away from admitting it.

He bet her to it. “I missed you.” Jughead whispered to her ear, blonde curls tickling the side of his cheek, smirking once feeling her shiver lightly at his fingers and his tone of voice. “Bets, I’m so sorry.” He whispered again, dropping his hand to her waist to bring her even closer and Betty winced at the lose of his amazing fingers against her spine, before feeling even more lightheaded from their proximity.

She ordered herself to stay calm, even though that was impossible around him, and arrange her thoughts. “You are acting like an immature jerk, you don’t call, you don’t text…What do you want me to say?” her voice was a whisper too and her eyes were closed, relishing in the way he deliciously swayed against her, despite the fact that she was still mad. A little now but still.

“I know I’m sorry. I was just drowning in self-pity and that makes me a coward.” He confessed, swaying them to the beat as best as he could; he wasn’t much of a dancer but his mom had him once or twice when he was little twirling with her around the kitchen mist laughter and making pancakes. “And you know first-hand how much unknown scares me.”

Betty sighed. She knew that and she did find a unique beauty to the way he experienced things with her; first kisses, first dates, first touches. Jughead was timid and careful when it came to first time experiences. And that was never a drawback for her; she wouldn’t have him any other way.

“I guess I shouldn’t have pushed you that much too.” Betty admitted shyly, fingers picking with the material of his suit on his shoulder before her hand dropped to caress down his back in affection, telling him that she wasn’t that mad anymore. “But still, you shouldn’t have disappeared. I thought that maybe…” the words died on her shiny lip glossed lips, not even daring to say it out loud.

“What?” he pulled back to look at her, the first time that their eyes connected since they had hit the dance floor, Jughead feeling a little weak in the knees at how absolutely breathtaking she looked. “Don’t even say it, Betty, you know that I would never do that to you.” He said fiercely, seeing her drop her eyes between them. “I’m crazy in love with you; that hasn’t changed since now and that won’t change for years to come.”  He confessed with certainty and she couldn’t do anything else but reach up and kiss him. Long, deep, fiercely on his chapped lips.

“Let’s not talk about this anymore ok?” she offered, caressing from his palm all the way to his shoulder in order for her arms to lace behind his neck and her forehead to rest against his. “I love you and you’re here; that’s all that matters.” She whispered against his lips and sighed blissfully.

Jughead kissed her again, loving having her taste on his mouth again, sweet and sexy mixed up in a perfect combination. “So that’s what the roaring 20s looked like, huh?” he changed the subject as she wished.

“Well, I guess that’s a close representation.” Betty formed a cute grimace of a smile. “But everything looks so amazing!” she squealed in a true girl fashion, making him chuckle.

“You look amazing.” He complimented her with a charming smile. “Can you wear this dress like every day?” Jughead fisted the soft material on her hips, loving how it felt over her curves and itching to take his time pealing it off her body until it was just a silk mess on the floor.

Betty giggled, cheeks turning even rosier than before. “I’m sorry but I can’t really appear in cheer practice sparkling like a disco ball.” He winced in dislike and she pecked his lips with an amused smile. “Thank you though. And you look so good yourself. So dapper!” she colored the adjective with a hum of appreciation, eyeing his torso with delight.

“Well… I might have had a little help from Ronnie.” Jughead admitted with a boyish shrug.

“That little traitor!” Betty exclaimed with narrowed eyes. “I knew she was up to something; she was always glued to her phone texting!” she scoffed in disbelief, her still narrowed eyes coming in contact with the brunette from across the room who gave them a thumps up and a pleasing smile.

“We owe her actually. She put some much needed sense into me.” he sighed, thankful for their friend and her really inspirational pep-talks slash lectures .

“Then, good for her.” Betty nodded pleased. “And good for you cos I was seconds away from marching into Archie’s garage and breaking that stubborn head of yours!” she smiled amused and flicked his hat, making it drop lightly to one side.

“Now that” Jughead momentarily took his hands off her waist to straighten up his fedora, as the song ended and an upbeat one began “was not really polite, Ms. Cooper.”

“Oh, really?” Betty dropped her own hands to her hips, challenging smirk intact. “And what are you gonna do about it, Mr. Jones?”

Jughead chuckled, a kind of chuckle that went straight into Betty’s stomach to create a tingling feeling there. “Oh, you’d better hold on tight, doll, cos I’m about to sweep you off your feet!” he exclaimed in a sexy manner and he twirled her under his arm to the beat, before catching her waist and dipping her to the ground, her girly squeal of surprise getting silenced by his demanding lips on hers, Betty’s leg shooting up in reflex to his actions like the kissing scenes in any 20s movie classic, the two of them pulling back with wide grins and shiny happy eyes.

That night Jughead crossed ‘first time having fun’ off his long list of things that Betty Cooper had brought for the first time into his world.

(That was cheesy I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself :P Also, if anyone is wondering about the songs, Beyonce’s Crazy In Love cover is from Swing Republic and Sam Smith’s Stay With Me from Postmodern Jukebox. Thanks for reading!!)

[yaoimila]

The Dark Prince Yaoi Webcomic

The Dark Prince Yaoi Webcomic. Come to http://yaoimila.com for navigation buttons.

Appropriated Bride Sci-Fi Romance

Newly conquered slave Mina tricked her masters into transferring her from a nasty factory to a cozy mansion.  Her scheme is discovered during a gathering of Haraden warriors at her master's home.  Instead of sending her back to the factory her master wants to appropriate her as a bride for his warlord brother. Mina would rather go back to exhaustion and starvation than marry one of her murderous enslavers.  Thankfully they signed a treaty with an Alliance that ensures they don't force female slaves into becoming war brides.   Mina swears she'll scream to the first Alliance robot she sees if any Haraden touches her. General Elentor has an opportunity.   Returning to his warship with a bride will make it look like the emperor has given him a gift and approves of his controversial direction for the Haraden flagship.  It's his only chance to get control over a mutinous group of soldiers who want to destroy their agreement with the Alliance.  This feisty angry slave woman must belong to him. A sensual sci-fi romance with a guaranteed HEA!  By the author of Indentured Bride!

A new sci-fi Romance by Yaoimila!  

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Excerpt ~

1

Mina snuck into the kitchen, picked the lock on the delicacies fridge, and beheld the glorious cake she’d seen several days ago. A sugar-spun replica of a bull sat on the top tier.  Her new master must have had a celebration planned.

She took a crescent spoon from the sleek utensils drawer and smashed through the sculpture to get at some frosting.  This melted in her mouth, making her eyes roll back with pleasure.  She shoveled out a few more bites, breathing through her nostrils as she absorbed it, and leaving a crater three tiers deep in the middle of the cake.  Crumbs and shards of sugar landed on her dull gray slave tunic.  Mina wiped away this evidence before it settled.

She went to the beverage control station to summon up a drink to wash it all down.  If she was bolder, she would have continued eating several more minutes.  She’d already taken too great a risk of being caught.  

That she’d destroyed a feast registered only faintly in her mind as she selected an ale.  It was a Haraden feast for her bastard overlords.

They can go to Hell.  

The thing that made her middle tremble was the chance of getting nabbed.  Her previous heist had gone off without a hitch.  Her Haraden masters had proven to be complacent and easy to trick.  This emboldened her.  Why lay in bed aching over the delicious cake when she could get away with eating some?  She’d stalked the kitchen the last few days, certain no one was up watching it after dark. The manor overflowed with overnight guests who were all be brash enough to pull this stunt.  She and the rest of the slaves wouldn’t be suspected.

“Hornetta!”

She heard the shriek of her assumed name and froze, her full stomach feeling like it dropped from her.  You’ve got to be kidding me.  

An elderly Haraden overseer switched on the lights.  The bald blue man gasped at the open fridge.  A teen-aged boy stood beside him, the likely lurker who’d turned her in.

“Guards!”

Panic swung her into action mode.  She choked up some phony tears.  “I was just hungry!  Starving!”

“Liar!”

Two massive brutes stomped in and snatched her. Mina let out an involuntary scream.

“Throw her in the pit,” her overseer said.  “I’d whip her now if she wasn’t a female. We’ll see what Fleet Master Ranstor wants to do with her.”

The men dragged her too fast for her bare feet to keep up.  Her mind raced for more answers.

“Can’t you tell him I was starving to death?” she said to the hulk on her left.  Glass doors slid open to allow them into the rear courtyard.

“You slaves have plenty to eat.”

“No, my food was—”

They tossed her into a narrow pit in the ground before she could answer.  Mina’s shirt tore on a jagged rock, but it slowed her drop.  She splashed into icy water that reached her ankles.  

“I’m hurt!”  The lie came instinctively, since she damn sure didn’t want to stay down there. “Blood is gushing out of me!”

A metal grate slammed over her, making a circular ceiling.  Damn it!  The men press the controls to lock it.

“You’ll be hurt worse tomorrow.”

She heard their giant bodies plod away.  

“Haraden dickbags!”  She screamed herself hoarse then seethed through her nostrils.  

What the fuck do I do now?    

She sank down to squat against the wall and huddled her shivering body in her arms.  Think.  Come up with something.  She wanted to go with the hunger story, but the blue asshole was right, they were well fed.  The horrible factory she was in last time starved them, but this was a residence and her conditions had improved.  

Maybe she could claim one of the other slaves stole her food?  

No.  Fucking things up for the Haraden was fine.  Hurting another slave was not.  She needed a different plan.  She’d say her food was tainted and she couldn’t eat it.  It probably wouldn’t spare her from punishment, but she had to try.

Regret swelled up inside her.  Why did she pull something like this?  Sweets were her weakness, sure, but she was asking for it.

You’re going to get laser whipped.  The realization made her face clench.  Was it worth it?

She thought of that sweet cake once more, feeling the silken texture of the frosting on her tongue.

Yeah, it was.

She shivered in the pit until dawn when blades of sunlight cracked through the grate to warm her.  A few hours later there was the sound of children laughing, though deep and masculine telling her they were Haraden boys.  Voices of adult men followed, then music and the pops and beeps of some large outdoor game.

The bastards really were celebrating something. Depriving them of their huge cake made her grin.

After a while she swore she heard a female voice. Mina craned her head to listen. She heard a few words in an accent found on a Haraden-conquered planet next to her homeworld.

One of them has a bride. She became obsessed with listening to the woman.  Whoever it was talked freely among the throng of Haraden males.  This put a stitch in her brow.  Then she heard the trills of her laughter, sincere and boisterous.

Well, what did you expect?  When you shit on your people, you get to live the high life.

A sneer etched itself onto her face.  One by one all the females had disappeared from the slave factory.  She thought the bastards were kidnapping them behind the Alliance observers’ backs to force them to become war brides. Then an overseer pulled her aside for a meeting with an Alliance robot present.  She didn’t know what it was about; she was too busy thanking God that she'd be off her aching legs for a few minutes.

The overseer offered her the chance to stop being a slave and become a bride.  He told her she’d be cherished and treated like a queen—just the draggishit her weak-willed sisters would fall for, especially after being starved and overworked.

‘No’ was the only word she allowed out of her lips.

“If your father and brother were still alive, they wouldn’t want you to keep suffering.”

This made her tremble with rage.  “No!”

The Alliance robot insisted the meeting come to an end.  They had their answer.  Mina Kaul would never become a Haraden’s wife.

2

Mina continued shivering into the evening as the party raged on above her. She suffered familiar hunger pains.  How long would the assholes lock her down there?

“What are you doing over here, Elentor?”

Mina’s head tipped upwards.  The words came from the woman.  She saw two figures hovering near her grate, distorted from her perspective beneath them.  One was the woman in a gown whose ruffles concealed her.  The other was a muscular blue man, shirtless, but with black fabric covering his shoulders and an amulet around his neck.  Now matter how she craned her head she couldn’t get a better look at him.

“There’s a slave in the restraining pit.” Elentor’s voice was deep and gravely. He gave no inflection to indicate what he felt.

“What?  Oh, no.” She knelt down to look at her. Mina scowled at her pale long face. She had her hair in extravagant ringlets.

“It’s a woman,” Elentor said.

The blonde squinted at her.  “I don’t think so.  There wouldn’t be a female slave here.  A small young man, perhaps.”

You could just ask me, you know.  She held her tongue.  The man had bulging leg muscles straining tight black pants.  The bigger Haraden men tended to be high-ranking. If he had a temper, he might have her dragged out and beaten in front of the entire despicable group.

“I’ll go ask Ranstor if he knows why he’s down there.”  The woman’s ruffles fluttered away.

Elentor waited a few moments and then knelt on one knee.  His face grew close enough for her see.  She swallowed when she realized he was handsome, something she didn’t prefer with Haraden.  If they were ugly, it aided her natural revulsion toward them.  This man had a strong jaw, deep set eyes, and full dark blue lips.  Black raven feathers of hair draped long enough to touch his shoulders.  A few stray tresses spilled over his forehead in a sort of lazy ‘I’m sexy without even trying’ way. He wasn’t too old, either, probably younger than 40 in Harth years.  (Mina was 32.)

“What’s your crime, woman?”

His question came off as a demand.  Mina put a scowl back on her face.  Haraden, even ones easy to look at, were always the same curt bastards.  

“I smashed your cake.”

His brow rose.  Then a smile formed on the full lips.  He turned away to give a low laugh.  

Mina kept fixed on him with narrow eyes.  She would have loved to walk away rather than provide him amusement.  Since she was stuck, she stayed proud and fierce.

“Does cake offend you?”

No.  You do. Again, she decided to hold back. Arrogant fucks like him became that way because of power.  If he had it in his Empire, then she was subject to his will.  

“I smashed the sculpture on it to eat some.”  

“You were fine with being punished?”

“I didn’t think I’d get caught.”

Elentor nodded and climbed to his feet.  “That’s an absurd risk to take.”  He stepped away.

“Whatever, asshole.”  She said it too softly for anyone above her to hear.

He reappeared and knelt back down to the grate. “Catch.”  His fingers pressed a flat round object through one of the holes.

She caught it against her breasts with both arms. It was a soft cake without frosting. The sweet scent of it stung her nostrils.  

Mina felt at a loss.  The last thing she expected was kindness.  

“Thanks,” she said while peering upwards.

The man was gone.

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